The gold stretched away, rising like a tide.

  There was no mistaking the distinctive tint of yellow. All the same, Isaac found himself comparing it to every shade of the color he’d seen before. The hue was more vibrant than sunlight. The color was not quite as pure as mustard seed, having just a hint of orange in the brilliance. Pyrite—fool’s gold—had a much sharper glint when it caught the light. The sea of coin in front of him did not sparkle. Instead, the light wrapped around the metal like a piece of lingerie, soft and seductive, as if beckoning the eye.

  Lemon. Honey. Flaxseed. Chamomile. Every comparison fell short. There was no equal. This was gold.

  It was not all in coin, though there was certainly plenty of that. There were golden rings studded with gems. There were swords with golden pommels and glimmering cross guards. There were entire piles of golden jewelry—necklaces, bracelets, cuff links, brooches, earrings, and medallions. There were golden tiaras and coronets whose ornaments were capped with garnets and emeralds and amethysts. There were towering stacks of furniture that had been inlaid with the lustrous metal—wardrobes, bathtubs, royal bed frames, coffers and thrones and tapestries.

  Zaria’s eye reflected the golden light. The teeth of her grin did the same. “Callin’ it now. I’m the best pirate there ever was.”

  With his eyes adjusting to the dim torchlight, Isaac was beginning to see the end of the chamber. The room was square, a quarter mile in width and length, and the teeming wealth seemed to cover most of its area. It would’ve taken him weeks to count it by hand. A fleet of sandships would struggle to stay buoyant with such a bounty in their holds. It was more coinage than all the mints of the region could produce in a decade.

  “Isaac.”

  On the floor, or what little of it he could see, there were murals adorning the concrete, the colorful paints dull and faded with time. He could see figures hauling coin and jewelry to the feet of colossal figures, giants in bulky suits with striped flags and helmets made of glass. The gods casted a swarm of flies down on the worshippers. They burrowed beneath the skin, and wings grew from the worshipper’s backs, great plumages made of feathers and wax and gold, and the wings would carry the faithful high into the air, up towards the stars—

  “Isaac. Look here a moment.”

  Zaria stepped in front of him. A glimmer of gold outlined her form. He could see it on the cutlass in her hand, shining over fur and leather. “Quite a sight, huh?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s all you got to say?”

  “Do I need to say something?”

  “A sea of gold deserves some awe, don’t you think?”

  “Excuse me if I don’t break out into song.”

  “Look,” she said. “I know we said all them things about saving the world, and being righteous, and what not. I’m glad we did. I like stopping evil cunts from raising giant monsters as much as the next lass.”

  He remembered blood flowing over black robes. Blue eyes.

  “But this. . . .” She waved in both directions, and, each time, her hand gestured over a different sea of gold. “This is pretty big, is it not?”

  “Sure.”

  “For fuck’s sake, where’s all them fancy words of yours? Surely you’ve got one.”

  “Repugnant,” Isaac said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means a lot of people died to make this treasure.”

  “No different than usual, then.”

  He scratched the sutures on his arm.

  “Look,” she said. “It’s a crying shame, is what it is. It’s a stupid pile of metal that’s just gonna fall in the hands of your wizard masters. They didn’t get their titan, aye, but they’re still getting rich beyond measure. We went through all the trouble, and now we gotta let our payment lie ‘cause it’s too much to haul by hand.”

  Isaac let his vision roam over the coins. There were many currencies. Faces and sigils, engravings and flags. Long dead monarchs.

  “But,” Zaria said, “here’s the thing. Gold is heavy. It’s heavier than steel is at the same size. It’s got more—what do you call it—thickness to it, I suppose.”

  “Density.”

  “They’re heavy, love. Speaking from experience here. Coin purses feel like rocks in your pack. You hear all them pirate tales of men dying in the desert ‘cause they wouldn’t drop their shiny pebbles. That’ll be us, if we try the same.”

  “Make your point, please.”

  She gestured out to the hoard. “I’m countin’ a lot of gems out there. Diamonds. Sapphires. Rubies the size of your cockhead. Some types of crystals I don’t even got names for. Now, gems often got more thickness than gold, but they’re worth more. Value for weight, if you get my meaning.”

  Isaac shifted on his feet.

  “I’m thinking,” Zaria said, “that we pinch as much of them crystals as possible. Go at it until we’re spilling rainbows with every step. Then, once we climb from this tomb, and abscond through the desert, I can ply my trade as a thief to get us in contact with fences and the like. Turn it back into proper richness.”

  Isaac looked around the room, trying to grasp the full scope of the wealth in front of him. He used all the known empirical weights, made estimates and calculations. His mind struggled with the math.

  “We’re gonna need that coin, love. Both of us have got manhunts comin’ our way, and the only way we’re surviving them is fleeing as fast as possible. That means horses, carriages, passage on ships. That means bribe money, especially, not to mention all the food and water.” She shrugged. “And don’t tell me it won’t feel a little nice, carving off some of that ill-gotten wealth from the claws of your wizards. They’ll notice what you done, and it’ll just be more piss in their porridge, I’m sure of it.”

  Isaac let his gaze fall on a bed frame made of marble, its every post glimmering with gems. After a moment, he said: “Sure.”

  Zaria leaned down into his vision. “That’s fine, then?”

  “Were you waiting on my permission?”

  “I think you’ve earned a say on the matter.”

  “It seems your mind is made, already.”

  “Well, my squire is not the most worldly sort, but he’s got the right spirit. Just needs a guiding hand, at times.”

  With a grunt, and a growing sense of pain, Isaac shrugged off his pack and held it out to her.

  She didn’t take it. “Not gonna help me?”

  He raised his other arm, still in the sling.

  “Right,” Zaria said, as if suddenly embarrassed. She took his pack. “Course. Never you worry. I’m well-versed in prowling through cargo.”

  He made to leave through the concrete doorway, but she grabbed his arm.

  “Hey.”

  Isaac didn’t look back. His wounds were beginning to ache. The numbness was subsiding. The pain seemed to come from everywhere, all at once.

  She squeezed his arm. “You don’t wanna look around a bit?”

  “Why would I?” He grunted, shifting his weight. “Not like we’re taking most of it.”

