Grains of sand scraped across Adrens exposed face like hot needles, carried by the wind that tasted of old iron and blood. Jagged walls of sun-bleached stone jutted from the floor, flanking him on both sides as he pushed deeper into the narrow pass.
He knelt beside the cracked canyon wall, lightly touching the streak of crimson red blood smeared across it. Even when dried, it throbbed with a pulse that felt unnatural, glowing faintly with a slightly purple hue.
"Close, maybe about 1 hour out," he murmured. "No more than that."
He spoke quietly, yet his whisper still carried uncomfortably far in the thin air. He checked his canteen. Still about half full. Should last until tomorrow, he thought.
A gust curled through the canyon, carrying along with it a low howl as it moved through the snake-like trenches of the valley.
They had been tracking the wolves while maintaining a long distance. Logic told Vexa the wolves couldn't have sensed their presence, especially in this hellish weather. Yet she still couldn't shake the gut feeling that something was wrong.
"Let's start closing the distance." muttered Adren. "The color is bright. It's bleeding out"
The worn leather straps of her ammo holster faintly creaked as she tightened them, checking everything was in place.
Adren let out an inaudible sigh. His mentor only did that when she was unsure of something, and that almost always led to live demonstrations of the lecture 'how to avoid a date with death'.
Vexa quietly moved forward, her footsteps light and nimble. She tried scanning the area, but it was impossible with the sandy fog eating at her eyes, blurring everything into a gold mist. She frowned, straining herself to get a good glimpse into the distance, but couldn't make anything out.
"I'll go up. You continue following the trail from here," she said, grabbing a protruding edge and hauling herself up. Loose stones broke away from under her boots, pattering back down loudly, echoing within the canyon.
He nodded, pulling out his knife and carving a crude arrow into the rough sandstone wall. The only thing worse than being killed out here was getting lost out here. Comparing the two, dying to monsters seemed almost like a godsent mercy.
As he moved further along the trail, every footstep he made sounded far through the desolate valley. Wind-driven sand smeared the deep orange hues of the cliffsides with the red of the setting sun, like spilled paint dragged across a canvas. He had been staring at the same barren, unchanging scenery for two days now, and it was giving him a headache.
Another 3 hours of light, he thought. Maybe 4. Won't make it to the next town before dark. We need to find a place to camp.
Above him, another cascade of stones tumbled down. No longer as distant - closer, heavier, but too heavy to be Vexa. He froze like a deer in headlights, every muscle tensed, trying to figure out whether to call for her or run.
Suddenly, the brutal crack of a rifle rang out. Before the earsplitting echo could die, a blood curdling shriek tore through the dry air, rattling the loose pebbles at his feet.
"Adren! Run!" screamed Vexa, leaping over the canyon gap, closely followed by three hellhounds. One seemed wounded though, and it was just his luck that the healthy one decided that the man down below looked like he was an easier meal.
Adren cursed as he sprung toward a crack in the valley wall. Drawing his revolver, he quickly checked the cylinder and cocked it.
If you can, force them to come from one direction. It was a rule Vexa drilled into him over and over.
He dove straight into the crevice. Rolled hard. The impact rasped against his ribs. The walls were narrower than they looked. The jagged walls closed in on him, raking against his body as he tried to go deeper. He twisted back, the black-furred abomination right behind him, jaws wide, its red maw glowing from within as he felt its hot breath scorching the air around his face. He saw the flame building at the back of its throat, ready to sear him alive.
His pulse hammered. Blood roared in his ears. Adrenaline burned in his veins. Time slowed.
He carefully aimed at the beast's only eye, and fired.
The bullet tore through the beast's skull with a sickening crunch, its momentum countered by the powerful force of the bullet. Its feet failed under it, jaw still wide as it slammed into the ground, blood and fragments of bone spraying forward across the rocks. The air filled with a metallic stench as the twitching limbs finally stopped.
The gunshot deafened him instantly. This was the reason he hated fighting in tight spaces. The walls pressed the sound right against his skull, every vibration rattling his teeth. His ears rang, the sharp whistle piercing his brain, making it impossible to think as his eyesight blurred.
"I just got these clothes cleaned...", he muttered, waiting for the ringing in his ears to subside as he tried to clean off some of the wolf's blood from his grey overcoat. It smelt of copper and a cloying sweetness, beneath which lingered the stench of rot. Fantastic.
The gaping hole in the wolf's head did make him feel slightly more at ease about his stained cloak. 'It was bound to happen sometime soon anyway', he thought. Two more thundering cracks sounded above – Vexa's work – cutting off the rest of the incessant howling.
