Ingren kept her expression blank. “Yes, bondmate.”
Ungar tossed his head and turned away from her, no doubt thinking of the glory that awaited him. As they continued their journey, Ingren noticed a gradual change in the sky, a lightening from deep red to a softer shade of pink. A patch of blue appeared above the horizon.
“At last,” Ungar grunted. “We are nearly through.”
The tension in Ingren’s body eased. She examined the landscape and noticed more color in the terrain. Looking again at the sky, she saw more blue appear through the crimson haze.
Ingren had conducted research in preparation for this quest. She and Ungar carried with them a map of the wasteland. They had planned Ungar’s hunt, and careful surveillance told them where they would find prey for him to track down. They had chosen to initiate their journey at this time in order to intercept a particular group of humans traveling close to the barrier.
Ungar was right. They had completed their crossing, which meant the hunt would now begin in earnest.
Ingren also knew that the barrier of superheated air had a different name among the inhabitants of the wasteland.
They called it the firewall.
Ingren helped Ungar out of his suit before she wriggled out of her own. She took an uncertain breath of unfiltered air, and then a deeper breath when she discovered that it was hot, but perfectly acceptable. It felt liberating to be free of the suit’s embrace, and Ungar was pacing back and forth, obviously pleased. Ingren wrapped up the two suits and put them into her pack. She then took her first proper look at the wasteland.
It was a dry land, brown rather than green, with the occasional skeletal tree a rare sight. The idea of open water was unthinkable. Dirt and rock were the defining features of the terrain. The same animals lived here as those Ingren had grown up with, but the range of species was far narrower than outside. She saw raptors wheeling in the sky and watched as a rock lizard chased a stinger beetle. A few tall fronds of pink razorgrass fluttered in the breeze. Spiky cactuses dotted the area, limbs awkwardly bent in a variety of poses.
“We are here,” Ungar said with pride in his voice, as he moved his gaze to take it all in. He turned to Ingren. “What an adventure we will have.”
Out of his suit, he now looked like a creature of the wasteland himself. He wore a traditional costume, brown in color, tied with leather cord at the waist and torso. Tiny green beads of aurelium decorated his costume’s collar; no bonded would be without protection against mystics. An angular black symbol on Ungar’s breast displayed his rank of sub-marshal. His high leather boots were antiquated, as old-fashioned as the curved knife at his waist. He still brandished his long ceremonial spear.
Ungar’s head moved from side to side as his gaze alighted on one thing and then another. The curling horns on either side of his crown were as red as his eyes. A flat face and sweeping brow ridges gave him a look of haughtiness, while his skin was the same color as the rocks littering the terrain. His mouth was parted, displaying several rows of sharp, yellowed teeth. He was the image of a perfect warrior, and he was so eager he was almost smiling.
Ingren’s clothing was plain; she was no hunter and, in truth, this wasn’t her quest. Her long gray robe, belted at the waist, complemented the wasteland in that it was drab rather than colorful. Her pale yellow horns were short and pointed. She was completely unarmed; as an advisor, she could never contemplate violence, even to save her own life. She carried all of their provisions in a pack on her back that was large enough to also store the grim trophies her bondmate planned to acquire.
“Ready?” Ungar grunted as he glanced at her. “Good. Come on.”
Ungar set off again with his long, ground-eating strides. Ingren found it easier to walk without the encumbrance of her suit, and traveled at his side as they headed farther into the barren wasteland that was so different from the home they had left behind.
It wasn’t just the savage heat and lack of greenery that made Ingren feel she had come to another world altogether. No matter what she saw, she knew she wouldn’t find any signs of advanced technology. She wouldn’t hear the buzz of machines or see the soaring heights and smooth, regular angles of the buildings that made up the city she lived in. Traveling to the wasteland meant escaping such things in order to return to a more primitive state of existence. Even the rations they had brought with them were uninteresting. Ingren already knew she would miss the food of home.
The menacing presence of the barrier fell away behind them. Ungar stayed silent, preoccupied with searching the terrain. After some time, Ingren glanced over her shoulder to see that the barrier was now just a line of reddened sky above the horizon.
She gazed ahead once more. They were approaching an escarpment, where the ground fell away in an abrupt drop. Ungar was forced to change his path, and soon they were following a long series of cliffs that loomed over the plain far below. They walked just a short distance from the edge; there were few bonded Ingren had known to be afraid of heights.
Ingren heard a piercing shriek and her eyes immediately roved to find the source. She focused on several large, winged creatures with red bodies, soaring below the escarpment.
“Did you see? Wyverns,” Ungar called back to her.
Ingren watched the wyverns circle over a section of the cliffs where they must have built their nests. She was fascinated to actually see them in the flesh. All the wyverns were long gone from the places she knew.
The cliffs curved back and forth, jagged and broken so that Ingren could peer all the way down to the bottom. She took note of a long series of caves. Tracing back up, she decided there was an area where the slope wasn’t as steep; she and Ungar should be able to make their way down.
“I think I’ve found somewhere we can store our suits.”
“Yes, yes,” Ungar grunted.
Ungar was preoccupied, walking with his head low to the ground and inhaling through his nose. Ingren decided not to distract him and kept her thoughts to herself as the two suns fell toward the horizon, the red sun chasing the golden, each vying to be the first to reach their beds on the other side of the world.
Despite Ungar’s confidence, Ingren’s worry resurfaced. This was an ancient rite of passage, and Ungar and the marshals whose number he wanted to join took it seriously. Ungar would not stop until he had his five trophies, and would insist they came from the most powerful and prominent members he could find from each of the wasteland’s five races. He had a strong sense of honor, even for a bonded warrior. Another warrior might kill the first bax or mantorean he found, but Ungar would do everything in his power to ensure his opponents were worthy of his spear.
Ungar had a particular fascination with humans. Humans weren’t as strong as trulls, but they were numerous, and tended to specialize. Ungar had become excited when his surveillance discovered the humans traveling in this area. One in particular was a strong specimen: tall and athletic, with bristling brown hair, a square jaw, and a steel sword worn at his waist.
Ingren knew from her research that a steel sword would be rare and valuable in the wasteland, undoubtedly a weapon to be fought over. If the tall human carried a steel blade, rather than wood or bone, he must be a capable fighter. Almost certainly, he would be skilled in the art of combat.
“Wait,” Ungar said sharply. He continued to sweep the ground, moving his neck from side to side while he sniffed. His face was low as he took a deep breath through his nose. “I smell something. This way.”