  “Aye, no, but. . . .” When he looked back, she was gesturing. There was no lack of things to gesture at. “This is historical, love. I mean, biggest treasure pile there ever was, and by quite a margin. There’s jewels and swords and thrones and probably anything else you could imagine. I’m liable to go swimming in it.”

  “It’s not a liquid.”

  “And that’s not the point. You and I are never gonna see anything like this again. No one will. It’s once in a lifetime.”

  He gazed around the room. The walls often vanished beneath mounds of coin and royal furniture. There was nowhere in the vast chamber that his eye could rest which was not tinged with the distinctive luster. Wherever he looked, his vision was swallowed by gold.

  “I realize—” She cleared her throat. “I mean, don’t you want to just . . . savor it a bit?”

  “No,” Isaac said, “I don’t.”

  She looked down at his pack, then back at him.

  “I’ll be outside,” he said, and walked through the door.

  He climbed back up the stairs, limping at every step. The air was suffocating. The walls were pressing in. He needed to breathe.

  But, before he could enter the sorceress’ chamber, he saw a side room in the hallway. Gold glimmered from the doorway. Despite himself, he poked his head inside.

  The room was small and littered with tools. It had been a workshop of some kind—there was a metal bench, scarred with soldering lines, and most of the shelves were covered in dissected machinery. He saw wires, receivers, pieces of hull that resembled the metal ships out in the ossein canopy.

  On the workbench, there was a thin sheet of metal. It was green and highly corrugated—Isaac had a basic knowledge of voltaics, and he recognized certain sections as channel gates, heat sinks, slots and channels and sockets. There were metal wires wrapping around it all, no bigger than capillaries. Whatever it was, the green metal sheet seemed like some highly advanced device for channeling electricity. He could not say what its purpose had been. A switchboard, maybe.

  There were flakes of gold next to the metal sheet. Judging by the welding tools hung on the wall, and some black residue left on the switchboard, it appeared as if the sorceress had been attempting to wire the sheet with gold. From his studies, he knew the lustrous metal was exceptionally good at transmitting electricity.

  But the tools were rusty, and the room was covered in dust, and there were dozens of other green metal sheets, broken and cracked and tossed into corners, and it did not appear as if anyone had worked here in centuries. Whatever goal had been attempted in this room, it had long since been abandoned.

  Isaac was growing sick. He needed to leave. He needed fresh air.

  He entered the sorceress’ chamber through a veil of dust. He walked through the laboratory, desperate for sunlight. But, when he made it to the open doorway, he looked behind him, and he saw the empty device again, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not tear his vision away from it.

  It was just an empty cylinder, sitting in a dark and dusty corner. There was no light. There was no power. There was nothing but metal.

  He remembered the click of the button. Light spilling out. Tendrils and dust, reaching for him.

  Standing in the doorway, he made a sound that no one heard.

  He limped along the side of the building until he was facing the center of the cavern. He pressed his back to the wall and lowered himself to the ground. He tried to breathe until it felt like he wasn’t suffocating. The air was motionless. It felt as dead as the bones.

  After a while, Zaria emerged from the doorway. She handed him his pack. It had been nearly empty before—now, it was heavy and bulging.

  “Too much?” she asked.

  He slung it over his shoulders and began to walk towards the necropolis.

  “Isaac.”

  He kept walking. After a moment, she followed.

  He didn’t look back again.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The final straw was a clod of dirt.

  They had been walking for nearly an hour, or long enough for the sunlight to slant further down the rocky ceiling, and they had managed to traverse half the length of the cavern. The ruins of the necropolis were steadily growing larger. His mind was filled with the dried blood on his limbs, the bulging gems at his back, the steady cycle of his limping walk. For a while, he had managed not to think of anything else.

  Then his boot landed on a nub of dirt, no bigger than a dice, and he slipped when he leaned his weight on it. He barely managed to brace himself. His elbows scraped on the concrete. His leg screamed in pain.

  And that was it. He had reached his limit. He was going to die on this barren stretch of concrete. A single fall had killed him as surely as someone slitting his throat.

  Zaria paused, giving him time to stand. When he didn’t, she said: “Come on, love. Get up.”

  He rested his cheek on the cement. Sand blew away with every breath.

  “Get up,” she said. “We’re camping by the wreckage. Still a ways to go.”

  “I’m done.”

  “Come again?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Isaac.” Her feet crunched the sand as she stood over him. “Get up.”

  “No. I’m done.” With great effort, he flipped himself onto his back. The cavern ceiling was turning red with the coming dusk. “That’s it. I’m done. I’m just. . . .” He tried to think of something to better to say. Nothing came. There was no other way to put it. “I’m done.”

  “No, you’re not,” Zaria said. “Get up.”

  He didn’t move. Not even the worst of his training sessions had left him this tired. He barely felt able to breathe.

  “Squire, I’ll bloody well carry you if I have to.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “What’s your plan, exactly?”

  He gazed up at the remnants of the rocky ceiling. The sun was waning. The air was growing cold.

  There was no plan. Not anymore.

  “Fine,” she said, slinging off her pack. “We’ll stay here, then.”

  “Z. Please. Just go.”

  She began digging through her pack, unfurling her bedroll and retrieving the rations.

  “Just leave me here,” Isaac said. “You can still—”

  “Shut up. I’ll allow—”

  “Zaria—”

  “I’ll allow that you’re beaten to shite. I am too, as it happens. We’ll camp here, exposure notwithstanding, and you’ll get up come the dawn, and I’ll forgive you for speaking such nonsense.”

  She began to set up camp. He laid on the concrete, covered in sand and filthy clothes. He felt as if there was a hole in his chest, and the emptiness was gnawing its way through him, and whatever life he had left was draining away, like blood from an open wound.

  “Isaac. Can I show you something?”

  He didn’t answer. It was only when she nudged his shoulder that he turned his head.

  She was sitting beneath a tent, making another broth with his stone mortar. This time, in addition to water and salt meat, she was breaking off clods of hardtack and stirring them into the bowl.

  “Have to apologize,” Zaria said. “This whole journey of ours, I’ve been watching you go at the hardtack like chewing through a brick wall. A flat tooth like you would crack his pearls that way.” She kept stirring the soup with a finger. “You gotta let it soak a while. Gets it soggy. Not good, mind, but better than masonry.”

