‘I must turn my back on you,’ his father whispered. ‘Leave on the morrow. . . leave and never come back.’
Drexil flinched as a tear rolled down his cheek. Somewhere in the distance, the Bristle continued to squeal and spin, snapping off arrows into the lifting smog.
“F—father. . . forgive me,” he breathed. The words echoed through his mind over and over again. I should have made you proud. He clenched his teeth as the remaining arrows whistled overhead.
Kremwa slowly rose, brushing splinters from his cloak.
A ghostly silence had befallen the desert, punctuated by the occasional cry or groan of dying men. It was a massacre, and the newly birthed ghosts still clung to the bloody landscape like hungry beggars.
As Kremwa approached the gob, he passed several men lying face down in the sand. Their flesh was torn and punctured by arrows, their life’s blood pooling atop the desert. A damn waste, Kremwa thought. For he would have to wrangle new recruits once they returned to Cumlety. A costly and tedious endeavor.
A shriek pierced the silence as a pair of draba birds circled above.
Kremwa looked up and frowned. Every beast in the Waste will soon be upon us, he thought.
It was time to find what he’d come for.
To the east, a dozen men stood silent atop a massive dune, while beneath them a handful of soldiers attempted to subdue the worm with spear and bow.
Indifferent, Kremwa knelt down before the gob, who stared wide-eyed at the sky as blood dribbled between his lips.
“The poison will work fast,” Kremwa said. “But I suppose that’s of little comfort to you now.”
Drexil coughed up several rivulets of blood. “T—T—to hell with y—you!”
Indifferent, Kremwa thumbed one of the protruding shafts. The devastation was marvelous; almost every inch of the gob’s body had been punctured or torn. “You should have left when you had the chance, gob.”
Drexil lifted his head and spat a wad of blood into the Charger’s face. “P—piss off, magic man!”
Enraged, Kremwa grabbed the gob by the throat. “You fleck!” he hissed. “I should flay you alive for the time you’ve cost me!”
Drexil forced a chuckle. “G—go. . . to h—hell.”
“Not before you,” Kremwa said as he lifted him onto his knees.
Drexil groaned, the pain almost blinding. “W—what are y—you going to do?” he coughed, “Kill me twice?”
Kremwa gazed at the Bristle. Its remaining barbs glistened in the sun. “Your mouth is loud, gob. Perhaps we should see how loud it can scream.” And with that, he lifted Drexil onto his feet and thrust him against the device.
Drexil’s eyes went wide as one of the Bristle’s firing shafts plunged through his back.
“You will thank me soon enough,” Kremwa whispered, his lips inches from Drexil’s face. “That you can count on.” And with that said, the Charger turned and vanished into the desert.
Dalman’s eyes widened when he saw what lay below.
“By the gods,” he breathed. “Is that what I think it is?”
A large, frost covered cube sat unscathed in the center of the smoldering crater.
Galman smiled, his heart racing. “A Karna-bara,” he breathed. “And it’s monstrous.”
Dalman’s eyes widened. “We will hold more wealth than the Circle.”
Galman reached into his boot and withdrew a small, silver whistle. Dozens of zigzagging slits ran the length of the finger-sized device, and a half-inch wooden reed protruded from its thin, metal stem. It was his most prized possession. Without it, the worm would be feral, uncontrollable.
Galman sighed as he moistened the reed with his tongue. Once the call was sent, there could be no turning back.
“Get ready,” Galman shouted to his brother, slipping the whistle between his desert-chapped lips.
Dalman shifted nervously in his harness. “Is she ready?”
Galman turned to the worm, the ulen-barbs still fresh in his memory.
“She’s ready.”
The brutes sat silent behind a hunk of shattered rock, waiting for the worm to pass.
“When clear, kill magic man first,” Lamrot whispered. “I handle gob.”
“Gob’s already dead,” Farahoof said. “What about the haul?”
Lamrot glanced behind them at the exposed chamber. It was huge, most likely weighing as much as a full-grown laxore whale. “Let worm have it,” he said. “We’ll track and catch later.”
