Amongst the dusty crags of the Aeolian Wastes a small camp-fire glittered in the night. Two figures sat beside the fire, as different in attitude as they were in dress.

The shorter traveller was huddled close to the fire, wrapped in a cloak that glimmered with patterned colours.  She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her. As she moved, golden bangles on her arms shone in the fire light. Her blonde hair framed her tanned face like curtains of gold.

On the opposite side of the fire, a little farther away, a taller figure lay casually on her side. One hand propped up her head and the other tousled and twisted her long braided red hair. In contrast to the shivering tension of her companion she was relaxed and her eyes were giving into tiredness.

“We sleep soon, let it die,” Brunhilde the lanky barbarian said.

Hope scowled at her and pushed another branch into the fire so that it crackled and leapt up.

“You might fall in if you get any closer,” Brunhilde said with a smile.

Hope swept her fingertips across the edge of the flames. “I would swim in it if I could, I hate these nights,” she said.

Brunhilde yawned and stretched out onto her back. As the light of the fire faded from her eyes it seemed that stars began to ignite in the black sky, as if a painter were flicking paint onto the vast cosmic canvas. She saw the constellations, the Beggar with his cup, the Warrior with his sword- standing above the serpent that lay headless at his feet. She counted the stars. Her eyelids started to close even more.

“Take some of my furs,” Brunhilde mumbled. She lifted her long russet coat of fox and bear furs and then her arm fell across her chest, pulling the cloak around her.

“Disgusting. The colour, the shape. It looks like a blind tailor got drunk and dictated his work to an even more blind and drunk apprentice tailor, with dull scissors,” Hope said. She watched Brunhilde stretch her legs out and mumble something. “Brun?”

There was only the reply of a deep and sudden snore. She watched the Barbarian sleep. She did look quite noble in profile, the set of her jaw even in sleep showed determination. But to enjoy sleeping on the naked ground outside was not for a noble, only a barbarian could enjoy that.

Hope stretched her hands out over the fire and scooped as if she were grabbing water from a stream. But instead of water, fire glittered in her hands; trapped by the magical force she conjured. The dancing flame spun inside a glowing globe of arcane power. She hugged the globe close to her. She pulled her travelling cloak around her and clutched the trapped fire to her chest, already feeling drowsy from its warmth. Her head nodded down and she gave into the gravity of sleep.

The next morning, Brunhilde awoke to the sun’s rays. She scanned their camp. The campfire pit was dark and sooty. Hope was one her side, sleeping curled up in her cloak with something dull and embery in her clutches.

“Time to go, gold-hair,” Brunhilde said. She crouched over Hope and shook her on the shoulder.

Her small companion spun round, eyes sparked awake and she grabbed her nearby sword. “Bring me the perfumes!” she shouted. Then her eyes focused on Brunhilde and she realised where she was. “Oh, it’s you, you big oaf,” she said.

“Alas my princess I have only the perfume of ashen fire pits, forgive this humble servant,” Brunhilde said in a mock humble tone.

Hope rubbed her face, stretched out like a languorous cat and rolled over onto her other side.

“It’s time to wake. We have to go,” Brunhilde said

“To where?” Hope mumbled.

“Somewhere with food, or something to hunt at least,” Brunhilde said.

Hope moaned and slammed her fist into the dirt. “It’s a hopeless, dead waste,” she cried.

“It was your idea to come here.”

“To find treasures, ancient ruins, buried Kings sitting on top of fat greedy hoards,” Hope whined. She spun round into a sitting position and glared up at Brunhilde. “My instinct is perfect. Somewhere in these wastes there are ancient things. Waiting, for us to discover,” she said.

“They may wait forever if we starve to death. Then we’ll be buried treasure to discover,” Brunhilde said.

“What a truly hideous idea. My delicate body lying forever next to your furry remains. A princess’s finery next to a beggar’s sack of bones.”

“Watch your words. I could leave you here and make my own way,” Brunhilde said with a sudden threat in her voice.

“What fun would you have without me?” Hope said. She leapt up onto her feet and spun round on the spot, as if she were performing a dance. “Forgive my harsh words. I’m unused to this outdoor life that you are so expert with,” Hope said. She smiled and performed a regal curtsy.

Brunhilde was unsure if she was still being mocked but knew that was the best apology she would get from the mercurial princess. “Apology accepted. Have a wash if you want, let’s make ready to move,” Brunhilde said.

Hope looked at the trickle of spring water that they had setup camp nearby. It trailed down a rocky outcrop leaving a muddy pool at the bottom. She groaned and scratched her dry hair.

Brunhilde strode around the edge of their camp. The morning air was refreshing to her, it reminded her of summer mornings back home when the cold air from the inlets crept up the hills into her town. She circled their camp looking for the rocks she had lay down yesterday. Small flat pebbles with runes of warding delicately carved upon them. She scooped them up and placed them back in their leather pouch.

When she turned back to their camp site, she saw Hope sitting half naked with her face to the sun. The golden-haired mage had her arms and hands lifted up towards the sun. On her dark skin arcane tattoos of impossibly fine design pulsed.

Brunhilde padded silently behind Hope and crouched down. The tattoos went all around Hope’s back, strange geometric designs that looked like no rune. Curves across her shoulders met at her spine, where they joined into a spiralling pattern down her spine. And in the sunlight the designs glowed and pulsed with soft lights.