  Isaac watched the meat and hardtack float in the bowl, like it was something far away and of no concern to him.

  She scooted a little closer. “Ponder that, for a bit. You take this nasty stuff—something hard and tough—and you do a little work, make a few changes, and, suddenly, it’s not so bad. Almost good, even.” When he didn’t respond, she added: “It’s like one of them metal forks.”

  He blinked. “A what?”

  “Metal forks. Like, say, in a book. Know you’re good with those.”

  “. . . a metaphor?”

  “Aye. That’s what I said.”

  “That is not at all what you said.”

  “I’m not seeing the difference.”

  “Oh, yes, what is the difference between a figure of speech and a dining instrument? It’s a riddle for the ages.”

  “Well, maybe you should stop beating your cock to ink stains and glowing circles. Might help your thinkin’ some.”

  “And maybe you should try beating yourself with a couple tomes, just so the knowledge might get absorbed by sheer osmosis.”

  “Now you’re just making up words.”

  “Osmosis is exactly why that bread gets soggy, you stupid—”

  He paused. She was failing to hide her grin.

  “Oh. Very funny.”

  “Had you going there.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Quite well, I’d say.”

  “Your illiteracy does leave me appalled, at times.”

  “You get my meaning, though?” She stirred the broth, bouncing the meat and bread. “Making the best of bad situations?”

  “Oh, yes. Your metaphor was quite profound.”

  “Glad to hear it. A born wordsmith, I am.”

  She handed him the stew. He stared down at the thin offerings. There was a ravenous hunger inside of him, but, at the same time, the feeling was distant and dull, and the thought of eating anymore of their dry, flavorless rations made him nauseous.

  He missed the meals he would have after the training sessions. There would always be bread, sometimes hot from the oven, and stews made with barley and onion and pork, entire plates full of olives and peas, mashed potatoes thick with butter, boiled eggs coated in salt, bowls of figs and strawberries and—

  “Isaac.”

  He took his gaze off the stew.

  “We got some hard climbing ahead,” Zaria said. “Gonna take us a day or two to get out this pit. You’ll need to stuff your gullet as much as possible.”

  The bowl was cold. He knew the meat would be leathery. The bread would still be hard in the center.

  He was close to sobbing again.

  “Hey.” She leaned in. “Please.”

  He looked at her, looked down at the bowl, and slowly began to drink.

  Soon, the sun was gone, and they could glimpse the stars through the cracks in the rocky ceiling. At night, the ships inside the ossein canopy took on a sinister appearance, like the thickets of a forest teaming with wild beasts. The air was growing cold with frightening speed. Isaac knew from experience how chilly the desert could be, and the depths of the cavern would only worsen the drop in temperature.

  “Best we double up,” Zaria said, beckoning him from her tent. “Share the warmth.”

  Isaac hadn’t bothered setting his own tent. He was too weak, and there was no point. Instead, he continued to lie on the concrete, feeling the chill creep in through his tattered robes.

  He wished she had left him behind. It would’ve been easier.

  “I’m not lettin’ you sleep in the cold. Get over here.”

  With a sigh, and no lack of shivering, he shrugged off his pack and crawled into her tent. Her bedroll was only designed for one person, and she was more than adequately filling it out, but he managed to squeeze himself inside without tearing anything, whether that be cloth or injury.

  “No,” she said, jostling him around. “Like this. Tiniest one in front.”

  He ended up on his side, facing away from her. His head rested on her arm, her breasts spilled along his back, her legs weaved between his own, and she rested her snout on top of his head, letting the fur on her neck and chest cover him like a blanket. There was a clattering of gems as she fluffed her pack like a pillow.

  “Good?” she asked, shifting. “Any complaints?”

  “You smell like a jockstrap bathed in entrails.”

  “What, and you’re all flowers? Some cherub dipped in lavender?” She shifted again. “We’re both suffering, believe me.”

  As he rested his cheek on her arm, he realized that he didn’t mind her scent anymore. Nothing about it had changed. It was still the same heady musk he had been subjected to for several days. But, now, it made him think of the night they’d shared in the bathhouse. It made him think of her.

  He shouldn’t have crawled into her tent. He didn’t know why he was doing this.

  “Z. I’m not going.”

  He felt her heart begin to quicken.

  “Just leave me here,” Isaac said. “I’m done. You should—” He swallowed a knot in his throat. “You should go. Without me.”

  “Shut up, squire. Go to sleep.”

  “You need to go. Our deal is finished.”

  She snorted. He felt it across his body. “Oh, that deal? The one I made with a dagger at your neck?”

  “Yes,” Isaac said. “You’ve got your treasure. That’s what you—”

  “Go fuck yourself, you sodding ape. I’ll not take that insult from you.”

  “Zaria—”

  “Like I’m still some cutpurse sniffin’ for coin. Like I haven’t risked life and limb—” Her breath came as a growl. “Is that still how you see me?”

  “No. I mean, no, I just—you have the chance to—”

  “Isaac,” she said. “If you’re not going, then I’m not either.”

  “No, no, please, I’m just. . . .” He struggled to speak. “I’m trying to save you.”

  “Save me? How’s that, exactly? Is leaving me at the mercy of the desert some noble deed to you? What happens when I get run down by a pirate ship?”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “I—”

  “I still need your magic hands, ya daft cunt. If I don’t got them, then I’ll have my innards pulled out for show, and I’ll take any bloody fate other than that. Entire reason I came down here, if you care to remember. So, if you’re staying, then I am as well.”

  The knot in his throat grew sharper. “Please. I’ve lost too much blood. I can’t make the climb. I can’t cast. I’m just dead weight.”

  “We’ve got plenty of rope. I’ll help, you’ll manage it, and, by the time we’re clear, you’ll be sneezing fireballs again, same as always.”

  “I don’t know how to sell these gems. I’ve never been to a city, never lived off the land. Never done anything that could help us get away.”

  “Good thing you got me, then. Maybe you’ll like being an outlaw.”

  “I can’t do it. I can’t. I’m. . . .” He rubbed his cheek against the fur of her arm. “I’m scared.”

  Her snout shifted through his hair.