Farahoof shook his head, unconvinced. “Do you know how fast worm travels? It take moons to track such a beast!”
Lamrot fitted a fresh arrow into his crossbow and aimed it at Farahoof’s head. “Just do what I told you. Unless, of course, you challenge me?”
Farahoof shook his head. “No. I’d not waste my strength.” And with that, he took off into the smog.
Lamrot sat back and sighed. Stupid gob, he thought. Probably lead them right to us.
To the east, the worm continued to roar and thrash as a group of soldiers jabbed at its calloused underbelly. Lamrot laughed at their feeble efforts. Like the bark of a petrified tree, the worm’s outer flesh was comprised of rock-hard calluses stepped one atop the other. A deliberate design bred on Tarnak for deep desert hauls. Those Circle fools have no place in Waste, he thought. They know nothing of the sands.
Something stirred on the opposite side of the rubble.
Curious, Lamrot peeked out from behind his cover.
Not more than fifty footfalls to the north, the Charger was struggling to drag an enormous ballista from its sandy grave.
“Come on!” he heard the Charger cry as the device slowly rose from the sand. Its ancient wheels creaked and groaned as they spun to life, and a massive steel missile clanked back and forth in its birth.
Lamrot smiled. “He thinks to take down the beast with scrap.”
Slowly, the Charger maneuvered the ballista until it faced the worm. He then took hold of the rusted crank and slowly drew back the bolt.
Lamrot watched excitedly as the ballista’s grit coated gear system ground into motion. Wait until he’s done, he told himself as he aimed his crossbow at the Charger’s spine. Let him sweat his last moments of life.
The worm slammed down atop another soldier, leaving a mess of bloody armor in its wake. The Charger watched patiently, squinting as he gazed down the bolt’s rusty shaft.
Lamrot smiled. “Come on, magic man! Do it now!”
With a snap, the Charger pulled the firing chord, sending the massive bolt hurtling through the air. When it struck the worm’s side, the beast emitted a deafening growl.
Lamrot grinned as the din echoed across the Waste. One less headache to deal with, he thought, raising the crossbow. And now your turn magic man.
His breath held, Lamrot sighted down the crossbow and pulled the trigger.
The bolt went wide, piercing the ballista several inches shy of the Charger.
“Damn it!” Lamrot cried, tossing the crossbow to the ground.
The Charger withdrew a sword from his cloak. “Your aim is almost as good as your judgment with paste!”
Lamrot removed the short dagger he kept hidden up his sleeve. “I’ve never killed a magic man. Is it true you bleed meridium?”
“Come and find out scrapper.”
Lamrot rushed forward, his dagger held at the ready.
Kremwa stood fast, studying the brute’s movements. When he was close enough, Kremwa feigned a downward cut and then switched to a low crouch. But the brute predicted the move and parried his attack.
“Is that it?” Lamrot laughed. “That’s all you Circle bastards got?”
Kremwa swung his blade and met Lamrot’s with a splash of sparks.
“You waste my time, dreg!” Kremwa growled as their blades ground against one another.
Lamrot smiled. “Then let’s finish this.” Reaching back with his free hand, he removed a three-inch razor from his collar. With a sideways swipe, he cut open both sides
of the Charger’s mouth.
Kremwa pushed away from the brute as blood poured onto his chest.
Lamrot grinned. “Prettied you up, yes?”
Kremwa wiped his face, staring at the blood. “You’re a fool, scag. You think of nothing but coinage, when so much more is right beneath your nose.” He glanced at the ground directly in front of the brute, where a large patch of sand rippled ever so softly.
“Are you ready?” Lamrot said, inching forward.
Kremwa spit blood onto the ground. “Why not?”
Smiling, Lamrot rushed forward. But after only a few steps, a set of enormous jaws exploded from the ground and snapped shut around him.
