Tales of Erogenia: Book 1 - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: The Desert

It was as if she was standing in front of the weaponsmith's forge. The heat washed over her with an intensity Zenaria had never imagined possible. Her throat was already dry with thirst and she looked longingly at the waterskin that hung from the bow of her elaborate saddle. She dared not touch it; Tren had told her to drink only when he did and it was only midmorning.

She glanced at the sun; hardly believing that it was still fairly low in the sky. Just a few camel strides ahead of her Tren rocked in the saddle in time to his mount's bizarre gait. It was a motion that she found most unsettling, but Tren seemed almost a part of his bad-tempered steed. Since his back was to her she considered stealing a swallow of water, but her pride would not let her do it. If he could endure the awful thirst then so could she.

They were two days into the desert proper and with every step the heat seemed to increase. Gone was the relative coolness of the grasslands and gone also was the covering of vegetation. The desert surface supported only scattered patches of grasses and thorn bushes and even Zenaria's keen senses had yet to spot any animal life. More to the point, however, was her ability to cope with the heat.

She wore her cloak as a head-covering, but it helped only a little. The desert air seemed to suck the moisture from her body, leaving her parched and desperate for water. Even her perspiration vanished before it had a chance to bead on her skin. How Tren managed to survive the ordeal was something she simply did not comprehend.

The landscape about her consisted of a gravely surface interspersed with gigantic boulders. They wound their way though them following what appeared to be a well-worn path although why anyone would want to come to such an inhospitable inferno she had no idea. For that matter she had no idea why Tren had chosen to enter the desert. He could be maddeningly uncommunicative when he wasn't infuriating her with his opinionated comments.

They moved between two massive boulders, the momentary shade giving Zenaria an almost overwhelming urge to scramble off her camel and spend the rest of the day there. Suddenly Tren stopped and with practiced ease swung out of the saddle. "We will stop here for a water break and a bite to eat."

Zenaria gave a sigh of relief. Any time off the back of the camel was time well spent as far as she was concerned. Her thighs felt as if she had entertained all of the warriors in her village or so she supposed, and the other areas of her nether regions were so badly bruised she doubted that she would ever be able to sit properly again.

Tren squatted near the base of one of the rock monoliths and took out a small bundle of made of woven grasses. "These are common in the desert. They are called dates. And these," he continued, taking out another package, "are figs."

Zenaria regarded the brownish offerings dubiously. She grown used to the continual diet of rice, which Tren consumed at almost every meal, along with the mouth burning spices he stirred into it. The Sandakar slavers had served similar fare, but this was something new. Tentatively she took a bite of the dried fruit.

"Mmm," she said. "I like these. How can such sweet fruit grow in such inhospitable surroundings?"

"You will soon see," Tren replied. "We will reach the oasis of Uhra Don in five days."

"And what is there?" she asked. She had learned that an oasis was a place in the desert with water. After just two days in the arid wastes it was something she found hard to believe.

"Perhaps what I seek," he answered.

"Your sister?" Zenaria asked.

"My sister." Tren confirmed.

"I know nothing about you," Zenaria commented. "You use a bow with the skill of a Warrior of the Snow Leopard. You travel alone and hate the Sandakar. You are a friend the Zuni, who are friends to no other. Why do you travel the wasteland in search of your sister? What happened to her?"

"That is something I usually discuss with no one. I tolerate your presence only because you have shown me you can fight. Remember it was you who forced herself on me."

Zenaria felt an angry retort rising to her lips, but she clamped her jaw and kept her anger in check. Instead she spoke calmly. "And how would you have fared against the Moaan had I not been there to help you? Could you have killed all six alone?"

Tren did not reply and Zenaria waited. Finally he turned his dark, almond eyes on her. "Perhaps I could have, but you have a point. You have endured much better than I thought possible, and in spite of your stubborn refusal to dress properly you are still alive."

"I am not ashamed of my body. No Warrior of the Snow Leopard would hide what she is in folds of cloth as you do."

"I don't suppose," Tren replied, calmly "that it ever occurred to you that I dress like this for a reason more practical than the hiding of my body. Feel free to dress like a barbarian princess if you wish, but I doubt that you will last much more than another day in the desert."