  “I’m scared.” He could barely form the words. “I’ve never known anything but this. It’s all I’ve done. All I was meant for. I—”

  “Isaac—”

  “The Diet has trained assassins, people who specialize in hunting down rogue mages. They’ll find me, they find everyone that tries to run, and if we don’t separate—”

  “Hey, hey—”

  “I can’t. I don’t know anything. I’m just a burden. I’ve always been a burden. I—I can’t. I don’t know. I don’t know—”

  “Isaac.”

  He felt her shift at his back. She wrapped her arm around his side and tucked him tight against her chest.

  “I was scared, too,” she said. “I got tortured for days. Almost executed. Then, I was dashing off towards a tomb that I’d always been told was full of blackness and evil, and then there were bone monsters, my old crew, an army of mages, a fucking titan rising out the ground, and the only thing I had by my side was this young mage who had all the means and motive to want me dead.”

  She trailed a finger down his chest.

  “But you know what? I made it through. You had every chance in the world to leave me behind or kill me off or do anything that most men would do in your situation, but you never did. Except for that one time, but you meant well, even then. The only reason I’m still drawing breath is ‘cause you decided to help, and don’t you think I’ll ever forget that.”

  Outside, the air was cold. Their bedroll was thin, and the concrete was hard. But her body was covering his, and she was soft and warm, and it felt like it would be enough.

  “That favor’s gonna be returned. One debt to another. And if one good fucking thing’s gonna happen here, it’s that you are gonna live a long life, far away from this place.”

  Her snout pressed against his ear.

  “I’m not letting this tomb be the end of you. Count on that.”

  He blinked through the tears. Slowly, taking care not to rip any wounds, he grabbed her hand and squeezed. She squeezed back. Her muzzle rested on his head again, and their hearts returned to a steady rhythm.

  The stars grew brighter. Despite his exhaustion, he found himself unable to sleep, replaying the events of the day over and over in his mind. Each moment seemed to cut worse than the knives.

  Eventually, Zaria began to snore. He listened to the sound, feeling each breath at his back. Every night that he had known her, he had fallen asleep to the sound of her snoring. The first night, it had been irritating. The second, he had hardly noticed. The third time, in the bathhouse, he had found it relaxing.

  Now, as the air grew cold and the ossein canopy glimmered a pale white under the stars, he found it comforting, the same way one might find comfort in the crackle of a torch while journeying through the dark.

  He fell into a dreamless sleep, still holding her hand.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  “It won’t work.”

  “It’s gonna.”

  “It hasn’t the last dozen times you’ve said that.”

  “How much you wanna bet?”

  Isaac gazed up at the shattered skull. A day ago, it had been a house. Now, it was a few fragments of stone jutting out from beneath a boulder, close to fifty feet above their heads. One of the white slivers was sticking out like a broken limb.

  “Come on,” Zaria said, swinging the rope like a lasso. “What’s your wager?”

  Isaac rolled his eyes. “Five sapphires.”

  “Five? Goin’ cheap on me?”

  “I’m helping you be graceful in defeat.”

  She swung the bowline high into the air. The loop missed the broken bone by a couple feet, landing on a collection of loose scree. A shower of rock followed the rope as she tugged it back. She growled, swiped some pebbles from her fur, and began to swing the knot again, glaring at the stone that used to be a house.

  They had been climbing for hours, making their way through the jagged, open valley where the colossus had once rested. Isaac judged that they were about where the abdomen had been. He could see waterfalls of ground water pouring from the rocky cliffsides. Beneath the sand, there were shards of furniture, broken walls, signposts and window frames, an entire street’s worth of fingers scattered like gravel. Stone dust was thick in the air, constantly spreading through the cracks and gaps as the wreckage continued to settle. If there was anything left of the necropolis, it was either buried under tons of rock, or shattered down into powder.

  So far, the majority of the climb had required them to scramble up boulder faces, leap across slot canyons, and crawl through the gaps of the rocks when they could not ascend. Now, they were faced with a large stack of boulders crushing a residential neighborhood of skulls. Neither of them saw anyway around that wasn’t unstable and treacherous. They had to climb.

  “I’m raising the wager,” Zaria said. “Seven opals, four onyxes.”

  “This is a stupid game.”

  “Is that cowardice I’m hearing?”

  She swung the rope again. This time, the loop hit the underside of the broken bone. It bounced back harmlessly. She retied the knot, flexing her bandaged hand.

  “It’s not going to work,” Isaac said.

  She swung once more. The broken bone was missed again, but the rope managed to rest on the jagged suture of a parietal plate. When she tugged on it, the stone came loose, and a massive bony slab came spilling from the rock. She just barely avoided the impact. When both of them had finished coughing from the dust, Zaria clambered over the broken stone and prepared to swing.

  “It’s not going to work. We should go back. There was a hillside—”

  “It’s scree. It’d be an avalanche before long.”

  She threw the rope. She missed.

  Isaac pointed to their left. “We could try to climb along the columns—”

  “Not sturdy enough.”

  He pointed to the right. “That boulder is craggy—”

  “Needs two hands.” She swung, missed, and growled. “Why am I slingin’ the knot? You’re the one that’s got two bloody eyes.”

  “I thought my knight was strong and gallant?”

  “Aye, but her squire is shirking his duties.”

  “Fine. Let me see your leather. I’ll shine it with spit.”

  Zaria twirled the rope until it blurred, bending her ears flat, and, with a great heave, hurled the loop towards the promontory. It missed. The ruins of the necropolis echoed with a loud “fuck!”

  “It’s not going to work.”

  She growled as she retied the rope. She flung it hastily. It sailed far off-target.

  “Can we take a rest now?”

  She whirled around. “Cork it, squire! I’m sick of hearin’ you! Xotra’s cunt, you’re bleating like a babe without a teat to suck on!”

  Isaac adjusted his seat on the broken house. “Is there any way I can help?”

  She looked at him with a curling muzzle. Then, after a moment, she straightened herself, sported a grin, and sauntered over. “Aye. There’s something.”

  Isaac scooted back, suddenly nervous.

  Zaria stood over him, fondling a breast. “Give us a kiss. For luck, we’ll say.”

  “. . . what?”

  “You heard me. You want to whine like a babe, I’ll treat you like one. Kiss my tit.”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  “Seemed rather happy to, before.”

  “Don’t people kiss on the mouth, usually?”

