Chapter 3

Rutgar kicked open the wide doors. A golem stood at each side, now resembling stone statues more than mechanical fighters.
A wide corridor led to a staircase; the prince crossed the flight in a single leap, landing one level below. There were far more doors here, almost every one guarded by motionless golems.
Rutgar peeked into the first and found nothing of interest, but the second led to a small room strewn with various weapons.
Swords of all kinds hung on the walls: light curved daggers used by elves, and long straight ones favored by humans. Monstrous double-edged axes, hatchets, and halberds stood in a rack on the floor. Spears and javelins huddled against the far wall. A longbow and several crossbows hung on the left wall.
Rutgar took a baldric with a straight sword; there was no time to try it on, so he fastened it to his left hip. As he left, he noticed an open chest in a dark corner, filled with a mixture of golden sheaths and coins. Filling his pockets, he dashed toward the exit, nearly colliding with a bewildered guard.
The guard let out a war cry and lunged at the unexpected thief. Rutgar met his opponent with a kick to the chest. The warrior recoiled, trying to keep his balance. Rutgar tripped him and stunned him with a powerful blow to the face. The guard fell unconscious.
Peeking cautiously through the doors, Rutgar detected no danger. He ran toward the stairs; the cloudless sky flickered in the narrow same-slit windows as he descended to the first floor.
His hungry stomach gave a restless reminder of itself; the aroma of roasted meat wafted through the air. The prince found himself in a spacious hall. Huge images of blue giant-men gazed wrathfully from bright red canvases hanging on white walls.
Titans—he recalled the name of these death machines. Lightning sparkled between their fingers, ready to strike an enemy at any moment.
In the center of the fourth wall stood tall wooden gates, three times the height of a man. A small door was carved into them. Rutgar rushed toward it, but his attention was drawn to three figures standing at the other end of the hall.
Two golems stood frozen, holding a writhing man between them. Rutgar recognized the former jailer, who was trying in vain to break free from the guards' tight grip.
The key-bearer also noticed the prince. His eyes grew as wide as coins in surprise.
"Mercy, noble one," he stammered hastily, "do not kill me."
Rutgar approached quickly. The golems froze mid-motion, holding the scoundrel firmly. The jailer reeked foully of sweat.
"Where are the guards? How many?" he asked, grabbing the key-bearer by the throat. "Why aren't the golems moving? Answer quickly!"
"The golems are powered by the master's magic, and the guards on the prison levels are likely drinking; there are five of them."
The prince frowned suspiciously:
"You lie? Five is too few for such a castle."
The jailer shook his head in fear.
"Why so many? The Master himself can kill anyone he wishes. Mercy, do not kill me."
Rutgar sighed with relief. Almost no guards were left; there would be no need to flee headlong.
"Your master failed!" the prince said cheerfully. "Tell me where the kitchen and stables are, or I shall torture you!"
The prince's gaze fell upon the key-bearer's leather boots, then upon his own bare feet.
"Sturdy ones. Take off your boots."
A frightened cook packed him a bag of dried meat and fresh flatbreads. He ate several on the go while searching for the stables. He was very surprised to see not horses in the stalls, but strange humpbacked animals of a sandy color that only distantly resembled horses. Some even had two humps!
Carefully leading one out of the stall, Rutgar leaped up and settled himself between the humps. The animal turned a haughty face toward him.
"Forward, wonderful horse!" he commanded warily, but the animal did not budge.
The prince squeezed with his knees and struck with his heels, but the desert horse seemed to notice nothing. Not knowing how to make the animal move, Rutgar drew his sword and gave it a light prick.
The wonder-horse let out a piercing howl and bolted into a gallop. The prince hastily clung to the hump.
Mages certainly live well, he thought sadly; their castles are larger and their horses more convenient.
A strange, frightening world rushed toward him. Sands stretched to the horizon, surrounding the castle on all sides. The wind carried them from place to place, forming and destroying dunes. A harsh sun dominated the cloudless sky, taking life rather than giving it.
A lifeless desert ruled the land of the League of Silver Cities, a land of powerful and wise mages!
Rutgar regretted not having a map. It was easy to get lost in the sands; moreover, the location of Rafiz's Palace remained unknown. There was nothing left to do but move in a northerly direction.
The wonder-horse slowed down, later transitioning to a leisurely pace. The loose sand did not hinder its movement at all.
The prince suffered from the heat. Having grown up in the eastern steppes, where even the summer sun provides little warmth, he never would have thought he'd be disappointed by the celestial body.
Swaying rhythmically between the humps, Rutgar drew his sword.
The cold steel proved to be poorly sharpened; the craftsmanship was imprecise, with a warp along the straight blade. The hilt, decorated with an intricate golden pattern, allowed it to be gripped by two palms. A large bright-red ruby crowned the weapon.
The prince grimaced. The gemstone would get in the way during a tense fight, and a sweaty palm might slip from the golden threads at a decisive moment. Good weaponry should stand out not through expensive materials, but through precise and convenient grinding and a balanced blade.
Having no other option, the prince disappointedly sheathed the sword.
Breathing became harder. The hot air scorched his unaccustomed lungs. Rutgar looked around in desperation but saw not even a hint of shelter.
By evening, the heat subsided. The cruel sun dipped below the horizon, bringing Rutgar immense relief.
