The morning sun was the greatest blessing he could imagine.

  They had emerged among ruins. A rotted wooden hatch had led them out into blissful daylight, amongst crumbled walls and collapsed roofs.

  Daiss didn’t care. He stumbled out, tired, aching and cold. Pushing himself those final few meters into the open sunlight, he collapsed face-first into the sand.

  He groaned in pain and relief as he lay there. The long trudge through the cold and dark had only been made only worse when the torch had finally sputtered and died. He basked in the feeling of the morning warmth beginning to seep through his ruined armour.

  Aiur lowered himself in a more dignified manner. He sat against one of the crumbled sandstone walls, taking care to ensure he was facing the sun. He breathed slowly and heavily, taking in the landscape around him as his blood began to thaw.

  He imagined the days when this abandoned place had once been a thriving community. The air was rich and pleasant, filled with the gentle rumbling of the Ahbek and the heady scent of life.

  The great river was barely visible, its glistening waters peering between the trees, grass and marsh hugging the banks from end to end. Perhaps that green, fertile land had once been farmed. Perhaps the fish and water had once fed and bathed the people of this small settlement. Now it was left to the wiles of nature. He began to imagine what had happened to those people, but after his encounter with the Naga, his thoughts immediately took him down dark avenues and he drew back.

  As he sat there recovering, he watched Rexis. The scout was already pacing back and forth between the ruins, clambering over walls and…scouting. Aiur felt he shouldn’t be surprised at that, but considering what they had endured over the last few hours, he could not help but feel surprised that Rexis was still going.

  “We’ll move down the banks of the river once we’ve rested,” Aiur called over to him.

  “I’ve got a much better idea,” came the reply, as Rexis peered over a crumbling wall into what once may have been a house. “The banks of the river are covered in trees and greenery, no?”

  Rexis jumped down from his perch and retraced his steps.

  “Balanzar is directly downriver. The Ahbek flows straight through the city and opens up to the sea within the walls.”

  Aiur had a sneaking suspicion where this was heading.

  “So, we lash together something that vaguely floats out of whatever we can get our claws on, and instead of trudging for days on end, we float.”

  “That’s not a terrible idea,” Aiur mused, taking hold of the wall and pushing himself to his feet. “In fact that’s a very, very good idea.”

  “I thought so. All we need is wood and something to lash it together.”

  “And time,” Aiur added, casting his eyes northward, towards the rolling deserts beyond. “We have to hope we have time.”

  “We haven’t seen them for days,” Rexis said, following his master’s gaze. “Not since…”

  “Do you think she’s…” Aiur croaked remorsefully, his voice trailing away into nothing.

  “Probably.” Rexis’ reply was matter-of-fact and detached, but Aiur knew he would be feeling it as deeply as he was. The silence hung between them for a few heavy moments, cut short by Rexis clearing his throat. “We’ll need to cut down some trees, I couldn’t find anything useful in the ruins.”

  “Do you carry an axe in all those pouches too?” Aiur chuckled darkly, turning back to the scout.

  “It’s no axe, but we have something that should get the job done.”

  “My Khopesh is broken, and I’ve got nothing else with an edge.” Aiur said, retrieving the two snapped pieces of the weapon from his belt and holding them up. “And I doubt your knife is going to be cutting down a tree.”

  “Well, we need something with a haft anyway,” Rexis said with a shrug, looking over to Daiss’ prone and groaning form as he twisted, attempting to find a comfortable position in his bed of sand.

  Aiur looked back at Rexis. “He won’t like it. Chopping down a tree will ruin the edge.”

  “We’ve got no choice.” Rexis sighed. “Frankly, he’s not in much state to use it…or stop you taking it.”

  “You want me to take it?” Aiur grumbled. The scout was already trudging away towards the shore.

  Aiur sighed, lumbering over to Daiss’ side and lowering himself to one knee. “Sorry. I’ll give it back once we’re done,” he said, receiving only a pained groan in reply.

  Reluctantly, he took hold of the glaive in one hand and Daiss’ fist in the other. Gently prizing his claw open, he slipped the glaive free and hefted it up with surprising difficulty. The weight was oddly distributed, and it balanced awkwardly in one hand. “That’s a lot heavier than he makes it look,” he complained to no-one, as he carried the polearm towards the shore.

  On the banks of the river the air was filled with the rush of the water, and the croaking and chirping of insects, birds and other small creatures. Rexis had found a relatively straight tree by the time Aiur reached the bank, running his hands across its bark. It was thick-trunked and sturdy, hopefully it would float.