  “My face ain’t flat like yours, and I only got one set of lips. If you’d rather kiss them instead—”

  “I’m not kissing you at all!”

  She leaned over him, cupping her breast towards his face.

  “Zaria!”

  “Kiss ‘em, squire. I need some luck.”

  “The rope!”

  “Hm?”

  “The rope! Throw the rope!”

  “Oh? That rope there?”

  “Yes!”

  “You want me to throw that rope?”

  “Yes!”

  “Want me to toss that rope up to that bony bit, there?”

  “Yes! Yes! Please, just—”

  He stopped. She leaned back and laughed. His blush was hotter than the sunburn.

  “Too easy,” Zaria said, walking away. “Hope you learned your lesson.”

  “What lesson was that, exactly?”

  She picked up the rope, looked back at him, managed to wink with one eye, and threw it into the air. The loop caught on the broken bone. She tugged the length a few times, testing the strength. Nothing seemed to come loose.

  “Shoulda learned not to doubt me.” She shrugged off her pack and tossed it next to him. “I’ll be taking them gems now.”

  Reluctantly, Isaac dug through his pack, burying a hand through the rainbow of precious stones. Zaria dragged the hanging rope line over to the face of a boulder. With one hand, she placed a foot against the craggy face, lifting herself off the ground. She had found a system of climbing one-handed that involved using her teeth and hugging the rope to her side. The rope burns were accumulating fast, and it was incredibly nerve-wracking to watch, but she was making it work. Isaac was certainly in no condition to do any better.

  “Right,” she said. “She’s sturdy enough. I’ll make a winch for you, same as usual.”

  “Hey.”

  She looked his way.

  Isaac was already moving towards her. Before he could lose his nerve, he cupped her breast, raised it to his lips, and gave the nipple a gentle kiss. The look of surprise she gave him made his blush burn all the hotter.

  “I was just pullin’ your tail, love.”

  “Please be careful.”

  She tried to clamp down on her grin. “Nothin’ to it. Count my gems nice and proper, would you?”

  Isaac nodded stiffly. She began to climb.

  He watched her ascend towards the broken house, using the loose stack of boulders as footholds. All her muscles were clearly outlined through the fur. The climb was awkward and perilous, but, even still, she was making fast progress. So far today, her strength had never ceased to impress him.

  Isaac looked back at the cavern. Down past the sloping wreckage, the ossein canopy stretched out over a blanket of concrete, studded with boulders and great furrows of claw marks. Colossal bones littered the floor like rifts of snow across a mountainside. He could see the pyramid in the center of the destruction. He couldn’t see what remained on top of it, but his mind was filling the gaps.

  Rotting. Baking in the sun. Loose robes and blood.

  He could hear his voice again. Shouting orders, negotiating, begging. The look in his eyes when the blade—

  “Isaac.”

  He tore his gaze away. Zaria was resting her feet on the protruding face of a boulder, leaning her body out over a twenty foot drop. “Keep counting the gems.”

  He opened his palm, full of blue and black and purple. “They’re right here.” He let them fall into the open mouth of her pack. “Done.”

  “Great. Keep an eye above, then. Let me know if something’s comin’ loose.”

  “I can’t exactly catch you if it does.”

  “Just give me a warning, would you?”

  “I don’t see how—”

  “Isaac,” Zaria said. “Eyes up here. Not down there.”

  He blinked several times. “Right. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just do it. Alright?”

  He nodded. She resumed the climb.

  He kept his gaze focused. Even when his mind would wander, and something sharp would sink through his chest, he always managed to keep his vision on her and the climb ahead.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  He dangled his feet off the edge, watching the pebbles bounce and fall.

  The sun was creeping towards the horizon. All day, it had been a constant enemy—the glare stabbing his eyes, the heat burning his skin. His robes, already tattered and stiff with blood, were growing lines of salt where the sweat had soaked through. He was not sorry to see it go.

  Still, the sunset was beautiful. There was a distant storm off to the west, and the clouds were shining orange at the edges. A rainbow stretched between the hanging curtains of rain. On the other side of the cavern, he was beginning to see the dunes, and they ringed the top of the wall like the curving crenellations of a castle, soaking in the dying light. From where he was sitting on the wreckage, the distances were vast and awe-inspiring. He had never gained a better appreciation for how large the world truly was.

  All the same, he had to keep looking at the pebbles. If he watched the sunset, he would find himself thinking of all the ones he had seen from his bedroom window, and then his thoughts would spiral into shouts and pain and fear, blood on a sword, the wet gasping breaths—

  He kept kicking the pebbles. His thoughts felt much the same as them—ready to fall at the slightest push.

  Zaria sat down next to him. The pads of her good hand were seared with rope burns, and she had been struggling to build the lean-to where they would shelter for the night. She rubbed the herbal remedies he had packed between the burns, clearly dissatisfied with their healing.

  “Runnin’ low on rations,” she said, gnawing on a cut of salt meat. “Gonna be out long before we hit a proper town. We’ll make it, but it’s gonna get lean. Very lean.”

  Isaac didn’t answer. He kicked his feet against the pebbles.

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Fine.”

  “Workin’?”

  He shrugged. The sling dug into his shoulder.

  “Don’t mean to put you out,” she said, “but we’ll need them spells soon enough.”

  His wounds were healing at a rapid pace. The poultice had already turned the deep stabs into tight crevices. Only the burn on his leg was still troubling him. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Good. Good.”

  The sun continued to fall. Around them, the shadows were stretching faster and faster.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  He tore his gaze off the city wreckage. She was watching him with no particular expression, save for the gentle twitch of an ear.

  “It’s hard to describe.”

  “Try it.”

  He looked out over the tomb. The words had to be extracted.

  “I’ve thought of killing my uncle before. Many times. It wasn’t always idle fantasy. I’d be lying in bed, nursing the wounds, and I’d think of plans, imagine scenarios, try to guess how far I could make it before the Diet or some local soldiers hunted me down.” He swallowed. “Never did it. I was too scared, as always. I found it easier to convince myself to go along with everything. Do my duty. Hope for the future.

  “But then I’d start thinking about my father, and I’d hate him just as much as my uncle. I’d wish he was dead. I’d wish the sorceress would kill him already. I’d imagine how happy I would be if I was told that he was gone forever, and I’d never have to train again.”

