She’d just stood there, Vladislava the Warrior, all sweet and down to earth, speaking of an unimaginably long number of years as if it were nothing special… Also, she explained the sacred inner workings of the world to him, a provincial boy, like he was five…

What should he do? What should mortals do in such a moment? Drop to their knees in awe? Kangassk didn’t feel like it. Also, he felt no awe in his heart. He felt something else; connection, responsibility… as if he were no longer a usual guy thrown into a fairy tale but an important part of the story.

He spent way too much time lost in thought. The little caravan, swallowed up by the karlaman river, was nowhere to be seen. Lucky for Kan, his faithful charga returned for him to carry him to the others.

He was no longer lost, in more ways than one…

Kangassk leapt into the saddle and hurried to catch up with his companions. The blue “river” of Karlamanus altus looked more and more like a real river and less than a thick twisty bed of flowers as the distance between it and the little group of travellers grew. One last sprint up the hill, one last glance back – and Kangassk was back with his group again, on the road through the forest.

After the vast open space they had just left, the new scenery seemed claustrophobic. Rows of tall, broad elms with bushy, spiky undergrowth between them stood like two solid walls by the sides of the road; their long branches intertwined above, blocked half the light, and made even a sunny day look gloomy.

This place, so unlike the spacious oak forest near the White Region, gave Kangassk creeps. He had no idea plants could do this to people. That forest stirred some primeval fear even in the desert native. Kan felt watched, hunted, and he wished to get out of here as soon as possible.

In a couple of hours, as the sun went down, it became worse, way worse. It was the horror of Kuldaganian night outside the city walls, all over again. The traders felt it too; all five became skittish, grabbed their weapons at the slightest noise. The worldholders… well, those two were their usual selves: not the slightest sign of being nervous at all.

Time passed, as painfully slow as dripping resin. Stars twinkled through the intertwined branches above. And something… someone, Kangassk could swear, was watching their every step.

“Maskak!” Kangassk shouted, instinctively reaching for the bow he no longer had. “Damn! Someone shoot this thing!”

Astrakh had his crossbow ready and was in a position to shoot the non-human scout but, taken aback, he just stood there, gaping. Kangassk grabbed his weapon and aimed but he was too late.

“I lost him… Now he’ll bring friends,” he said, angry and bitter.

“No worries,” Vlada reassured him and cast a glance at Sereg. The Grey Inquisitor nodded and removed a fat purse from his belt. Vlada continued, “We’ll keep walking. Most likely, they will attack us in where the road goes around the hill.”

“See?” she addressed the traders now. “What did I tell you? Remember joining a caravan next time and be generous when it comes to hiring guards!” and then turned to Sereg again, “Do you know that your maskaks are now wreaking havoc in the South as well?”

“No,” he grunted, untying the purse. The clever knot opened easily when he tugged at the proper string.

“Okay, kids,” Vlada glanced around the group of the frightened mortals, “you too, Kan, listen up! When it gets hot, you are to stand behind us. You can shoot if you want, but no getting into close combat and no heroics. Understood?”