Local inns went by the word “dlar” as well, but, having many storeys connected by winding staircases, resembled little towers. Vlada rented a whole storey on top of one such tower. There were three rooms there: one for her, one for Kangassk; the third room stayed empty for the sake of the perfect peace and quiet she wanted after the journey.

Kangassk had hoped to sleep through the day as he did most of his life, but Vlada didn’t allow it. His objections ignored, the wounded guy was dragged to the nearest healer to have his head treated properly. Since using magic is too dangerous so close to No Man’s Land, the healer treated him with some nasty smelling ointment and a decoction of burngrass root, which felt precisely like what its name implied: burning mercilessly. After Kan’s head had been treated and bandaged Vlada took him to the market to buy some armour. To his surprise, they passed by all the heavily laden stalls displaying chainmails, breastplates, helmets, and all kinds of exotic items. Vlada spoke to the local weapons dealer directly and asked him for kevlar. The old master had just snarled at first, but then changed his mind and brought her a couple of thick lined cloaks, time worn, dusty, and discoloured by the sun. The price the old man asked for them made Kangassk’s jaw drop. Vlada paid it in full, not even bothering to haggle.

Vlada tried her luck again, asking for a gun, but no, the old man didn’t have one.

“No one goes into the Burnt Region anymore,” he said. “Everyone goes around. It adds two weeks to the journey, but, hey, you’ll arrive in one piece, so that’s worth it.”

The kevlar armor he sold them was some kind of family legacy from the gold rush times, hence the high price.

“Maybe we should go around as well?” Kangassk asked Vlada that evening at dinner, meek hope in his voice.

“No,” she replied.

“Why? Just why!” Kan threw his hands up in indignation.

“Because I’m in a hurry.”

“To do what?”

“Hmm…” Vlada hummed, contemplating. “Okay. Let’s say, I’m going to the Dead Region to redeem my good name and help an old friend… You can stay here, Kan. It’s a free town. No one will ever see you as a freak here. Live your life. Be happy.”

“No! I’m not letting you go to the Burnt Region alone!” Kangassk crossed his hands on his chest, his lips set stubbornly, his eyes bright and angry again.

For a few seconds the only sound breaking the awkward silence was his furious breathing.

“You are not too bad as a fighter,” said Vlada out of nowhere.

“Beginner’s luck…” Kan exhaled with a hissing noise and scratched his bandaged head. “It was my first real fight, actually…”

“I’ll teach you. We’ll have time during the journey,” she promised.

Chapter 2. I wish I had a gun

Chargas step lightly on their soft, padded paws. Dry autumn leaves may rustle under their feet, their claws may click once in a while on a stony road, but when they walk on grass you can not hear them at all because your human hearing is not sharp enough for something so subtle.

Two charga riders followed a well-trodden trade road up to the crossroads where they turned north. The narrow path they chose was a remnant of the gold rush times. Back then, when thousands of people travelled that way, their heavy boots had worn the ground down to the rock. Like an old scar, the forgotten, overgrown path was still visible through the young green undergrowth. It didn’t snake around the hills and trees, it boldly went straight through every obstacle in its way, be it a meadow or a forest. Close to the obscure border of the Burnt Region the path emerged from under the grassy carpet of weeds and flowers and headed up, turning into a wide two-track road littered with innumerable shell cases that still glinted in the dust. Gold rush times were rough times…