Kremwa stepped back as both brute and nagra quickly slid back beneath the sands. For a brief moment he heard the man’s muffled cries. But then an eerie silence descended. The worst death in all the Waste, Kremwa thought as he watched the patch of sand grow still. It would take months, possibly even turns for the brute to die. Even now, the nagra was injecting enzymes into the man’s body, binding his nervous system to its own.
Kremwa took a few cautious steps backward, careful to avoid any patches of depressed sand. When he was clear of the area, he turned his attention to the opposite side of the field, where the gob now squirmed against the Bristle.
“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble today dreg,” Kremwa said as he approached him. “Far more than I needed.” He stepped within inches of the bloody gob and grinned. “Are you ready for what awaits you?” He took hold of the shaft protruding from the gob’s chest and yanked it down.
Drexil screamed as blood percolated from his mouth.
“Come now,” the Charger purred, twisting the barb. “Let’s not end our fun so soon.”
Drexil’s eyes bulged as he gasped for air.
Disgusted, Kremwa thrust his knee deep into the gob’s gut. The mutant emitted a dull groan, before falling limp against the machine.
“This is goodbye, dreg. May you find better luck on the other side.” And with that, Kremwa turned and vanished into the wreckage.
Drexil forced his eyes open as blood percolated up his throat. His chests and legs were numb, and what little blood remained in his veins was now dribbling onto the sands.
His teeth chattered as a chill swept across his body. He could still see the Charger looming in the distance, a black shadow drifting like a ghost through the charred ruins. He wanted to gut him, flay him and feed him to the worm. But there will be no vengeance this time, he thought. At least not with the Charger.
What little time remained would have to be shared with a brute.
Particularly the one now approaching.
Kremwa crouched behind a piece of shattered tunnel, watching helplessly as the worm began ingesting his prize. If they make for the Scavengers, he thought, this will get much more complicated.
The worm’s controllers furiously tugged at their control wires, prodding the beast forward as the icy chamber slowly vanished inside the maw.
“It’s too big,” he heard one of the men shout.
“Bullshit!” the other replied. “Remember that ballista she took in east of Ix?”
The worm groaned. The ice-covered chamber stood only a few footfalls inside her gullet, but already she was growing distressed.
Kremwa wiped sweat from his peeling forehead. He was dizzy and exhausted, and soon enough the shakes would return. And if that damn worm reaches the Blind Scavengers it’ll be hell finding it again. The nomadic traders moved with the utmost secrecy, scavenging in zones few, if any, had seen since the end of the Meridium War. It was even rumored that only one in five knew the actual routes. And those that did were rendered mute or worse, carried along in cages which only the clan leaders were allowed to enter.
Why did it have to be a worm, Kremwa lamented as the chamber slid deeper into the beast’s throat. When the process was complete, the worm’s digestive system would cover the chamber with a thick layer of protective saliva, which would eventually harden into an almost impenetrable shell. Kremwa sighed. Until it was unloaded, it would be untouchable.
Piss on this, he thought. His impatience baiting him, Kremwa stepped out from behind the tunnel and approached the worm.
“She can take it!” Galman shouted as the worm grunted and twitched.
In the opposite harness, Dalman huffed. “But that was nothing compared to this! And she didn’t have a damn harpoon sticking out of her side!”
“Just keep her moving,” Galman shouted. “It’s too late to stop her now anyway.”
Dalman sighed. She’d barely taken in half the chamber, but already her segments were covered in frost. If she dies before we’re through, it will all have been for nothing. The many turns spent training her, the fortune it had cost transporting her to the east. . . all gone in the blink of an eye. He swallowed at the prospect.
Just focus on the task at hand, fool, he thought. Get her through this day and worry about the consequences on the morrow.
He turned his attention back to the control wires. They were still taut and responsive; even the slightest vibration could alert him to the worm’s movements. Well worth the fortune we spent on it, he thought. But as he worked the wire controlling her mouth, he noticed something strange moving below. A tiny black form slinking from the bunker wreckage. When he looked closer, he realized it was a figure cloaked in black.
“We got another one down there!” he shouted.
