Rain fell relentlessly in icy needles, turning the clay paths of the hills into a slippery, dangerous soup. High above the valley, in a crevice rarely visited by imperial scouts, stood a handful of miserable charcoal-burners' tents made of mud and rotting felt.
Inside the smallest tent, the fire consisted of nothing more than a dying ember of dried camel dung and scrub oak.
Azhred sat cross-legged beside the trembling warmth, removing his wet leather bracers. His usual immaculate appearance was gone; mud clung to his cheekbones, and the silver embroidery of his tunic was worn and stained with sewer grime. He looked at his trembling hands. For a proud prince of the Drazhan clan, living like a hunted wolf in a hole in the ground was a slow, agonizing humiliation.
Across the fire, Tair lay on a damp felt mat. He had placed his lifeless right arm across his chest to keep it from swelling in the damp cold. His left hand slowly rubbed the support brace beneath his right knee, forcing circulation back into the frozen flesh.
A rough, shallow cough shook Tair's chest. He spat a dark, clotted lump of blood into the ashes.
System Interface: ASTRA
NEURAL COST: 22%
SYSTEM WARNING: Environmental neural damage will spread