Tren's last point struck home. Even in the shade of the enormous boulders the heat drained the energy and moisture from her body. The dried fruit had dealt with her hunger, but the small swallow of water had done little to assuage her thirst. "I will wear your confining garments," she said slowly, "if that is what it takes to please you."

"Pleasing me is not the point," Tren said as he loosened the straps on one of the packs attached to his saddle. "Keeping you alive is." He pulled out a dark robe and tossed it toward her. "I think it will fit. I took it off the body of the tallest of the slavers."

"So now I am to wear the clothes of a dead man," Zenaria thought, but she kept it to herself and removing her weapons, grudgingly pulled the robe over her head.

To her surprise, the heavy woollen garment was not suffocatingly hot. Instead its thick material seemed to insulate her from the heat. Emulating Tren, she belted her sword and knife on the outside of the robe. "This just might work," she muttered. "I feel much better."

"We have dallied long enough," Tren said. "It is time to be on our way. The less time we spend in this infernal wasteland the better." Without waiting for a reply he commanded his camel to kneel and with practiced eased vaulted into the saddle. Zenaria, less skilled in camel-handling had to make do with scrabbling up the side of her mount. She made it, in spite of being impeded by the long robe she now wore.

"Wonderful," she thought. "Now that I am weighed down by these cumbersome garments I am rendered helpless in battle." However, she had no intention of removing the robes in the short term. As she rode into the sunlight she no longer felt the life being drained from her. She would tolerate the clothing for now, but she resolved to get rid of it as soon as the ordeal of the desert was over.

Tren said nothing, but nodded approvingly as she moved alongside him. Zenaria was still hot and thirsty, but she no longer feared that she would not last out the day. Perhaps Tren did know something after all.

They rode in silence for an hour and then Tren spoke. "I know that you are not inclined to listen, but there are things you should be aware of if you are to survive the desert. The first is that in this land things are not always what they appear. What may look like water may simply be the heat shimmering in the distance. Such an apparition is called a mirage. Second, although the land may appear devoid of life there are some very dangerous creatures in it, both plant and animal. Avoid anything you do not understand. Finally, follow me exactly. There are areas of the desert where the sands suck down anything that crosses them. If I signal to follow me in single file please do it."

Unaccustomed as she was to following orders, especially those given by someone who was not a member of her tribe, Zenaria did not argue. Something told her that her spirit quest was bound to Tren and she was determined to accompany him until it was fulfilled. She kept her eyes open, searching for the mysterious dangers he had spoken of, but for the most part all she saw was an unbroken wasteland of broken stone and boulders.

---

Four days into the desert the terrain changed and Zenaria saw the true value of the camels. They entered a sea of sand. As far as the eye could see stretched wind-blown dunes of enormous size. Zenaria had traveled through great mountains, but she had never seen anything like this. The entire world had turned to sand. It was awe inspiring, beautiful, and a little frightening. How could they possible cross such an inhospitable landscape? It seemed almost certain that the camels would sink out of sight as they attempted to cross the sand barrier. However, to her pleasant surprise the camels did not even break stride as they entered the dunes. Instead they seemed to float on top of the sand, climbing to the top of the first dune without apparent effort. It was an eye-opening revelation and one that filed Zenaria with more than a little admiration for Tren and the stubborn animal she rode. She had to admit her mysterious rescuer seemed prepared for every eventuality.

They moved for two days through the dunes without incident. But on the third day Tren halted his camel on top of a gigantic dune and peered into the distance. "Do you see it?" he asked.

"I see a cloud," Zenaria replied. "Nothing more."

"It is indeed a cloud," Tren said. "But it is a cloud that brings death. We must find shelter and quickly if we are not to be buried alive."

Unfortunately, the only shelter to be found in the vast ocean of sand was the very dune they were on. Tren guided his camel to the base, and then dismounting, pulled the camel to its knees. He ordered Zenaria to do the same, and then the two of them stretched their tent over the camels, weighting the corners with sand. By this time a strong wind was blowing, sending stinging granules of sand flying through the air. Zenaria followed Tren into the tent and closed the flap behind her. "Now what?" Zenaria asked as she eased herself into the tiny space next to Tren.

"Now we wait," Tren answered. "And you might consider praying to some of your gods."

