Vlada put her hand on Kan’s shoulders in silence.

Finally, Kangassk got himself together. He stood up and wiped the blood from his new sword, a katana similar to the one Vlada bought in Aren-castell, but made by the master, not his stupid runaway apprentice. Kan turned his face away from the dead “freaks”. Desperately wanting to change the subject, he approached one of the goggle-eyed non-human bandits he had killed and touched the little furry body with the nose of his boot.

“I’ve never seen these creatures before,” he said.

“Maskaks.” Vlada shrugged. “There are lots of them in the North. No idea how they got here, though.”

“…So you’ve been to the North?” Kangassk kept questioning Vlada while she was bandaging his injured head.

“Yes. Many times,” she answered.

“What is it like?”

“Cold. Windy. Snowy in winter. You’ll like it there.”

“Oh, I read about snow! It’s frozen water. They say it’s beautiful…” Kan stopped dead mid sentence. “Wait! Are we going to the North?”

“Maybe, later. Right now we have to pay a visit to one special little region in No Man’s Land, then we’ll see. Now, off with the questions!” she said in a strict tone. “The caravan is departing soon. Get up onto the saddle, lean against the dunewalker’s hunch, and have some sleep. I’ll make sure you won’t fall. Go.”

“North…” whispered Kangassk, tired and drowsy. “Magical North…”

Gentle rocking of the saddle lulled him to sleep. On the very verge of the sleepy oblivion he felt Vlada’s little hands on his waist, carefully holding him so he wouldn’t be afraid of falling down.

Another day and a half passed. The caravan followed the road in complete silence, everyone tense, alert, and constantly looking around. Kangassk was no exception. His injured head hurt mercilessly, and the very thought that he might get a hit with a stone again made him furious, so staying awake wasn’t a problem. Also, he was prepared this time, bow, arrows, and all. No wonder a maskak who was unlucky enough to peek at the caravan above the dune, got an arrow to the eye.

“Yeah! Get it, sucker!” Kangassk growled victoriously.

“Good job!” Vlada clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve got the scout. There won’t be a second raid now.”

“Who knows?” There suddenly was a doubt in Kan’s voice. “Maybe he wasn’t alone.”

“Even so, they will know we are alert and ready, not an easy prey at all. They won’t risk it.”

A merchant riding a dunewalker in front of Vlada and Kangassk turned his face to them and nodded in approval.

Indeed, there was no second raid.

The dunes grew smaller and smaller with every hour. Soon, the ancient cobblestones of the road were clearly visible again, their sand-repelling runes heavily worn by wind and time, but still working their magic. The feeling of being watched, hunted, gradually faded. People began to talk again. Vlada explained to her companion how the road magic worked and shared some stories from her life as a Wanderer. With all the dangers behind them the journey became quite pleasant again; the time flew.

By the next morning they had entered Border. The town was small, but well defended, both from the ever-advancing sands and possible bandit raids. Unlike the rest of Kuldagan population, Borderers didn’t bother with preserving the ancestors’ purity, so there wasn’t a single pair of identical faces in the crowd. They also were diurnal people, busy during the day, sleeping at night, just like the rest of the world behind the Mountain Ring. Kangassk was shocked at the diversity of faces, at the bubbling, noisy day life, at the coolness of the air which was so different there, close to the mountains… Needless to say, he looked hilarious in his endless shocked excitement. Vlada couldn’t help smiling every time she looked at him.