  He watched the sun crest through the dunes. “I was going to go back there. To the tower. After the chapel. . . .” He blinked. “After I met you, I thought I’d finally worked up the courage to confront my uncle. I was going to bring my father back to my home, and I’d tell Berith that I was leaving, and I’d never be coming back, and I hoped he’d be happy with his brother, because he had certainly never been happy with me.”

  He rubbed the sutures on his arm.

  “Then I saw him down here. And it just . . . it happened so fast, there wasn’t time to think, I made a decision, and—” He kicked the pebbles. “And now that he’s dead, I can’t stop thinking about what I could’ve done differently. Down here, back at the tower. If I had just said something this one time, if I had been a little more grateful at others, if I had—”

  “Isaac,” Zaria said. “Stop. You were a child.”

  “I know.”

  “It was abuse. It was wrong.”

  “I know. I’ve always known. It’s just. . . .”

  “Let me ask. If you could go back, right now, go back to your home with everything you’ve learned about him, and he was there again, same as always, would you still confront him?”

  The answer came immediately. “Yes. I would.”

  “You’d still tell him to chew sand and fuck off?”

  He didn’t answer. He kicked the pebbles.

  “There’s hope in abuse,” Zaria said. “Hope that you’ll see that good part of them again. Hope that you can make it stop if you just act a little better. Hope that it’s all got a point, somewhere, and maybe the problem ain’t with them, but you, and maybe you do deserve it, after all, and on and on until you’re just used to the blood and tears, thinking that’s normal. With people like your uncle, hope gets you nothing but pain.”

  His gaze fell in his lap. Thunder rolled across the wreckage, bouncing through rock and shattered stone.

  “When I lost my father,” she said, “I was a crying mess. Spent days in the crate, all dark and cramped, having naught to do but starve and live it in my head, over and over. When I got taken out—well, I’m sure you can imagine how well a bunch of pirates treated some little girl crying about her daddy. I got beaten and cut until I learned to shut my mouth. Only cried at night, when the decks were dark, and no one could see. Had to weep without making a sound ‘cause I’d just be smacked bloody, otherwise.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Isaac said.

  “Only thing that saved me was the work. Sailing’s a hard trade. While under way, you’re worked at all hours—slinging rope, swabbing, all the running and heaving. Top that with raids, boarding actions, just being hungry and scared of my mates, and I had no time to stand idle and be sad about things. Always busy. Always back to the struggle.”

  Her face was outlined in the fading light. It seemed bloody and tired.

  “One day, I woke up, got sent right to work scrubbing all the piss and pus from the sick bay, and a few hours into it I realized that I hadn’t been thinking of my father at all. Not a single thought, all that morning. Longest I’d gone without doing so in months. Soon after, I was going whole days. Then, it was weeks, sometimes months, and now I just kinda do it here and there, whenever something reminds me.”

  In the distance, lightning pierced the rainbow. The clouds were black with rain.

  “That’s how it works, I think. There’s nothing sudden. Nothing that makes the world all tarts and rainbows again. You just . . . get used to it. Day after day. You keep waking up, you keep living. The faces you think you’ll never forget in all your life—well, you do. Time scabs them over. The memories fade. You move on.”

  Isaac watched the shadows grow along the shattered buildings. An ancient empire, gone forever.

  “Course, at first, your mind thrashes. Every time you wake, you never know how you’ll feel. Sometimes, you’ll be strong, and the ache in your heart seems like it’s gone away. Other times, it takes all your strength just to flop out your bunk. You’ll be going about your business, and you’ll catch a word or smell that reminds you of home, and it’ll cut right through all that armor you thought you had. Raw as the day it happened.”

  She rubbed the scar on her muzzle.

  “It’s like a tree, right? Swing an axe a couple times, but leave it standin’. It’ll bleed some sap, its leaves might wither for a season, but it’ll survive. Come back again, and it’s still got that axe wound in its side, but its sealed over now, and the thing’s still sucking earth and water, and, without looking too hard, it seems no different than the rest of the forest. It’s healthy again, even with the gash. But, no matter how large it grows, it’ll keep that wound. The tree will never forget the axe.”

  The sun had drifted below the storm. It gleamed through the rain, orange and bright.

  “You’ll get through this,” Zaria said. “You’ll move on. You’ll keep living.”

  He had to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

  “It never will, love. Not for a long time.”

  He kept looking down. He kept trying to breathe.

  She shifted next to him. There was an intake of breath. After a few moments, the words became a sigh, and she began to stand. “Sorry. I’ll leave you be.”

  “No, please,” he said. “Can you. . . .”

  Her eye blinked at him. Her face was covered in dirt and flaking blood.

  “Can you just stay here?” Isaac said. “Like this?”

  She looked pained and tired, as if all she wanted was sleep. But, after a moment, she sat back down, and they were together.

  They watched the sunset. The light crawled up the face of the dunes, bathing the sand in pinks and reds. Lightning flashed through the distant storm. The cavern below, with all its bone and concrete and rock, had long since been buried in shadow.

  Isaac remembered the day he had left his home. He had worked through Khador, thinking that it seemed so different from the streets rather than his window, and when he had reached the edge of the village, he had looked behind him, and he had seen Berith’s tower as everyone else had always seen it—a spire of stone and brick, perched over the bank of a river, seeming to impale the foothills that laid behind it. Large and imposing, like the man himself.

  Then, Isaac had turned, and he had gazed down the length of the road in front of him, and he had been amazed at the size of the world, amazed at the knowledge that his journey would take him far beyond the horizon that he saw now. All his life, he had imagined that, when he finally stood at the crossroads, he would gaze long at the tower, and he would leave it behind with a heavy heart. Instead, he had barely spared it a glance. The moment was over, and he had been glad to be away.

  After Zaria, he had imagined that he would return. He imagined that he would throw open the heavy oak of the front door, and he would greet all the servants that had served him, he would run his fingers along the fence of the yard, he would smell the musty paper of the library books, he would go to his bedroom and hear the creak of the rafters, feel the breeze drifting in through the window. He would finally speak his mind to his uncle, and, when he left again, all the memories would be closed in his heart.

  He would never see it again.

  He cried in her arms until the stars were bright.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The top of the wreckage came faster than expected.