He crawled forward, drawing a combat blade from his belt and driving it into the heart of the beast, twisting it. One of the many fatal mistakes in a fight like this was assuming a shot to the head was enough.
After a moment well spent gathering his composure, he shoved the still corpse to the side and limped out of the hole. The roll absorbed most of the impact, but his hip seemed to have hit the wall during his scramble to get back from the snapping of the wolf.
"Up top! Climb here!"
Adren looked up, Vexa beckoning for him to come over.
"Just a sec!" he shouted back.
He sliced across the back of the monster, to the left of its spine – just as Vexa had taught him - and sure enough; there was the core. It was nestled deep beneath the bone in between the muscles. The corpse shuddered as he tore it out, removing the third and final life source of the monster.
The core was the size of an index finger, and just about as thick. The deep purple color shone beautifully as the sunlight refracted inside, scattering its vibrant rays across the small cave.
As the adrenaline drained from his system, the real pain hit him. His hip throbbed, the pain sharp, angry, punishing with every movement. He ignored it and started climbing up. The gunshots were like a beacon to any nearby monsters, and they needed to find proper shelter before any more unwanted visitors came.
When they reached the top, Vexa was already stripping the pelts off the wolves and retrieving the cores. Unlike him, she appeared completely fine. Of course she was fine. You would need more than a few hellhounds to even graze her.
Vexa smacked the back of his head, letting out a sigh. "1 hour? 1 hour!? That blood was barely 15 minutes old!" She clicked her tongue. "Doubled back and ambushed us. Bloody bastards."
Adren took out his worn notebook and started jotting something down. Before he could finish, his pen died. He pursed his lips, careful not to unleash excessive profanity in front of his teacher.
"There are some dune mountains 2 hours from here," she said, "let's go there for the night."
"I guess the day can only get better from here." He muttered sarcastically as he put his notebook back into his tattered bag.
"Last time you said that, we almost lost a leg. My leg."
He groaned at the painful memory. He really had said the same thing a month earlier – after that he wound up being exfilled from a den of blood-sucking ants. Ants the size of dogs, to be specific.
Vexa chucked him a glass vial, about half full of greenish liquid.
"For the hip," she said. "Save some until we get to Anzima. That's the last bottle."
Nodding, he popped off the cork and took a gulp of the bitter concoction. It was like drinking thorns that burned as they went down, but he had drunk enough over the past years so that it barely tingled now. Though the bitter taste was not something anyone could get used to.
The pain subsided almost immediately, cooling from a sharp, blade-like pain to a dull ache. From experience, he knew in a few hours the pain would be completely gone. As bad as it tasted, he couldn't deny the healing factor of Vexa's alchemy.
The trek was quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional howl of wind as it whistled through the cracks in the boulders. By the time they reached the ridges of the dune mountains, the hot, gritty air turned cold, sand clung to his boots and shadows now stretched across the valley. The sunset barely visible, its former red now a deep violet.
They carefully picked their way along the rough ridge until Vexa abruptly stopped and pointed toward a narrow crack in the wall.
"We will stay there. Start gathering some fire starter; I'll get the wood."
Glancing around, he saw some dried bush further ahead and quickly shuffled along towards it. The cold air was sapping the last of the day's heat from his worn body and he just wanted to get some food and rest.
When he gathered enough, he returned to the crack Vexa had shown him. It opened wide inside, dry and sheltered from the wind. Placing down his bundle of branches, he took a few and placed them in the middle of the cave. He then he took out a small scroll, drew a rune on it, and placing it onto the branches, dropped some fragments of an old salamander scale onto it.
It burst into flames, instantly warming him. He quickly added some more branches just as Vexa arrived carrying some logs.
"What's for supper?", he asked, hoping for at least something with meat.
"Finish your jerky." She replied, settling down across him as she pulled out her knife, then started sharpening it against a stone with slow, deliberate strokes.
"We will reach Anzima by midday tomorrow, restock, sell the crystals and eat some good food."
That was reassuring, he thought. The sound of good, warm food did sound extremely appealing, especially after what they'd endured over the past 3 days.
The fire crackled and grew as the light danced along the rough walls, painting them gold and orange.
As he leaned against the wall, he let his muscles relax, allowing the warmth of the flame to settle onto his tired bones. For the first time that day, he felt at peace. Tomorrow, they would reach a town. With good food and a proper bed – perhaps even with sheets that weren't sandpaper.
He chuckled quietly to himself… a man of noble bloodline wishing for cotton sheets.
As the fire crackled quietly beside him, he closed his eyes, imagining a pillow not made of rock, and finally drifted off into sleep.
END OF CHAPTER ONE.