"If only that were all that I had to take into consideration, I should be a happy man." Grimm sighed. "However, Drex, there is a more basic impediment to our ever sharing an intimate relationship; it could deprive me of all my magic. I nearly threw it all away when I was ensorcelled by a girl at High Lodge. Since then, I have sworn to be on my guard at all times."
Drexelica laughed. "Surely you don't believe that fairy-tale? I'll bet your High Lodge only puts that about to keep your mind on the job!"
"I cannot take the risk," Grimm declared. "Can we not just be friends, Drex? I am sure you will find the right boy, given time."
The girl stamped, almost losing her balance again. "I don't want anybody else! You've been the only person who's been kind or good to me since my parents died, and I owe you my life. I want to give that life to you. Don't you see?"
Despite the young sorcerer's intention to re-assert himself, as befitted a mage, he felt a lump growing in his throat. He had forgone any normal semblance of childhood, and he saw a long, lonely road ahead of him; a world bereft of love and passion, a world of cold duty and responsibility.
Will the bluff camaraderie of the Guild be my sole comfort for the rest of my life? He wanted to take the girl in his arms and drink in the sweet, heady wine of her kisses, to run his fingers through her hair, to…
He stopped his thoughts from wandering any further. It was not just for his own sake that he pursued this course; he had sworn to redeem his sullied, reviled family name at all costs, and he could not, must not, forget that.
"I'm… I am so sorry, Drex," he said, in a husky voice. "This is the way it must be between us. I wish it were not so, but I have others to consider: people who are very dear to me. I gave you your freedom, and I beg you to take it. We cannot have any future together. You are young and beautiful, and any number of more suitable young men would give their eye teeth to be yours; as would I, if I were free.
"Unfortunately for both of us, I am wedded to my sworn Oath. It hurts me, more than you can ever imagine, to ignore you this way, but it will become easier in time for both of us, I promise you."
He stopped in his tracks and bent to kiss the top of Drexelica's head, to drink in her perfume for the last time. Then, with a shuddering sigh, he began to walk on, turning his back on the beautiful girl.
It will get easier, Grimm told himself, gritting his teeth, but he did not feel convinced by this facile phrase. For the next ten minutes, Grimm fought tears as he pushed on, until he thought his heart would burst; he heard soft, choked sobs behind him, but he forced himself not to look back, fighting the pain within him.
After a while, the sun reached its zenith, and the unrelenting toll of the journey began to make its mark upon him. The sand had looked so flat and easy to negotiate as the party had begun its trek, but the golden surface was treacherous and strength-sapping. All conversation stopped, and Grimm wondered how he would face even another day of this purgatory.
As the last rays of light faded from the sky, Foster called a halt. "That'll be all for today, people. You see? It wasn't so bad, was it?"
Grimm saw Tordun cast the Haven man a look of pure hatred as he shrugged off his heavy pack. The tents went up in silence and, this time, Grimm was not deterred from sleep by Xylox's snoring.
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Chapter 18: Mutiny!
By noon the next day, Grimm felt almost as if he were sleepwalking. It seemed as if his mind were drifting several feet above his head. The hot sand seemed to suck at his feet, draining his strength and seeking to devour him.
The Questor saw dark shapes circling in the sky above him: carrion-eaters.
Do they sense a meal in the offing?
He had followed Foster's dictum to drink as much as he needed when he was thirsty, but he wondered if the ever-ebullient pilot had made a bad misjudgement as to their supply of the life-giving liquid.
"Foster," Xylox called. "Are you sure we have enough water? It seems to me that we have depleted our reserves by a considerable amount. I accept that you have received desert survival training, but could you have miscalculated?"
Foster's usual cheery expression was absent, replaced by an uncharacteristic frown.
"It was a long time ago," he confessed. "I thought the sand would be easier to walk through than this."
Xylox bristled, breaking his earlier vow of non-communication with the pilot. "So, what would be your invaluable advice to us, Foster? Do we have sufficient water to last the journey, or not?"
"I don't know," the pilot confessed. "It is advisable to drink enough to satisfy your thirst when you can; I'm sure of that. But we might get a little thirsty later on."
"A little thirsty!" Xylox snapped. "We are relying on you to tell us what to do in this arid region. Should we drink, or ration ourselves?"
Foster seemed to vacillate between the two alternatives, his eyes rolling from side to side. "We should drink," he said, but his tone was uncertain. "Yes: we drink. Otherwise, you stay thirsty, your level of hydration keeps slipping, and you never have enough water in your body to satisfy its needs. I'm certain you're more likely to die if you just ration yourself to a sip every now and then; pretty certain, anyway."
"Your Technological insights humble me, Foster," Xylox sneered. His voice trembled with contempt. "I am so pleased to have such an experienced and knowledgeable guide with us."
The day wore on, as the party staggered through the treacherous, burning sand. Already, despite his burnoose and his dark glasses, Grimm saw angry burns on the visible areas of Tordun's face and his unprotected hands.
Tordun dragged the small cart and carried his heavy pack without the least protest, but the junior Questor could tell the pale-skinned titan was suffering, as his head began to loll from side to side in an uncontrolled fashion.
Drex's unprotected calves were blistered and red, and Grimm drifted between painful lucidity and a dream-like state. Xylox stumbled on, uncomplaining, but it was plain that he was no longer the invincible, imperturbable machine he tried to portray. He puffed and winced almost at every other step, and he appeared ever older and more haggard as the unforgiving trail wore on.
Even Foster's face was flushed and mottled, and Grimm heard him mutter "I had no idea it could get so damned hot."
The mage began to suspect that the pilot had received his training from a book, rather than from actual experience.
Crest, with his slender, willowy form, seemed best able to cope with the vicious sun, but even he stumbled from time to time. At first, the half-elf had regaled the group with jaunty songs from distant lands, but his voice had long since fallen silent.
If only the smallest cloud would obscure this punishing sun for a minute or two! Grimm thought, things would be so much easier.
Nonetheless, his wish was not granted. The sky showed an unbroken vista of pale blue, except for the hateful, vicious orb of the sun, and Grimm stumbled from foot to clumsy foot like a drunken man.
They had been walking for nearly two days and, already, the members of the party were all but dead on their feet. Grimm endured the inferno in silence, no longer aware of why he was walking, or of his destination, but just existing in an unremitting hell.
****
The third day dawned. It seemed to Grimm as if he had laid his head down only moments before, and Foster's normal morning halloo was but a shadow of its former, cheery self.
"It's time we started walking," the pilot said. His lips were blistered and flecked with white, and he was unsteady on his feet, despite the cool morning air. "C'mon, people, let's move as if we mean it."