Out of hopelessness, he decided to spend the night under the open sky. He thought for a long time about what to tie the humpbacked horse to. Finally, he drove his sword deeper into the sand and tied the animal's neck with a long rope.
A deep sleep overcame him. He dreamed that he was lost in a snowy steppe, freezing in snowdrifts...
He woke up shaking from the cold. The air was indeed cold and dry.
The wonder-horse had escaped; the pulled-out sword lay lonely a few steps away. Rutgar groaned in despair.
To warm himself, he grabbed his bag and broke into a light run.
All possible shades of red painted the sky, heralding the dawn. The stunning play of colors delighted Rutgar, who stopped for a short break. The horizon to the east became menacingly crimson as the distant sun rose solemnly and majestically into its own domain.
His feet sank into the loose sand if he stepped incorrectly. The prince fell several times, painfully twisting his ankle.
After an hour of walking, he came across clearly visible human footprints. Judging by the size, they belonged to either a child or a woman. After brief consideration, he decided to catch up with the stranger and ask about the area.
His breath grew short from running fast; the ruthless sun baked his head. Rutgar was ready to collapse onto the sand from exhaustion when he saw a lone figure far ahead.
An indistinct rasp escaped his parched throat; the prince cursed and took a flask of water from his bag.
The receding figure did not stop at the shout, defying Rutgar's expectations, but instead bolted forward. The prince, falling and sliding through the sand, chased after the fugitive. The wind whistled sharply in his ears, his body heated up from running, and large drops of sweat appeared on his forehead. The stranger looked back while running; to his surprise, Rutgar recognized the girl who had plunged the blade into Rafiz.
"Stop!" the prince yelled. "Stop, I am not an enemy!"
The girl stumbled and immediately jumped to her feet. She held out a small dagger before her.
Rutgar stopped a few steps from the stranger. Breathing heavily, he held out his hands conciliatorily, showing that he was unarmed.
The girl wore the same pink trousers as she had in the mage's chambers. A vest of thin leather sat over her bodice. She had dropped her bag beside her, deciding to defend herself to the end. On one foot was a light slipper; the other lay before the prince.
Rutgar picked up the slipper from the sand and held it out to the girl.
"I will not harm you," he promised in the most peaceful voice he could manage. "Lower the dagger, I will not attack."
The girl distrustfully took the slipper but did not let go of the dagger. Firm determination was read in her large blue eyes.
"What do you want?" her weak, melodic voice trembled openly.
She looked little like a child of the sultry south. Long chestnut hair betrayed her as an inhabitant of the Empire of own Griffin.
"I only wanted to ask about the area," the prince explained. "This is my first time in these parts. My name is Rutgar."
"I know. I heard it in the palace. You are the king of the eastern Kingdom."
"Well, I am still a prince," the youth smiled. His chest swelled with pride.
"Judging by the mage's words, you might not become one at all," the girl hummed, bringing Rutgar back down to earth. Thin lips, cracked from the heat, smiled. "My name is Catherine; I am from the Empire, I don't know the area and cannot help you in any way."
Picking up her bag, she turned in the same direction and walked briskly. The prince caught up and walked beside her. Compared to him, the girl looked even more miniature. And up close, she proved to be even more beautiful.
"So you are heading home?" Catherine nodded briefly. "We're going the same way! Will you allow me to accompany you?"
The girl looked at the youth skeptically.
"Why do I need a companion?"
Rutgar choked on the unexpected words. What a silly question, for the answer was obvious.
"A young lone girl is wonderful prey for unkind people," he explained, as if to a fool. "Especially if there is no one to protect her!"
"Can you really protect me alone from a gang of thugs?"
The prince broadened his shoulders, hinting at his considerable muscles.
"I personally killed a powerful mage!" he declared with pride.
Catherine looked up in surprise.
"And it seemed to me that you got out of the palace thanks to me."
"You think wrong," the prince said confidently. "Sooner or later I would have killed the villain anyway. You just timed your attack well."
The girl stared at him in great amazement. This pompous braggart actually believes what he says!
"It is also the duty of a noble husband on a journey to procure food," Rutgar continued. "And to carry a lady's luggage."
"And where do you intend to procure food?" Catherine asked snidely.
"I already have some. From the palace," the youth informed her. "I have meat and flatbreads in my bag."
After thinking, the girl handed her bag to Rutgar. He accepted it readily and slung it over his back, interpreting the gesture as an acceptance of his offer.
"We could use some strong mounts; the road would seem much shorter," the future king sighed.
"No horse can survive in the desert," Catherine stated.
"Then for what purpose did Rafiz keep strange humpbacked animals in the stables? I took one, but during the night the wonder-horse escaped."
The girl laughed cheerfully.
"That's a camel!" she said. "It can live without water for two weeks! Desert dwellers travel on them because camels are strong and enduring animals."
Rutgar frowned. He had never heard of camels that could live without water. His companion was lying.
Catherine stopped.
"Do you hear that?" she asked in a whisper.
A menacing roar of some unknown giant reached the prince's ears. Shivers ran down his spine; what creature could possess such a roar? It was shameful that the girl had heard it first.
Catherine began to run, overcoming one dune after another; Rutgar outpaced her and climbed the last one.
An endless sea opened before their eyes. Restless waves crashed against each other, breaking apart. The girl's eyes lit up with delight.
"Water!..