  Rexis pulled a knife from his boot, raking the blade in a line across the bark to leave a thin line. “Cut there, try and keep it level.”

  Aiur grumbled wordlessly, hefting the glaive up and pressing its bladed edge against Rexis’ marker. He practiced the swing with slow, fluid motions until he felt he had the angle right. Ready as he could be, he began to hack.

  ***

  Building the raft took the entire day.

  Hours were spent simply cutting and gathering enough wood, as much had to be discarded when it failed to float. Further hours were spent whittling the rest into a usable shape, cutting away branches and carving them to somewhat fit together. Cloaks and clothes were ripped into strips, acting as makeshift ropes to lash it all together.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  As day turned to night, the cut-offs fuelled a small campfire. By its light and warmth, they continued working into the night. Daiss was laid out by the fire, having lumbered his way over but lacking the strength to stay upright.

  Even Aiur felt the aching grip of fatigue spreading throughout his body. His arms throbbed, his legs ached, his lungs felt cold in his breast, but his wounds were worst of all. They burned furiously with every movement however small, and sizzled worryingly with rest. But the raft was built. Piece by piece.

  It was a pathetic, ramshackle thing. A loosely held collection of logs, each a slightly different length, looking like it would fall apart the minute it tried to bear their collective weight.

  He imagined the embarrassment in showing it to his friends, house-mates or confidants. Yet, it was the first thing he had made with his own hands since childhood, and he was curiously proud of that.

  “We should move tonight,” Rexis said, dredging Aiur up from his reverie.

  He blinked, turning to the scout.

  “We have been working all day. It is pitch dark. I am tired,” Aiur grumbled, sitting cross-legged by the fire to absorb its warmth.

  The scout frowned, the light from the flames dancing across his face and casting his features in long shadows. “You can rest when we’re on the river. I just…I have a gut feeling about this place. I don’t like it.”

  “Have these ruins got you spooked? Or do you think they’ll find us? They’ll be just as lost as us in this dark,” Aiur questioned with a shake of his head.

  “You say that as we sit around the only pinprick of unnatural light for miles. We’ll be safer on the river, moving and hidden in the dark,” Rexis said in rapid, hushed tones, casting his gaze northwards. His eyes narrowed as they attempted to pierce the gloom. To Aiur he seemed suspicious of the darkness itself rather than what may be lurking within. “It’s not the ruins that have me spooked, the Kailai is covered in ruins…it’s something else. We wouldn’t be safe staying here tonight. You just need to trust me.”

  Aiur sighed heavily. “There’s just as much chance that we crash upon some rocks, beach ourselves Aten-knows-where, or simply get eaten in the night. All because we won’t be able to see.”

  “I’d rather take my chances on the river. If we stay here tonight, we will die.”

  Aiur looked around the ruins, made more menacing by the lack of light. He hadn’t felt it before, but he did now, a bristling in his scales. Was there something out there? Or perhaps Rexis’ paranoia was simply getting to him. “Fine. Let’s get this thing on the water.” He paused with a wince as pain lanced up his right arm, hot as molten iron when he attempted to push himself to his feet. He fell back with a thump, nursing his limb and scowling at the wound. It had begun to bleed again, just a tiny trickle of blood, spilling from the over-soaked bandage down his arm.

  He tried again, pushing all his weight onto his left side this time. He stumbled as he forced himself upright, groaning as his ribs throbbed with the effort.

  He grumbled as he moved to Rexis’ side, helping him heave Daiss’ heavy, unconscious form onto the raft.

  Hunched over the amalgam of wood and cloth, Aiur cast his eye over the landscape. In the flickering light of the fire, the ruins and the dunes beyond seemed empty. In the dancing shadows he saw naught but the gentle sway of trees, and the vaguest impression of wisps of sand shifting on the wind.

  Paranoia, Aiur decided. Just paranoia. This night was filled with nothing but the sounds of the river and cold as the grave. The horde pursuing them had long since lost them. They dragged the raft toward the water, leaving a deep wound in the dirt as they inched their way down the bank. As they splashed into the shallows, the water curled around Aiur’s feet, rushing into every crevice of his feet to suck out all the warmth he had built up over the past day. The water seemed to move lazily, as though it were viscous and heavy, despite all the noise it was making around them. He had expected it to pull at his legs, attempting to drag him down into the current but it was almost welcoming of their presence.

