The carriage started to roll. A cloth over Razam’s head blocked all the light. Despite this, he tried to summon the strength of his entire body to break the wood of the carriage. The ropes around his wrists were thick even for a horse to snap, but he hoped that the wood they were tied to was weaker. He grunted, pressing his teeth and trying to lift his entire body. Nothing happened. And as he writhed and turned, he held a conversation with a voice in his mind.

“Come on, Vrarog, I helped you last time, this time I’m in danger.”

The voice that answered in a part of his mind echoed with worry and sadness.

“Human… Understand… I have other business to attend to. I thank you for what you did, but we must go separate ways now.”

“Remember what I did for you,” Razam said. “You owe me your freedom!”

“Can you stop thinking on those terms?” The dragon argued.

Razam sighed. Trying, once again, to use the strength of his entire body to break the wood, to rock the carriage, or anything.

Then, a female voice echoed next to him.

“Hey, Crimson Thorn, are you there?”

“You’re awake, huh, your Highness?” Razam whispered.

“I’ve been awake for a while.”

“Did they get you with the same trick? With the hole on the ground?”

“They did, but I managed to kill five of them,” she said softly.

“Five?” Razam muttered.

“Yes, those stupid poisonous darts they had,” she hissed. “Had I been aware I would have been more careful.”

“Right, those stupid darts.”

“Listen,” the woman said. “They took most of my weapons, but I think I still have something I can use. I need your help.”

“Huh?” Razam asked.

“In my hair, it’s a hairpin. It’s got a knife edge, strong enough to cut through these ropes.”

“Clever,” hissed Razam.

“Get it and cut my bands, I will release you. Then you will wait for my signal, we will wait until the carriage stops, then we’ll be waiting for them.”

Razam blinked, narrowing his eyes.

“Listen, kid,” he said. “Neat idea with the hairpin and all, but who said you’re making the plan?”

“Any better idea?”

“Well, you know… I’m the thief.”

“So?”

Razam cleared his throat.

“They are taking us to the Murlian camp.”

“Huh?” she asked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, while they were asleep they were informed that the Murlian camp is paying good money for our heads.”

“Uh,” Fara said

Then they heard a knock on the front of the carriage.

“If you utter one more word, I’m gonna beat you so hard that you’ll forget how to talk. I don’t care who you are or that they want you alive!”

Razam grunted.

“So,” she hissed even lower.

“Wait,” Razam hissed , trying to turn around. “Let’s get that hairpin of yours. Come here and I’ll take that cloth off of your face. Let’s make them stop earlier. Did you hear the man? They’re delivering us into the Murlian camp. We have no chance against forty demon knights. We better make them stop now.”

“What did I tell you!” grunted a gruff voice from the front.

Razam heard Fara writhing and turning next to him, she leaned her head on his arm. He turned both his wrists and his arms as far as he could, trying to grab the mask. It was an inch away, and yet unreachable. He hissed in frustration.

“Come on, dragon, come and help us, you’d make it much easier,” he said in his mind. But there was no answer.

Fara struggled and grunted, but after a while, Razam was finally able to grab part of the cloth with three fingers and pull it. He immediately felt for her hair, it was soft but a tiny bit greasy, sign of a long journey.

“Auch,” hissed Fara,

“No, to the left,” she said. “Not that left, your left.”

Razam moved, grasping it with anger. Until he felt something prickling him, he switched his fingers around it and pulled. Fara let out a pained cry.

Razam turned it in his finger and reached for his ropes.

“No!” Fara grunted through her teeth. “Pass it to me.”

“Wait,” Razam said. “I’m good at this!”

“No, wait, I’m trained to use this specific needle.”

Razam got to work, sliding the pin against the ropes on his wrists.

“I’m better, kid. I’ve escaped from prison twice already, and...”

Suddenly, the carriage stopped.

“Where even is the sharp side?” Razam mumbled.

“Give it to me!” she ordered. Razam sighed and passed it to her. He felt her hand grasping the hairpin and he began to hear friction. But that was not the only thing he heard. Someone had gotten off the carriage.

“I will show you, you devils,” said the voice, before the hinges of the carriage door creaked. Razam only saw a pale light through the cloth.

“What’s happening!” Razam shouted. He felt the carriage rock slightly as someone climbed in.

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***

Fara hissed a curse, sliding the knife rapidly across the ropes on her wrists. She felt like she was miles away from finishing. In that very moment, the carriage door opened. It was not the driver, but one of his foremen.

“You!” the man said, pointing a cane at Fara’s face. “How did you take off your mask?”

Fara gritted her teeth, lowering her face. She would not lie, she would not justify herself or blame the Crimson Thorn. She did not answer.

“I’m talking to you, Arsacian slut!” barked the foreman. He stepped forward, lifting the cane as if to hit her, while behind her back, Fara frantically stroked the sharp hairpin against the ropes.

She glared at him, continuing her task.

“Hey, you leave her alone!” shouted Razam.

In that very instant, the man swung his cane toward Fara. She braced as he struck her across the face. It hurt, but she had been through pain, she knew how to face it, and she would not allow it to break her.

“Huh?” the man said, surprised, but perhaps angrier than before. “Are you too numb to scream, Arsacian slut?”

The foreman stepped forward, drawing his foot back, then kicking her in the temple. She grunted, breathing in to withstand the pain. She glared back.

“Huh?” the man. “You want more?”

“Leave her!” Razam said. “I’m here. You’re less than a bloody coward if you hit women just like that. Come on, come hit me and see if you’re so brave.”

