The Dragon Sands Box Set: Books 1 - 3

by C. K. Rieke

  Midway through the day, Lilaci’s stopped her steady pace climbing up the high dunes of the Dakaran Region, as they were walking towards a break between the Zont-ils mountain range. Once they passed through the gap in the high-reaching mountains the Duen Utülm Drakon would be distant in the region of Gorx. To the left she looked up at the sky, thick with low hanging, dark clouds that caressed the mountains highest peaks.

  “That’ll be a good storm,” Roren said. “We should head that way— collect some rainwater. We need to get some food as well. Mountains can make for good hunting.” Lilaci heard her stomach growl after he said that. The only food they collected from the Reevins was some dry mutton, which they’d finished the day prior.

  “I haven’t had good luck with mountains as of late,” she said, and then sighed. “You’re right though, as I couldn’t enter a city, even if we had the time to head towards one. Let’s be cautious though. Remember the arrow. Someone may be watching us.”

  “Not likely,” he said. “The Order of Drakon are all more than adequate at hiding on the sands. I would’ve noticed if someone was following us. I’m sure you’re trained in some form of stealth too. If there were someone out on the sands, I would know.”

  Lilaci’s eyes darted south, and Roren’s eyes seemed to scan out for what she was looking at.

  “Down!” she said, as she grabbed his left sleeve and pulled him down to the sand with her. “Oh really, you would notice anything? How’d you not sense that group of six down there?”

  Roren poked his head up from the hot sand, and after wiping the grains of sand from his face, he seemed to notice. “Scaethers.”

  Chapter Five

  “Damn,” Lilaci said, in the howling winds blowing in from the oncoming storm. Sand was lifted and blew off the top of the great dune, swirling through the air like dust from a windmill. “Six of them. We should move.”

  “You think they spotted us?” Roren asked, his usual calm tone had turned to a concerned one. Roren, as one of the Order of Drakon, had a paranoia about the Scaethers— like an agile deren always vigilant to avoid a hungry sandwolf. The Scaethers were hunters of women, children, and men. Lilaci had heard their Order mainly consisted of older men and women, Roren was one of their strongest. She doubted the Order ever won a battle against such hardened soldiers as the Scaethers. “Let’s be on our way. I don’t want to linger here too long.”

  Just then, as if the gods themselves were signaling the group of men with pale skin and sharp widow’s peaks, a bolt of lightning shot to the sand, striking the dune just beyond Lilaci and Roren. Their bodies both tensed from the exploding sound it made. They both looked over at the bright light as it roared in furious thunder. Then Lilaci looked down at the Scaethers below. They’d stopped walking. They were huddling together, staring up at their direction. “The lightning drew their eyes up at us,” she said, in a grim tone.

  Roren looked down and seemed to agree. “They’ve spotted us. What do you want to do?”

  Lilaci didn’t answer. As much as she despised the Scaethers, in all honesty, she pitied them, they were murderers, yes, but so was she. She knew what was going through their heads then, ‘glory for the gods, punish those who betray and desert.’ After all, she’d been in that same state of mind only weeks prior. Though, she knew trying to convince them would be out of the question. She had the Sanzoral, yes, and she’d had lots of practice in fighting recently, but the Scaethers weren’t like Reevins. The Reevins were weak, old men with magic. They didn’t know how to fight, and she’d outmatched them every time— so far. But these were Scaethers, men trained the same way she was, even more so at hand to hand combat. And they were men, stronger than she was, and there were six of them. Even if Roren and she fought as hard as they ever had in their lives, they maybe had a fifty-fifty shot of beating all six of them, and she wasn’t excited about those odds. Besides, there was something more important than fighting them, and probably getting injured— Kera was still out there somewhere, and she needed Lilaci’s help.

  “Lilaci— what do you want to do?”

  She watched the Scaethers to their right, as they casually began heading up in their direction. Her eyes then shot over to the gap between the mountains straight ahead. Her head then moved to look directly into Roren’s eyes.