  Zaria was scrambling up the sloping face of a boulder, managing to crawl more often than climb. She reached the top, wincing at the rope burns in her hands, and Isaac could suddenly see the morning sunlight on her fur. It seemed to startle both of them just as much. She turned to look behind her, and the shadows of her ears rose sharp on her head.

  “Xotra’s cunt!”

  Isaac wiped sweat from his face. “Already?”

  Her cackling laughter was the only response.

  She threw the rope down for him. He barely had time to find any footholds while she yanked him up. When he had reached her position, the sunlight hit his eyes. He squinted, looking through the glare.

  A few boulders remained in front of them, probably the position where the skull of the colossus had once rested, but all the slabs were nestled at such a level that they could simply be walked over. Ahead, there was a lip of sand rising from the edge of the cavern wall, leading out into long, smooth blankets that ran for miles in every direction. It curved like velvet, rising into slopes and hills. It stretched as far as he could see, and the morning sun was already climbing above it all, bathing the sand to a searing heat. The air swirled and danced.

  Zaria clapped him on the back. “What’d I tell you?”

  “Alright, fine.”

  “What’d I fucking tell you?”

  She ran and leaped across the boulders. Isaac picked his way carefully. When he reached her, she was kicking up showers of sand as she danced. Her cheers echoed through the dunes. Despite himself, the corners of his mouth began to twitch into a smile.

  With a voice that was loud, warbling, and horribly off-key, Zaria began to sing.

  “O, the winds had died, the bilge ran low

  And we had naught but sand in tow

  We had no rum, we had no stores

  We damn near got to pushin’ oars

  We’d lost our teeth, we’d burned our eyes

  And we’d seen naught but sand and skies

  The hands would cry, ‘the hull is lost!’

  And the capt would shout, ‘bugger the cost!’”

  Her voice echoed over sand. The wind carried it high. It seemed to travel across the entire length of the tomb.

  “Douse the mains, tilt the prow!

  We’ll cut her through like a bleedin’ sow!

  The ropes ain’t cut, the sails ain’t gone

  And we need naught but steel and brawn!

  So fuck the moors, and fuck the land!

  And fuck them all by the blasted sand!

  We need no prize, we need no shore

  And we damn sure got no want for more!’”

  She cupped her hands around her muzzle, just to make sure the wreckage heard her clearly.

  “Hey, hey! Away!

  We beat the sand, we beat the squall!

  And you best believe we’re standing tall!

  Hey, hey! Away!”

  Isaac cleared his throat.

  Zaria stood on the edge of the cavern, watching her words echo down through its length. After a moment, she turned back, wiping sand from her leather armor. “Sorry. Seemed appropriate.”

  “There’s no need to desecrate a grave with your singing.”

  She trudged past him, cupping her eye against the glare of the sun. “So, here’s my thinkin’. We gotta head out through them dunes, right now. Liable to burn ourselves blind in the heat, but there’s nothing for it. Gonna be tracked ‘fore long, and we need the distance. We’ll keep our three eyes peeled for an east-facing dune wall, something that’ll give us some shade to rest when the sun’s at its worst, and then we’ll start traveling by night. Should be manageable, if we’re smart with the water.”

  Isaac looked out over the canyon behind them. Not too long ago, it had been a colossal skull sticking from the sand. Now, it was a great wound in the earth, something that would soon fester with Diet expeditions—archaeologists, historians, and more guards than a royal caravan. There would be furious debate amongst the minting officials. He could only imagine the arbitrations that would be necessary to divide the treasure.

  “Let me see your map again.”

  She took it from his pack without waiting for a response.

  “Look,” Zaria said, shoving the map into his vision. “See this here?” She traced a black claw north. “That’s our route, for the time bein’. Know some old contacts up that way. Some of them I ain’t on the best of terms with, but I’ve got my natural charm, and a fountain of gems besides, so we’ll manage.”

  Isaac scratched his beard, digging out the dirt and sand.

  “Come on, then. I ain’t takin’ a second bloody look at this place, and you shouldn’t neither.”

  “Z,” Isaac said. “What do you think our odds are?”

  “Of what? Not dyin’ of thirst? Not gettin’ slaughtered by any pirate or guard wants to cross our path?”

  “More than that. Afterward. Once we get out of here, once we leave the continent—what’s our plan, then?”

  She blew a raspberry. “Fuck if I know. We’ll get it figured once the time comes. Best we stay focused on getting there at all.”

  Isaac nodded, gazing out over the tomb. After a moment, he turned to face her. “I’m serious. What do you think our odds are?”

  “Were you wanting reassurance or honesty?”

  He kept watching her.

  “Speaking plain,” Zaria said, “the odds are shite. We got pirates and wizards chasin’ us, we’re short on food and water, we got a long distance to go before I’d even think of feeling safe, and it’s all gonna be unfamiliar territory once we’re clear. If I was betting on it, it’d be an easy choice, which way to toss the coin.” She shrugged. “Then again, I’d have said the same about our odds of surviving everything down in that tomb. And we made it out of there, didn’t we?”

  “Seems that way.”

  “Standing pretty tall now, huh?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You got any reason to stick around?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Always wanted to travel the world, haven’t you?”

  He nodded, looking into her eye.

  “Then what’re we waitin’ for? It’s worth a shot, far as I can tell.”

  “It’s worth a shot? That’s it?”

  “That’s all we’re getting, love. The outlaw life is not one of safety. Best you get used to it.”

  Isaac gazed over the endless waves of sand. He breathed through the heat. “Alright.”

  “Great. Onwards.” She began to turn. “Gotta say, first bloody thing I’m doin’ once we hit town is grabbing a fat, juicy steak—”

  He hugged her. He did it hard enough that it almost made her stumble. By now, her motley strips of leather and cloth had been torn into rags, and he felt himself pressing up against warm, soft fur, more than anything else. Underneath it all, there was a solid core of muscle, something strong and firm to lean against.

  There was a quiet snort. “Don’t celebrate just yet. Still got quite some hardship ahead of us.”

  Isaac tightened the hug. He pressed his cheek against her chest, burrowing through the hairs, and, in a quiet, whispering voice, he said: “Thank you.”

  There was a slight hitch of breath. Some words were almost spoken.