There was a low thrumming in the distance while at the same time the sound of the wind outside the tent increased until the fabric that sheltered them began to vibrate like a lute string. And then, with a sound like the roaring of a thousand snow leopards, the storm swept over them. For a few seconds Zenaria thought she might go deaf. She huddled in the tent, feeling its thin fabric sag as the weight of sand piling against it pushed it down on them. "We're going to be crushed," she gasped, clawing at the opening to the tent.

With surprising strength Tren pulled her back down. "Sit still," he growled. "Better to take your chances in here than be flayed alive out there. The sand will strip the flesh from your body before you go twenty steps."

Defeated, Zenaria crouched next to Tren. She was glad that in the darkness of the tent, Tren could not see her chagrin. A Snow Leopard warrior did not panic, but that was exactly what she had done. She calmed herself, bringing her breathing and emotions under control, but she seethed with anger directed at herself for once again acting like a fool in front of Tren. So far he had saved her life at least three times. Once when rescuing her from the slavers; again when showing how protect her northern skin from the fierce desert sun; and now again when he had stopped her from fleeing in panic into certain death.

She sat back, mortified, her body pressed close to Tren's. Her spirit quest was not going the way it should be. Instead of achieving self-fulfilment she seemed to be going even further into Tren's debt. It was enough to make her consider returning to her tribe, but the stubborn streak that was ever her most dominant trait came to the fore. "I'll see this through," she muttered, "if it is the last thing I do."

"Get some sleep," Tren suggested. "The storm is likely to last for hours. I'll make sure we don't get buried alive."

Zenaria did not argue. There was nothing better to do and she was certainly not going anywhere. Snuggling down as best she could she closed her eyes and let the accumulated exhaustion of the last few days wash over her.

---

In her dreams she watched as the Zuni dancer whirled in front of Tren, her translucent veils revealing every nuance of her sensuous body. Slowly she drifted closer until she hovered just before the fire; so close that she could see the beads of sweat on the dancer's dusky body. A pang of jealousy stabbed through her and then she was moving and merging with the dancer. Suddenly The Zuni dancer was gone and she was pirouetting in front of Tren, dressed as the dancer had been in garments that were so diaphanous that they hid nothing of her beauty. Faster and faster she spun before Tren, her hair streaming out from her body and droplets of sweat sprinkling the fire as she passed so close to the flames she threatened to ignite her costume. Her breathing came fast, her large breasts quivering to the rhythm of the dance and then Tren was reaching for her, taking her arm and...

"Wake up, the storm is over."

"Wha...," Zenaria muttered. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes.

"I said the storm is over," Tren repeated. "It is time to dig ourselves out and tend to the camels."

"I... I was having a dream," stammered Zenaria, her sleep-confused brain attempting to sort things out.

"I thought as much," Tren answered as he yanked at the tent flap. "You were talking in your sleep."

"What...Did I say anything?" she gasped.

"It was more like moaning," Tren answered as he poked his head through the opening he had made. "Nothing I could really understand." He got to his feet and pushed through the opening, allowing a cascade of sand to enter the shelter.

"Moaning," Zenaria muttered. "What in the name of the gods is happening to me?"

She followed Tren out of the tent. To her amazement the camels stood just a few paces away, apparently no worse the wear for having endured the ordeal of the sandstorm. They brayed a greeting as Zenaria moved toward them. She patted her camel on the neck. "Good girl, Alshee," she murmured. Like all Erogenians she had a close connection with all animals; some more than others and she was becoming quite fond of the stalwart beast that conveyed her so effortlessly across the desert landscape in spite of the fact that it made her so sore between the legs she could hardly move. She had named it after a favourite hunting dog she once had.

Tren looked at her. With most of his face shielded as usual it was hard to determine what he was thinking, but she thought she noted a look of approval in his eyes.

It took a few minutes to dig out their possessions and reload the camels. Then once again they were on their way. It was near evening and Zenaria looked questioning at Tren. He seemed to guess her thoughts. "We will travel through part of the evening. Our water supply will not allow us to miss a day's travel and it will be cooler in any case."

Zenaria nodded. It made more sense to travel at night than during the day provided that there was no need of landmarks. However, she suspected that like her, Tren could find his way by using the stars as beacons.

