YVES FORGED THROUGH the desolation of the Northlands, on the cusp of the Zwischenland. The weather this far east was a disaster, a battleground where the ceaseless tempests from the northern shores fought the searing desert sun of the east. Today, he had weathered relentless shifts from scorching heat to torrents of poisonous rain that obliterated any semblance of larger plant life with ruthless efficiency. Although the sky remained a perpetual maelstrom, this day marked the first time in months he experienced a few fleeting moments of respite from the rain. If it was not rain, it was shitloads of sand blowing in his face.
The landscape, perennially ravaged by the winds, bore the scars of eons, with jagged rock structures thrusting from the ground like sentinels petrified in eternal agony. Life dared not linger. Sensibility withered. Bizarre phenomena littered the terrain — root patterns stretching like desiccated veins for kilometres, alien mushroom-structures defying the hostile environment, and rock formations disrupted with holes and patterns that you would not believe were natural. You should not. If anything, what you saw were the territorial markings of beasts or perhaps the concealed mouths of their hidden lairs.
For the past two hours, the rain fell heavy, dissolving the boundaries between earth and sky into oppressive grey. The ground beneath the sled had turned into a quagmire of northern rocks and eastern desert sands. Yves was desperate to escape the rain for good, yet he also hated the extensive heat, which made all weather shifts equally horrible. It would take Yves another week to get through and out of the Zwischenland, to where the arid eastern dunes stretched all the way to the Barnstream settlements.
The rain was a barrage of needles in his face, but Yves rode without magical protection. He needed all his reserves to sustain his body and keep the sled moving. He had long stopped adjusting his coat or scarf to shield his face, or stretching his legs, or shifting his position at all. He was so far taken by the weary traveller’s trance that he could not be bothered to do anything, really. He sat hunched forward, supported by the staff, staring ahead. Aware that his greatest peril lay in his injuries and that every day, every hour until he reached a healer counted towards survival, Yves had pressed on without rest for the last twenty days.
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