  “Run,” she said.

  Sand poured down the side of the high dune— like water flowing down a long hill from the rains. They both took long strides rushing down the side opposite the six Scaethers. They were still plenty far off— a mile at least, but Lilaci knew they needed to make it to the far-off mountains to have any chance of escape from the pack. Otherwise it would turn into a bloody fight, with no stealth to aid her. It would be skill versus skill, and strength versus strength, and they were outnumbered. She knew Roren could fight, but against her own, she didn’t know how much of a chance he stood. As they ran, she looked up to guess the mountains were still three miles out, with the storm collected over their jagged tops.

  Roren paused to look back behind and found the six had gone to running towards the base of the dune, towards them. He quickly turned back and ran at Lilaci’s back. “They’re quick,” he yelled up to her. “Faster than I thought they’d be. Then again, I’ve only seen them come in a night for raids.”

  “We’re going to need to get to the range before them with time to spare,” she replied. “There may be a cave or crevasse. Or at bare minimum some high ground we could stage an attack from. Not out here in the open to be easily surrounded.”

  “They have any weaknesses you know of? Any inside information? Weak at the knees . . . So forth?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Hmmm,” he muttered. “I guess their heads are only filled with one thing— murder.”

  “It’s not that simple,” she said, glancing back as they ran. “They are forced into their ways, there’s no denying that, but there are still individuals in there. Once they’re out of Sorock, they like to have fun, compete in challenges and even sing occasionally. They just don’t remember the feeling I’m experiencing now.”

  “What’s that? Being hunted? Yeah, I guess it’s been awhile for you.”

  “No, not that,” she said. “Freedom.”

  “Does freedom also mean being hunted for you?” he asked.

  “I can’t refute that— at least— not until we have Kera back and kill the gods.”

  “Oh, is that all its going to take? Death too,” he said. “Death is another way out.”

  Her pace quickened then. “I’m not going to die until I’ve at least taken her from that rat Fewn.”

  They reached the bottom of the dune and began to run across the sands, weaving in and out of the high dunes to their left and right. The faintest of raindrops began to kiss the desert sands, hissing as they kissed its heat.

  Roren pointed his chin towards the sky and opened his mouth, his white teeth glistening in the sun, and he stuck his tongue out to catch as many of the droplets as he could. They couldn’t see the pack following behind them, as the high dunes surely hid them. But Lilaci knew in the daylight in the desert, there’d be no way the Scaethers couldn’t just follow their tracks. The mountains were their only chance. The Scaethers were trained exceptionally well in the tracking in the desert, but they knew less about tracking in mountains and cities— that wasn’t their skill set. Lilaci had been trained in hunting in the cities and towns, and knew more of the mountains than they did as well, but not much.

  “There they are,” Roren said, his breath labored. “Not far off now.”

  They’d been running at a full sprint for the better part of twenty minutes, and they slowed as the sands at their feet turned to dirt and rock. They had to watch their footing then as their leather soled boots could slip off a wet rock, and they could lose their footing as they ran up the mellow incline. The cool rains soiled the dirt to a darker shade and the rocks grew bright as the dust rolled off them. Tall, sparse grass cracked its way through slits in the rock face that
both of them grabbed at as they ran, for something to put in their stomachs, and give them a semblance of strength for a potential fight.

  They at last hit tall rock, and they both paused. Roren put his hands down to his knees and breathed in and out heavily. Sweat was pouring down his face. Shaded from the sun, Lilaci worked to regain her proper breathing, and she peered out back behind them. She didn’t see any sign of the Scaethers, and the light rains helped a bit in covering their tracks, but not much. They’d need a monsoon or sandstorm to do that, and Lilaci knew she wasn’t going to be that lucky, and there was no use praying for it.

  “Up?” Roren asked.

  “Up,” she said with a nod.