Galman tugged on his ventral wires, calming the beast as it took in the chamber. “To hell with him!” he replied.
Dalman watched the figure for a few more moments and then turned back to his task. What’s inside you? he wondered as the Karna-bara inched down her pharynx. Until now, he’d only seen one other such chamber: a man-sized Karna-bara he and Galman culled from Melius Flats one turn ago. It had been tiny in comparison to this one, yet it still yielded ten thousand coinage on the Ixian market. You, though. . . he thought as he stared at the worm’s bulging clitellum. You’ll be worth three kingdoms.
“How much longer?” Galman cried.
Dalman eyed the worm’s bulging segments. Great red and black bruises were already forming where the poison barbs had torn into her flesh. “She’s almost done. But the poison is in her blood,” he replied. “I doubt she’ll live beyond Ix.”
“She’ll make us proud,” Galman shouted.
Dalman’s chest tightened. All that training, all that time spent in her shadow.
She’s of my own flesh and soul, he thought. But sacrifices had to be made.
Dalman hesitantly nodded. “I’m sure she will.”
Farahoof slowly limped toward the bristle, Lamrot’s bow dangling at his side.
“Well, well,” the brute wheezed, cracking a satisfied smile. The gob hung limp before him like a child’s rag doll. “So I get pleasure of seeing you die after all?”
Two other brutes flanked him, both bloodied and exhausted. “Let’s get this done and be off,” one of them said.
Drexil cracked a bloody smile. “Looks like. . . we’re all in. . . agreement then.”
Farahoof took hold of the bloody arrow guide jutting from Drexil’s chest. “You tell me the truth, dreg. How Grendil really die?”
Drexil coughed, spattering the brute with blood. “Y—Your friend,” he said, wincing with every breath. “He sits… at the bottom. . . of a. . . shit house.”
For a moment Farahoof stood completely shocked. But then rage quickly filled his eyes. “You join him soon enough, then, gob. That I promise.”
One of the brutes stepped forward. “We waste too much time here, Farahoof. Finish him and let’s go”
Drexil opened his mouth, barely conscious. “K—kill me and. . . and y—you’ll never learn how to open it.”
Farahoof leaned in closer. “Don’t flatter yourself, gob. A smudge of paste could crack both the beast and that box.”
Drexil smiled, his teeth painted crimson. “Not this one.”
Farahoof laughed. “If you think
this a deal, that time has come and gone.” He raised his crossbow and pressed it to Drexil’s forehead.
“W—wait!” Drexil said. “Just wait. L—let me show you something.”
Farahoof touched his finger to the crossbow’s trigger. “Three seconds gob.”
Drexil gestured to a small brass knob mounted above his head. “A Bristle… it’s worthless u—unless. . . “
Farahoof stepped back, taking aim.
“Unless one k—knows how to. . . reset it.”
Farahoof froze. Apparently he hadn’t thought of that.
“What you doing, Fara?” one of the others spat. “Just shoot him already!”
Drexil reached up and grabbed the knob. “If I die,” he said, smiling, “you. . . you have nothing. I live. . . you get everything.”
Farahoof stood silent for a moment, gauging the gob’s words. But then he shook his head. “I’ll take my chances, gob.”
Drexil smiled. “Well. . . I’m sorry. . . to hear that. . . then.” Wincing, he twisted the ancient knob. There was a loud clink, followed by rhythmic, metallic clicking.
Farahoof’s eyes widened.
“Better run,” Drexil slurred.
Farahoof quickly turned and bolted past his comrades.
“Get out of here!!!” he cried. “He’s activated it!!!”
At first his companions stood frozen, too shocked to move. But when the machine began moving they both turned and ran into the night.
Farahoof dove beneath a piece of rent steel, his hands clasped over his head as a curtain of tiny arrows erupted from the Bristle. When he dared to look up, he saw a stream of black death tearing across the field, cutting down countless Circle men and workers unfortunate enough to be trapped in the open.
Sand and Scrap Page 26
