South to the Wastelands.

The way south was hard. The roads to the coast were wide and prosperous, designed to accommodate the flow of goods and travellers back and forth. But there was little of value in the south, so apart from the heavy roads that serviced the mines most of the ways south were little more than dirt paths.

So it was a surprise to Shairi when, after a hard day’s walk, she came to a well-made stone bridge over a wide stream. Presumably, it was a relic of the old empire that had once ruled this area, but now it stood as a landmark in the desolate wilderness. The forest had thinned out into scrubland broken only by the occasional stand of windswept trees.

But the scrub was thick, and crouching men could hide in it in places. It occurred to Shairi that if anyone wanted to ambush travellers on the road, this would be the ideal place. Of course, Queiss would be able to sniff out any ambushers – but the demon cat was sleeping in Shairi’s pack, and witch knew that if she was woken up for no reason then she’d go on about it for hours.

Shairi shrugged. She was probably just being paranoid – worried by her daring escape and the rumours she’d heard about the Wastelands. She took a deep breath, and began to stride across the bridge.