Brunhilde resisted the urge to reach out and trace one of the designs. For a second. Then her finger slid across Hope’s shoulder blade, following a spiral maze. Hope flinched at the touch but remained sitting in place.

“Don’t,” Hope said.

“Teach me one of your runes, little sun-hair,” Brunhilde said.

“You haven’t the knowledge to understand, I would have to teach you everything about the smallest detail before you could even hope to comprehend,” Hope said.

Brunhilde punched her shoulder playfully and stood up. "Keep your magic secrets."

“We have to move, I want to reach that rock while the sun is up,” Brunhilde said. She pointed to a distant rock formation sticking up out of the dry desert. She gathered her pack as Hope stood up and dressed.

The mage arced her palms up to the sky and stretched like a waking cat. The lines of her tattoos pulsed and glimmered as they fed on the power of the sun. With a clever twist of her gold neck- and waist-bands she pulled her white dress into a shape that left her arms and legs bare. “I need more sun. You can carry my cloak,” she sniffed.

Brunhilde picked up the cloak and twisted the fabric in her fingers. There were no sequins or threads she could see, yet it glittered with so many colours it could have been stained-glass

“You are a marvellous mystery,” Brunhilde said.

Hope smiled. Brunhilde threw the cloak at her and it dropped over her face.

“Again, I am not your servant,” Brunhilde said.

Hope wrestled out of her cloak and grabbed her pack. One day the stubborn lout would learn how to be a proper bodyguard but until then she would have to continue the charade that they were friends and equals. She skipped after the departing barbarian.

They made their way towards the rocky outcropping that could afford a better view of their surroundings. Brunhilde watched for signs of life. There were rodent nests and sharp dry bushes scattered around, but nothing larger.

“This land is broken,” she said aloud.

“Yes. No cities, no universities prying around. No- what are they called? Those people that grow things and keep animals?” Hope said

“Farmers.”

“Yes, no farmers digging up ancient tomes and burning them for winter warmth. Just an unspoilt destroyed mystery of a former age. If this place was scrubbed clean of life during the Age of Rain, then there must be things from that age here. Terrible, horrible things!” Hope said.

A few hours of walking took them to their destination. The rock was solid but lined with long cracks at an angle to the earth. It looked like it could have been driven up from the earth or thrown down into it by a petulant godling.

Brunhilde scaled the cliff-side with ease, enjoying the feeling of her muscles waking. This was the sense of freedom when climbing that she had enjoyed since childhood. The thrill of mastering an unforgiving surface with only her own strength and careful exploration of handholds and footholds. Hope became smaller and smaller beneath her as Brunhilde tested the rock, found its secret paths and scaled it.

Halfway up there was a flat ledge large enough to stretch out on. She paused and surveyed the landscape. They had travelled from the east, leaving the heathland and hills a few days prior. To the west was nothing but rocky desert, continuing as far as she could see. There was no hint of settlements, current or ancient. Just the tantalising shapes of canyons and broken hills, some regular enough to fool the eyes into seeing design behind them. If there was anything to discover here then it must be undisturbed, even outlaws avoided these desolate parts of the Aeolian Wastes.

She was about to call down to her friend, when she noticed movement at a distance. A caravan moving across the desert. Dust trailed in its wake. She scanned its path to guess at its destination. There, a glint of something? Perhaps. Brunhilde noted the landmarks she would see from the ground and estimated how long it would take them to intercept.

Down below Hope was lying on her back on her gaudy cape, staring at the sky. The barbarian called down to Hope but there was no reply.

Brunhilde heard a low moan from the warding stones in her pouch. She backed away from the edge and spun around, searching for the enemy that had sparked the warning. She could see nothing. She was alone with the rock and the winds. She looked upward for a flying foe, but still nothing. She braced against the cliff face, to be knocked from this height was certain death.

A violent gust rushed past her. It swept grit, moss and pebbles off the ledge into the air. A lengthy coil of vicious scales and teeth rushed at her from above. She threw herself flat onto the ledge as an air serpent crashed headlong into the rock above her. The wyrm howled and whipped its tail in the air. Its body twisted and rolled against her, almost knocking her from the ledge. She clutched the rock to keep in place.

Her left arm was wet with blood, her arm was grazed from elbow to wrist. She wet her finger with the blood and lay it against the rock beneath her. She scribed a rune of earth and sharing. It was quick and ugly, but she felt the magic work. The earth awoke a little, sharing its power with her. She smelled blood and wet rocks in the rain. “Rock brother, lend me a little grandmother’s burden,” she whispered.

The snake-thing coiled its head around and snapped at her with its terrible jaws. Brunhilde twisted onto her back and threw her arms around its thick neck. It lashed its body and she was thrust sideways, but the magic of the earth filled her bones and made her heavy. She was a dead weight holding it down. It hissed viciously as it tried to displace her.

Then it changed tactics. It pushed forwards to the air and she was dragged along with it. Brunhilde peered upwards to see how far she was from the edge. Another burst of movement and she would be suspended in air. She squeezed, hoping to break its neck. It screamed and lashed its body, its long jaw struck the rock beside her. Without knowing, the beast smashed her blood scribed rune and she felt the power of the earth leaving her. Without the power of the earth she was no weight at all to this thing. It leapt into the air and she was dragged with it.

“Giantshit!” Brunhilde cried. There was nothing beneath her. She could only hold on tight as it twirled and tried to dislodge her to her doom.