  The burning in his arms was of much greater concern. He could feel blood oozing from his wound again as he dragged the raft into the water, every pull and every beat of his heart forcing out more precious crimson. His arms began to shudder, then shake as his strength began to falter.

  By the time Rexis called a stop, the remains of Aiur’s tunic were stained crimson, the bandage had slipped free, and his blood was dripping like a leaking tap. But they’d managed to reach the waist-high water among the reeds. They were almost out into the current now, surely.

  “Climb on,” the scout croaked, his own waning strength apparent in his voice. “I can practically smell the bleeding from here. Climb on and re-bind it.”

  Aiur let his bleeding arm drop, dragging himself onto the raft with pained grunts and groans. “Let’s hope nothing else has smelt it.” He chuckled darkly.

  “Crocodiles do hunt at night,” Rexis grumbled, as he began to push the raft through the water alone. It was hard work. Was that the weight of the raft, or did the water feel like it was pulling him down?

  “Wonderful.” Aiur sighed, ripping another shred from his tattered tunic and wrapping up the wound as best he could, muttering a quiet prayer to Aten that it wasn’t infected yet.

  They inched further and further out, but progress was slow. The rushing water was so close now, yet from his vantage on the raft the water around them looked different. Darker, thicker, more like ichor than water. “Rexis…something is wrong. Wrong with the water.”

  “Water is water. You’re just not used to-“ Rexis started, before he disappeared beneath the surface with a sudden splash.

  Without hesitation, Aiur threw himself forward, plunging his arms into the water and desperately grasping for some trace of the scout. The water burned his arms, as though it had turned to acid. Despite his efforts he caught nothing but sand and reeds. He pulled back out, arms burning with pain as he howled his rage and desperation into the black waters.

  Rage turned to horror when, cast in the pale moonlight, the black waters blossomed crimson.

  Steeling himself for more pain, he shoved himself back in, up to the shoulders this time. Teeth gritted and jaw locked closed, something was eating away at his scales. He grasped around again, fuelled now by desperation more than strength. He found fingers, a hand, locked his clawed digits around the palm and pulled with all his strength.

  Up came what was unmistakably Rexis’ severed arm, spattering blood on his face.

  With horror gripping his stomach, Aiur took another deep breath and shoved himself back into the water, eyes open to see through the murk in spite of the constant stinging pain. The ink-like substance that stained the water black and seemed to be eating at him the longer he stayed under made it difficult to make anything out. But despite his near-blindness, he found Rexis. Flailing and thrashing against the presence trying to pull him below, Aiur managed to grab the hem of his clothes and drag him above the surface, though his own blood billowed out into the water as the wound tore open further.

  Rexis was on his feet, coughing up water and trying in vain to speak, but he wasn’t on the raft. His left arm was severed at the elbow and was spilling blood into the water at an alarming rate, and yet he slapped Aiur’s grasping hands away as he tried to pull him to safety. “Climb on you thrice-dammed bastard!” Aiur screamed, grabbing at Rexis again.

  Rexis flailed out of his grip once more, twisting around and shoving his remaining hand and bloody stump against the raft, fixing Aiur with a hard stare as the colour steadily drained from his scales. “I’m going to bleed to death in a few minutes,” he said, horrifyingly calm for the situation. “Best the two of you survive rather than die saving a corpse.”

  Aiur was stunned. Staring wide-eyed at the scout and his missing limb, he couldn’t formulate a cohesive reply, until with screams of pain, Rexis began to shove the raft out into the deeper water. The flow of blood from his arm ever increasing. “Are you insane?!” was all Aiur could muster, and by the time the words had left his mouth he could already feel the real current tugging at the raft.

  Rexis roared in pain, putting every ounce of strength he had left into a final push. The raft jolted forward, floating into the river’s grip and beginning to drift downstream. “I’m not insane…just…prag…ma…tic,” the scout mumbled, as consciousness abandoned him, and he disappeared beneath the surface.

  Aiur could do nothing. Naught but stare, as he floated helplessly away. Revulsion lay in the pit of his stomach; the man who had so readily sacrificed himself was being abandoned to die alone in the shallows, but to do anything now would invalidate that sacrifice.

  He swore, and for a moment, just a moment, within the inky blackness that had stained the water around his friend’s drowning corpse something stared back. Countless eyes as depthless and dark as the night sky, with malicious stars for pupils watched him float away. Thousands of pinpricks of hateful light stared after him with something beyond a desire for sustenance, beyond meat and bone…

  A hunger for his soul.