They stopped sometime after midnight. By this time the air temperature had dropped considerably, although heat still radiated from the sand. There was something else as well. As far as she could see the sand seemed covered with tiny twinkling lights. Zenaria was not alarmed. She was familiar with the lights of fireflies in her mountain home, but she wondered a little about what they were.

"Scorpions," Tren answered, without being asked. "They hide during the day and hunt at night. I do not know what makes them glow."

Before Tren could stop her Zenaria stooped and came up with a glowing arachnid.

"Wait, such creatures are deadly poisonous," Tren exclaimed.

"I sense no danger," Zenaria replied, allowing the iridescent scorpion to run up her hand and then turning it to keep the animal from falling. I am not its prey; I am far too large."

Tren looked on impassively. "Do you normally play with such venomous creatures?"

Zenaria smiled. "Erogenians are highly tuned to nature. I felt there was no danger in such a beautiful creature provided I did not provoke it." She lowered her hand, allowing the scorpion to resume its way across the sand.

"I am not sure whether I should be impressed or frightened," Tren observed.

"Surly nothing frightens you," Zenaria replied.

"You are beginning to. It might be wise if you were a little less trusting. Where we go tomorrow is a place fraught with danger."

Zenaria frowned, but turned her head away so Tren would not see her expression. It seemed that her mysterious rescuer was always able to find fault with something she did. She wondered what she had to do to gain his approval. Perhaps she needed to find another three Moaan to kill. However, she hid her annoyance and helped set up camp.

They ate a quick meal. Tren planned to start early the next day to avoid as much of the desert heat as possible. All the same he hinted that where they were going would be a severe test of their endurance. Zenaria wondered what could be much worse than the desert inferno they had already been through.

As Tren had promised they awoke early and started out before dawn. They reached the end of the dunes just at sunrise and Zenaria got a good look at what awaited them. They stood at the edge of a plateau. Spread out below them was a desert wasteland that surpassed in its arid intensity anything she had yet seen. There was not the slightest sign of life or water and the heat waves rippled as they rose from the barren landscape.

"What is down there?" Zenaria asked, wondering why Tren had not chosen a less hostile route.

"The backdoor to Uhra Don. It is one of the most heavily populated oases in the desert. If we were to enter by the main trade route we would almost certainly be seen, however few know of this entrance and fewer still would dare it."

"And it is at Uhra Don that you hope to find your sister?" Zenaria asked.

"If she is still alive," replied Tren.

"Why will you not tell me of her?" Zenaria asked.

"It is not that I cannot," Tren replied. "It is simply that I may not." With that enigmatic reply he urged his camel forward onto a narrow trail that wound down from the plateau. Sighing in frustration Zenaria followed. Sooner or later she would find out Tren's secret and perhaps when she did she would fulfill her spirit quest.

If Zenaria had thought it was hot before the descent into the valley proved her wrong. The temperature rose steadily as they zigzagged their way down a mountain path so narrow she was surprised the camels could navigate it, but Tren had chosen well and the sure-footed beasts made not a single misstep. Halfway down the trail widened enough for Tren to rein in his camel and allow Zenaria to move alongside. "Here, you will need these," he said, holding out an odd-looking piece of equipment. It consisted of two pieces of carved wood shaped like large eyes and connected by a leather thong.

"What am I to do with this," Zenaria asked.

"Cover your eyes," Tren answered demonstrating with an identical device. He slipped it over his head so that the two pieces of carved wood covered his eyes. It was then that Zenaria noticed each piece of wood was pierced with a tiny hole enabling the wearer limited vision.

"Ahh!" exclaimed Zenaria. "We have such things as this for protection against the glare of the snow."

Tren nodded. "The floor of the valley is covered with salt crystals. Anyone not wearing protective goggles will go blind."

Zenaria saw that it was so. The floor of the valley reflected the sunlight with a glaring intensity that was beyond the ability of the charcoal she and Tren applied under their eyes each day before setting out. Quickly she copied Tren and with a nod of satisfaction he kicked his camel into motion once more.

For some reason the slight sign of approval pleased Zenaria more than she would have liked to admit. Smiling to herself she followed Tren into the burning inferno of the valley floor.