It worked. The man struck Razam with a might he might had reserved for his worse enemy. Razam did grunt, but the man continued, twice, three times. Each strike shook the entire carriage. Another strike cut the side of Razam’s forehead, and blood started dampening and darkening the sides of the cloth around his face. The man struck him again in the head, then kicked him in the ribs. Fara tried to speed up. Razam was bleeding.

Then, Razam screamed. It made Fara flinch in horror.

“I hope your woman learns to be quiet now,” shouted the man, continuing to strike him in the arms and ribs, mercilessly, as if he were trying to split the cane against his skull.

“Stop!” she shouted. She could not watch that.

Instead, the man turned, a sickly grin on his face, hitting Razam in the head.

“Stop now!” she said.

Then, the man grabbed Razam’s face and pulled it toward him as he kneed him in the nose. A horrid thud mixed with Razam’s grunt. Blood pooled around, darkening the cloth.

In that very moment, the ropes around Fara’s wrists dropped. She took a single breath and prepared the strength of her legs to propel her. She moved forward with the strength of her core and back. The man stared in surprise and disbelief, but in the instant as she was leaping toward him, he did not suspect any danger. She grinned, drawing her arms around him. It was too quick for him to react, with one swift motion, she stuck her hairpin into his neck, right into his carotid artery. Her momentum pushed him backward, and the hairpin moved across his neck. It was only threads of blood, but his eyes opened wide and his mouth gaped, struggling to breath in. Instead, blood spurted around his tongue.

Fara leaned forward, expression still, then pushed herself off the dying man. She removed the knife around the foreman’s girdle and quickly untied the bands around her ankles. On the side, Razam was writhing in pain. Once her legs were free, she rushed toward him and pulled the bag around his face. Blood stained his forehead, nose and mouth. He observed in silence as she reached down to untie him.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Darling, my friend, how are those prisoners?” asked the slavemaster from the front of the carriage.

Razam, now free, turned toward Fara and winked, his expression as if nothing had happened, contrasting against his blooded face. He held the foreman’s cane in his hand, his own blood staining its sides. He got up, and without a word, he lifted opened the door and jumped off the carriage.

Fara followed, holding the stolen dagger in hand. A blaze of sunlight made her flinch, but she jumped through. Men from the caravan shouted when they saw them, and a handful jumped at Razam, holding crude bronze swords and maces. Razam was a whirlwind, ducking and dodging, with one swift motion, he slammed the cane against his first attacker’s face. Then, he whirled. His foe attacked with a sword thrust, Razam grabbed the man he’d attacked first and used him as a human shield. Razam’s hand darted to the man’s girdle and snatched a knife.

Two more emerged from the carriage in front, one of them wielding a halberd, the other carrying a scimitar.

“Hey!” Razam shouted. “You bloody thief, that’s my sword!”

The two advanced toward him. Razam had nothing but the knife. He leaned back, ready to throw his dagger at the advancing slavers. With all the momentum he could muster, the Crimson Thorn threw the knife, aiming directly for his attacker’s face.

And the knife flew right past its target.

Fara facepalmed.

“Oh, gods,” she scowled.

That man had terrible aim.

But luckily, she didn’t. She wasn’t that good at close combat without her special weapons, but knife throwing was a talent she did have. She drew her own hand back and threw the knife she was holding. It flew over Razam’s shoulders, whose instincts seemed to make him flinch.

The result was not pretty to look at, the knife entered square into the man’s forehead. He dropped the scimitar. But his companion kept advancing, halberd pointed. The halberd was easier for Razam to dodge, it seemed, he ducked, moving his hips, then trapping the halberd under his elbow and headbutting his opponent. The Crimson Thorn was good, she could not deny it. The stunned man was to slow to stop his own halberd from impaling him.

Razam pushed him to the ground, undeterred, he rolled on the ground and snatched the scimitar. He jumped to his feet again, whirling it to feel its weight. Fara counted two more caravans, from each, four warriors came out. One of them had a blowgun. That was no good, he had to take care of him first.

“Are you not tired of this?” Razam shouted at the attackers, walking slowly, both hands down below his waist.

Fara leapt toward Razam’s side, having snatched the daggers of all the fallen slavers.

“What will you give me if I hit each of them with these,” she whispered into Razam’s ear.

Razam snickered.

“You’re just bragging.”

“You’ll see,” she winked an eye, drawing her arm back and throwing them. The first one entered her target’s solar plexus. That was not immediately lethal, but looked very painful. The man had to stop and scream, falling to his knees. The second knife hit a slaver in the forehead; he fell in an instant. The third knife entered a man’s neck, he collapsed and died in a pool of blood.

Razam stared at her and nodded approval.

“Impressive.”

The desert was silent.

Razam yawned, stretching both arms..

“Alright, I guess we’re done.”

“Seems like it.”

“What do you say we check the money box and go for a drink?” He said with a wink.

Fara chuckled.

“I couldn’t say no, but, don’t you think it’s a bit too quick? It seems to me that your Murlian friends are looking for us.”

“Come on, I’m not always dressed like a royal,” Razam said. “Come here, these slavers are selling stolen clothes too. I saw the coffers they were carrying They’ve got good products too, you can stay a noblewoman if you want, either that or a beggar.”

But as the Crimson Thorn moved toward the carriage, a thud echoed in the desert. A black arrow had struck the wood, its shaft marked with intricate painted lines.

“Spit on a grave,” Razam cursed.

Metallic shapes emerged from the cliffs and rocks, men with faces entirely covered in chainmail, plate armor on their breasts, and helmets adorned with devil horns.

Demon Knights. And the more Fara looked, the more seemed to come out of the rocks.