  Pouring rain battered both their hoods as they sat against the cold stone. The sounds of rushing water were so loud, it almost drowned out the thunder as lightning streaked through the air. Lilaci noticed that Roren was shivering slightly as he huddled into a ball, holding his knees against his chest. She couldn’t deny that she herself was cold, but midway up the mountain the storm had rushed in, and they had found the best shelter they could.

  They’d found another overhang just around the bend of a massive boulder to their right, but it was a cave of sorts, and if the Scaethers had been following them and found them— they’d be left with a wall at their backs and no chance of escape. Here they had a narrow passage between two jutting rocks in front of them, and a small space to squeeze through behind them if they needed to run. Here, at least, if the Scaethers found them, they couldn’t attack more than two at a time, as the passageway would be hardly wide enough for Roren to walk straight through, at least one of his shoulders would skim the rock. Lilaci gripped the hilt of her sword, it’s wet handle squeaked as she twisted her grip. There would be no sleep that night, and no fire to warm their wet, cold hands.

  Lilaci looked up at the sky, full of dark, ominous clouds like black cotton. Lightning shot through the air above, causing a boom as the thunder roared all around, nearly shaking the small rocks at her feet. Sitting next to one another against the stone, Roren scooted over slightly, just enough that his shoulder rested next to Lilaci’s. She gave him a strange eye.

  “You’re not freezing, too?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer, but she admitted to herself that being used to the dry heat of the desert made this situation completely miserable. She almost wished the Scaethers would come, so her body would naturally warm herself in the fight, and when they were all dead, she could at least attempt to make a fire. Instead, she watched and waited in the darkness. Listening for anything that might give away their approach— the snapping of a twig, the crumbling of small stones down the cliff, the cawing of birds above— but nothing came. Roren eventually dozed off, snoring slightly with a wheezing sound coming from the back of his nostrils. But she remained awake throughout the whole night, waiting, but nothing came, except the constant rain, and cold.

  Chapter Six

  In the gray fog, the rains had turned to a light patter upon that already slick rock. The black clouds had moved on, and the light of the sun was beginning to hint at its return. The fog grew lighter, and Lilaci looked over at Roren’s head as it rested on her shoulder, as he continued his snoring. She nudged it slightly.

  “Huh?” he said as his head shot up, and he focused on the end of the funnel of rock before them. Not seeing anyone there, he reached up and rubbed his eyes, then looked at Lilaci. “You don’t look well. Did you sleep?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “We’d best move on soon. Get off these cliffs.” She stood then, with her sword in hand still, and she lifted her hands high above, arching her back and stretching out her weary limbs.

  Roren reached over and grabbed his watersack, full of fresh rainwater. He pushed the cork in with a squeaking sound. “I’m ready.”

  To move off the mountain, to its backside, they had to climb up for two hours, and the rock became higher to climb at parts, but luckily it had grown less slick even with the fog hanging low. They eventually reached a spot that was so tall, Roren had to lift her up by the bottom of her feet, and then she helped him up by grabbing his hand after. Then, looking over the other side of the rock they found themselves looking down at the desert floor below.

  “That’s it,” Lilaci said. “The Gorx Desert.” She looked down to see a region of desert not filled with high dunes or endless sands, but a desert filled with small rocky outcrops and dead or dying plants. It was not completely covered in sand but there was dry dirt and small rocks on the ground.

  “I can’t see the mountain yet,” he said, squinting his eyes to look out for the Dune of the Last Dragon.

  “Like I said, it’s still hundreds of miles out,” she said. “With any luck though, we’ll find Kera well before we get to that place.”

  “Kera,” he said in a soft voice. “May good fortune be on your side until we find you.”

  Lilaci looked over at him with a stern demeanor. “I hope you’re right about this. You’re sure we should be heading this way? It’s not too late to turn back.”

  “The spirits have spoken to you. Yes, I’m sure of it. If you say you saw the mountain, then that was their will— to show us the way.”