If she had thought the desert heat extreme before Zenaria realized that she had been sadly mistaken. Crossing the salt-strewn wasteland was like being inside a gigantic oven. Even the protective robes could not prevent the moisture from being sucked from her body. To compound her discomfort an alkaline wind blew constantly, stirring up clouds of sand and filling her nostrils with acrid dust.

She drew her hood tight about her face and hunched down in the saddle. Her mind turned to thoughts of the snow-capped peaks of her mountain homeland. Although she had left the cool of the snow leopard's forest only a few weeks ago the memory seemed almost like a dream. It seemed impossible that there could be two places on the surface of Panjiia that were so different. There seemed only one consoling element to crossing the furnace-like landscape and that was that there could not possibly be any living creature brave enough to live in such a hideous environment. Or at least none that were large enough to threaten her and Tren.

Ahead of her one of the salt deposits rippled in the heat. Instinctively she reached for her sword, although the bow might have been a better choice. However, it was sitting unstrung in its quiver on the side of the camel and the sword came readily to her hand. Next to her, Tren shouted something incoherent and swerved his camel to the side. It would have been better if Zenaria had done the same. If she had, Alshee might have lived.

The thing that surged up from the salt deposit resembled a huge spider, except that it had ten legs instead of eight and sported a head armed with sabre-like pincers on the end of a stalk-like neck. It was followed by at least a dozen more surging toward her at an astonishing speed.

Alshee made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a scream as the first of the yard- wide creatures launched itself onto her, the huge sword-like pincers sinking into the camel's neck. Zenaria's sword ripped through the air taking off the creature's head and two of its legs, but it was too late to save her trusted steed. The camel lurched spasmodically and with a final bellow its legs buckled, pitching Zenaria head first toward the desert surface.

Zenaria's warrior reflexes took over. As she fell she curled her body, executing a perfect somersault and landing on her feet. She was just in time to engage three more of the huge spiders. Her sword described an arc, decapitating two of the attacking monsters. A foul greenish ichor spurted forth which emitted a stench that caused Zenaria to gag. It was all she could do to step back and evade the intended bite of the third monster. The thing lunged at her, intent on getting its huge pincers into her and Zenaria, her sword out of play, drew her knife as she stepped back and thrust the foot-long blade into the creature's eye. The monster let out a hiss of pain and lurched back, but there were half a dozen more to take its place. She swung her sword again, cutting off both pincers of the spider-monster closest too her and then there was the rapid twang of Tren's bow from behind her. He shot so quickly that three more of the monsters went down in just seconds, giving Zenaria the time and space to recover. There were five of the spider-beasts left and Zenaria stepped toward them before they had time to leap at her. The tactic seemed to confuse the monsters; no doubt they expected their prey to retreat, not attack. Zenaria cut down two more and Tren's bow accounted for the rest. She stood panting in exhilaration and triumph, too exhausted in the stifling heat to utter her battle cry.

Tren was suddenly beside her. "Are you alright?" he asked. "The bite of a lion-spider is deadly poison."

"I'm alright," Zenaria replied. "Why did you not warn me of such danger? I might have been able to save Alshee."

"I did not anticipate the presence of the lion-spiders. There were none here the last time I passed through." Tren sounded almost apologetic.

Zenaria stared sadly at her dead camel. Alshee had not been the most congenial of companions, but a bond of sorts had developed between her and the desert steed. "Why did we come this way? It has little to recommend it."

Tren sighed. "I suppose now that you have followed me this far I owe you something of an explanation." While he spoke he pulled Zenaria's gear from the dead camel. "We cannot take all of this. Sort though it and while you do I will tell you a bit about myself."

Zenaria began to pull items from her pack while Tren spoke. She tried to hide her excitement. But the eager expression on her face must have given her away.

"I see you have been waiting for this," Tren said. "I can't say that I blame you. I have not been at all helpful in supplying details of my life, but you see mystery is part of what I am. I am a member of a desert people related to the Sandakar, but one who have managed to maintain their independence. We are called the Beni Sidra and we have survived by taking only the most extreme of measures, that of becoming a society of assassins. Only by making ourselves feared and resorting to complete secrecy could we hope to prevent the Sandakar from enslaving us. In that sense we have succeeded, but it is a precarious existence and one fraught with danger."

"But where do you live?" Zenaria interrupted. "Where is your homeland?"