  But nothing was said. After a few moments, she returned the hug. He felt himself squeezed against her larger frame, and she held him just as tightly as he was holding her. Isaac hoped the moment would never end, he hoped he would never have to let her go, he marveled at the idea that in this pirate, the same cutthroat that had taken him hostage not five days prior, he had found more warmth and care and understanding than he had ever known before, and, right then, he could not hug her as tight as his heart demanded.

  Around them, there was nothing but sand and sky. The sun was a searing heat on their backs. Their rations were low, their wounds were aching, they were tired and beaten and had miles upon miles to travel before rest could be found, and their coming life would only be fraught with danger. There would be fleets of pirate ships scouring the dunes. There would be teams of sorcerers whose sole purpose was to hunt down and assassinate rogue mages, lest they threaten the sovereignty of the Diet of Nine. There would be a constabulary at every town, there would be vicious criminals they would have to call friends, and there was no telling what kinds of lands and peoples they would meet out there in the world at large, if they managed to escape at all.

  Their future was far less than certain. They were lost. Abandoned.

  But, right then, standing above the ruins of an ancient empire, they had each other. And, despite it all, it didn’t feel as if either of them needed anything else.

  Isaac felt her breath start to hitch. When he looked up, Zaria was wiping her eye.

  “Nothin’,” she said, stepping slightly back. “Don’t mind me.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothin’. Honest. Just. . . .” She broke out into a toothy grin. “Just got my Little Lem back again. That’s all.”

  She tousled the mop of hair on his head. He knocked her hand away, and she punched him in the shoulder.

  “Shame on you. Don’t you know not to consort with a pirate?” She cleared her throat, looking down. “I’m just a no-good thief. Never had high hopes for myself. Never had any prospects other than what I could steal. Never done much good for anyone my whole life.”

  Isaac felt that his mouth was aching from smiling.

  “Glad I could be here,” Zaria said, wiping the tear from her cheek. “Glad I could do something nice for a change. I’d be glad to keep being nice, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  He looked out over the tomb. He could hear their voices again.

  His uncle, drowning in blood, fighting desperately to speak.

  You deserved. . . .

  His father, already drifting away, all the words coming through a dying machine.

  Live your life. Be happy.

  “Isaac?” He felt her step close. “You’re coming with me, right?”

  “Yes,” he said. He looked at the tomb for a moment longer, then tore his vision away, determined to never see it again. “I’d like that. I want to take the shot. I want. . . .” He felt a smile breaking through. “I want to try.”

  She adjusted the bandage on her head. “Brilliant. Let’s fucking go, then. Need to find shade before the sun gets too high.”

  “Hold on. I just have one condition, first.”

  “Oh, we’ve got demands, do we? Fine, then. Suppose I’ll allow it.”

  “You,” Isaac said, “are going to stop calling me squire.”

  “Still on this? What’s the problem, exactly?”

  “It’s demeaning. A squire’s just a servant. Someone who polishes armor and feeds the horses. I’m more than that. I could kill you, easily.”

  “You wouldn’t dare, though,” Zaria said.

  “No,” Isaac said, “but I could.”

  “Aye. Sure.”

  “Anytime I wanted to, really.”

  “Undoubtedly, squire.”

  “Then why do you keep calling me that? Is it just a joke to you?”

  “Oh, it was, at first. Just a little fun at your expense.” She looked him up and down. “Not anymore, I think. It’s taken on a better meaning.”

  “How’s that?”

  “A squire ain’t just a servant. Sure, they do all the minor trifles that a proper knight don’t got time for, but they’re more than that. They’re the knight’s protection. When the knight’s out travelling, braving the road and fighting the wickedness of the world, her squire’s the only friend she’s got. Her squire keeps the knives from her back. Her squire keeps her healed and gallant. Often times, her squire’s the only thing keeping her alive at all. I know all them stories just give glory to the one in plate and mail, but, trust me on this—a knight is nothing without her squire.”

  Isaac gave her a measured look.

  “Besides,” Zaria said, “squires are just knights in training, are they not? No shame in that. Everyone’s gotta learn somewhere. And, while the squire is aiding the knight, the knight is aiding the squire in kind. Teaching them lessons. Giving them guidance. Making sure the young novice turns into the same dashing hero that they’re servin’. One day, that squire will be strong and wise, and he’ll have his knight to thank for it.”

  Isaac shook his head, looking away.

  She stepped forward, towering over him. “You’re my squire.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She pressed a finger to his chest. “You’re my squire.”

  He still didn’t answer.

  “We’re not leaving till you say so.”

  “I suppose,” Isaac said, “that I don’t hate it so much. When you put it that way.”

  She gestured out towards the desert. “Is my squire ready, then?”

  “After you, madam knight.”

  She grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. They began to walk through the sand, shielding their eyes from the morning sun.

  He could already feel that the day would be miserably hot. There would be no shelter waiting for them. If they did not find shade by the time the sun reached its zenith, then they would likely succumb to sunstroke. At the very least, they would exhaust the last of their water. He knew, from experience, how dangerous one’s thirst could be.

  The pirates would still be out there. They might’ve been scared off by the thrashing of the colossus, but they would not have gone far. They would return, either for vengeance or plunder. And soon—perhaps sooner than he hoped—the Diet would send their agents. They would’ve had a plan to betray Berith, once he had resurrected their prize. It was almost certain they had a contingency to deal with Isaac, as well. It would not be one he would find easy to escape.

  But Isaac kept walking. He kept his thoughts out past the pirates and mages, past the desert and all the kingdoms that laid under the Diet’s jurisdiction. He thought of the world. He thought of continents he had never seen, oceans he had never sailed. He thought of cities teaming with life and culture, he thought of languages he had only read in books, he thought of roads and fields and forests and mountains and all the sunsets that he would have the fortune to see again.

  Somewhere out there, they would find shelter. Their wounds would heal, they would have soft beds to rest, and they would have all the hot meals their gems could buy. Once they were free, once they had escaped their fates, they would find a world that was vast and old and full of possibility. Somewhere, they would be safe. Out there, somewhere, they would find the things they had both been wanting. Sometime, somewhere, they would find a place that was better than the ones they had left behind.

  Somewhere out there, a whole new life was waiting for them.