"The Sandakar destroyed our homeland two centuries ago. Since that time we have lived among them, hiring ourselves out to those who defeated us, but waiting for the time when we may once again drive the conquerors from our homeland. We are sworn to secrecy. Few outside the order know of our existence."

Zenaria could not help feeling somewhat flattered at being taken into Tren's confidence. It was now clear to her why he had been so secretive, but there was one thing that still nagged at her. "And what of your sister? Why do you seek her?"

"The Beni Sidra are pledged to a partner at birth. My partner was special in that we were born just minutes apart. My sister and I were trained from infancy to work with one another and honour bound to uphold the code of assassins. I failed in that pledge in that I allowed my sister to be taken by the Sandakar and did not fulfill the most sacred of my vows."

Tren finished speaking and took the items Zenaria had selected from her saddlebags. Zenaria looked at him waiting for him to finish, but he said nothing and instead climbed into the saddle.

"You cannot leave it there," Zenaria protested, planting her hands on her hips. "What was this most sacred vow?"

"To ensure that I take her life rather than let her be taken prisoner." He held out his hand, motioning that Zenaria was to join him on his mount.

She stared at him. "You would kill your own sister?"

"As she would kill me," Tren replied. "Now stop talking and get up behind me. We must get out of the salt flats before night."

Zenaria scrambled into the saddle. Tren shifted his position, making way for her in front of him. It felt strange with his body pressed against hers even through the thick robes that both of them wore. She had vowed never to let a man get this close to her without being defeated in battle and here she was riding a camel across the most forsaken piece of landscape she had ever seen with his arms holding her just below her breasts. It gave her a warm feeling in a place where she did not want a warm feeling. After all, Tren was a man who had just told her he was sworn to kill his sister. That went against everything an Erogenian warrior stood for. On the other hand it was obvious that Tren's concept of honour was quite different from hers or else he would never have entered into such an agreement. Still, having his arms about her was not altogether unpleasant.

"Wake up, barbarian." Tren's voice interrupted her thoughts. "I need you alert."

"I wasn't asleep," Zenaria replied.

"No, but you were becoming a bit too comfortable. I thought after the spider incident you would realize that the desert is not the safest of places."

"Tell me again why we are going this way. Surely there must be safer and less desolate routes to Uhra Don."

"I never told you in the first place, but since you ask I think it should be obvious. The Sandakar are not likely to welcome one who has killed so many of them. This way is much more dangerous, but it is one that is unknown to the Sandakar."

The salt flats seemed to stretch out endlessly before them, its far side lost in the waves of heat rising from the desert floor. With two riders on a single camel they went much more slowly now and Zenaria began to wonder if they would make it. Tren was his usual imperturbable self and if Zenaria had not felt her body pressed against his she would not even have known he was there. After awhile, however, it became obvious that the camel was having trouble. It began to breathe heavily and weave from side to side. Finally Tren brought it to a halt and dismounted. "We go on foot from here," he stated. "Take what possessions you can carry. We'll eat now and leave the rest of the food."

Zenaria didn't need to ask after the water. She knew that there was barely enough for two swallows each. They ate what they could of the remaining food, and as Tren suggested left the rest. She trusted that there was probably food where they were going and she hoped, water as well. She took her bow and quiver of arrows as well as a few of the items they would need for camping. Tren took the rest.

"Take one swallow of water. No more. Then we walk." Zenaria did as Tren instructed, leaving a single swallow in her waterskin. She resisted the temptation to drink it all and throw the empty skin away, knowing full well she would regret it in the future.

Tren walked and Zenaria followed. Every now and then she stopped and checked their tracks, which were quite visible stretching out behind them. Somehow Tren was walking in a straight line, though how he did it she had no idea. He seemed to be heading into a featureless desert landscape and when Zenaria looked ahead all she saw were the distorted waves of heat rising from the desert floor.

They trudged on, Tren leading and Zenaria following. In this at least she was confident she could keep up. She was used to walking. It was riding camels and horses that caused her problems.

If the stifling heat had been bad before, now it was horrendous, rising from the shimmering surface of the salt flats with such intensity that she could feel it burning through her boots. She was glad of their quality. Anything less and she would not have been able to continue. However, the heat slowly began to wear her down. She longed to finish the last of the water, but Tren marched ahead of her, seemingly inexhaustible. She would not drink until he did and would not ask for rest until he suggested it.

---

She had no idea how long they went on this way. Only that the longer they walked the hotter it seemed to get. She knew that this did not make sense, as the desert heat peaked sometime in the late afternoon and she could see that the sun was now low on the horizon. In an hour or so it would be dark and they could walk in the relative coolness of the evening, provided them was such as thing as coolness in this desert inferno.

Tren suddenly stopped. "We will drink the last of the water. We are almost there, but must be careful. There are things that are active at night that are not there during the day."

Zenaria nodded and took her last swallow. It did not come close to quenching her thirst, instead it seemed to create a desire for more. But there was no more and Zenaria slung her empty waterskin over her shoulder and followed Tren as he began to walk again.

She took one look behind her and gave a little start. "The camel follows," she said."

"Yes," Tren answered. "If need be we can kill it and take what water it still has within it. But I hope to have it alive when we reach Uhra Don."

Zenaria was about to nod when something touched her ankle. Her sword was in her hand before she even finished turning, but what she saw surprised her. The touch had felt like that of a snake, but instead she saw only a thick plant-like tendril stretching out toward her. "How did I miss that?" she wondered. She began to turn to Tren to call his attention to the presence of something green in the desert, when the tendril suddenly rose and struck at her like an adder.

"Aaah! She cried. The touch stung like fire as the tendril, with incredible strength, wound itself about her ankle and began to drag her from the path. And then another tendril snaked toward her and another, and she saw that she was being pulled toward an entire nest of them.

Her sword flashed out, slicing through the tendril with an audible thunk that indicated that it was not animal, but plant. However, even as the tendril fell away a dozen others reached for her. She cut again with her sword, cleaving half a dozen of the tendrils, but several got through catching her ankles and wrapping around her legs just above the knees. Excruciating pain shot through her. It was so intense that it took her breath away, leaving her unable to even scream. Her legs buckled even as she fought to keep her footing. Somehow she managed one more cut with her sword, severing several more tendrils and then she was on her knees and being dragged ever closer to the nest of writhing tendrils. Her waist was encircled and then her wrists and arms. Each touch of the tendrils sent burning waves of pain through her and her sword fell from paralyzed fingers and another tendril, this one as thick as her arm encircled her torso, pinning both arms to her sides and wrapping itself around her chest. Pain of an unbelievable intensity surged thorough her, but still she could not scream and then she was being dragged directly into the nest.

Tendrils rose around her and she saw before her a gaping maw about the width of her shoulders. She was being drawn directly into it and then suddenly Tren was there, cutting with both swords. Focused on her, the bizarre plant-creature fell before his attack severed tendrils falling everywhere to writhe like snakes upon the desert sand. Zenaria fell forward, but she felt something catch her hair and jerk her sharply back. Then she was being dragged away from the plant by her hair and then her arms.

Tren had saved her, but she was wracked with pain so intense that she almost fainted. Everywhere the tendrils had touched she felt as if she had been set on fire. Like a good Erogenian she gritted her teeth against the pain and fought to remain conscious. "Got to stay awake," she gasped. "Stay awake."

Through the haze of pain she sensed Tren looking at her; felt him loosening the ties on her outer robe, but she felt no alarm. Her injuries needed tending and to do that he would need to look at her body.

Breathing was becoming more and more difficult. Zenaria sensed that she was blowing like a horse that has been run too hard, but she could not seem to get enough air.

"That's it, Zenaria," Tren said. "Breathe. You've got to fight against the poison." He opened her inner robe exposing her body to the waning desert sun. It was difficult to gage his reaction, but somehow his next comment seemed hollow. "Don't worry, princess, you're going to be alright."

As if to refute Tren's comment, Zenaria began to shiver uncontrollably while at the same time she began to perspire so profusely the sweat pooled between her breasts before evaporating into the desert air. As her vision dimmed she felt a peculiar calm came over her. I'm dying, she thought. Strangely enough the thought didn't alarm her, there was only a feeling of regret that her foolish oath meant she was going to die a virgin, then her pain faded and she slipped into oblivion.

Continued in Chapter 9

---