  “Then let’s go,” she said, and leapt down off the rock, towards the new desert lands below.

  “. . . At least I hope the spirits were right,” he said in a soft whisper to himself as he jumped down after her.

  Like it was a sign of things to come, it seemed the moment their feet touched the hard sands at the bottom of the mountain, the fog cleared, the clouds washed away, and the heat and light of the sun fell hard upon them. It felt great at first, drying Lilaci and Roren’s sopping wet clothes, but it quickly returned to the dry, constant heat of the sands of the Arr. It felt familiar to her.

  She stopped and looked back up to the mountain behind them, not seeing any trace of the pack of Scaethers they’d spotted on the other side.

  “You think we lost them?” he asked, scanning the mountain himself.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Honestly it depends on who they’re looking for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if they’re looking for Kera, they might have moved on to go find her, but . . .”

  “If—” he interjected, “—if they’re looking for you . . .”

  “They won’t give up until they’ve found me.”

  “Found us,” he said.

  “Yes, us.”

  “You think they would try to kill us or capture us?” he asked.

  “I’d wager the gods would want me alive, if possible,” she said. “You . . .” She laughed slightly. “They’d probably just kill you. Nothing personal.”

  “None taken. Let’s just not let it get to that. Shall we go on, just to be safe though.” Roren started out at a steady pace, straight out into the dead desert. Lilaci continued to scan the mountain behind her. She thought she spotted a patch of falling pebbles but didn’t see any sign of life. It could’ve easily been an animal scurrying along the rocks, but she told herself to remain alert and vigilant, just to be safe.

  Chapter Seven

  Hundreds of miles to the south, in a city that stretches from one side of the horizon to the other, populated by hundreds of thousands, if not millions, the bustling city of Voru sits upon the luscious Great Oasis of Noruz. Its buildings and small homes are mostly made of clay with thatched roofing and wood posts that stick out at the sides of the tops of the homes. The buildings of bakeries, traders, and any other kind of merchant’s service are mostly made of light-colored rocks seamed together with the same clay. Light strands of rising smoke come from most of them at night, if not all.

  At the center of the seemingly never-ending city is the Palace of Erodoran— a great six-sided pyramid as tall as the heavens. Upon its upper tiers are walls of sparkling glass, a rare material in the Arr. Its golden-colored walls shine brightly upon the city, making it difficult to look upon under the midday sun. Upon its six sides are it's most beautifu
l, yet ominous features. A tall, golden statue looks out from each of its sides. Each statue stands ten times the size of a man, looking down on the city as a sign not so much of protection and vigilance, but it feels more to the people of Voru as a sign of oppression. They know the story that after the gods defeated the dragons, all of the running water ceased throughout the lands, driving even the most desert-made souls into the three cities of the Arr; Voru atop the Noruz Oasis, the city of Scindír atop the Oasis of Azgobinadan to the east, and Godan atop the Great Oasis of Zōn to the south. These three cities are now the life blood of the Arr.

  Inside the highest floor of the Palace of Erodoran, Queen Lezeral Serinaas sits on her throne of flowing gold, curving and stretching to sharp spikes at its high back. White jewels line the golden veins as they twist and flow upwards. Queen Lezeral’s curled, brown hair reaches elegantly down her tan-skinned shoulders and neck. She’s wearing a long white silk dress that reaches far below her ankles and rolls down the red-carpeted steps at her feet. Her normal dim, cold dark eyes dart around the room nervously. The throne next to her, once occupied by her deceased husband, King Gofgenden Serinaas, sits empty. The now Queen’s Guard stand in a semi-circle around her at her back, subtly shifting their feet in preparation for what’s to come.

  With a low-pitched creak the great doors before her open slowly in the square room with glass sides, out of each side the back of a god reflects its golden hue in the brightly lit room. Once opened, in walks a man tall and of pale complexion, with a widow's peak that reached nearly to his nose. His shoulders bared strong and wide under the thin red cloak, and he approached in a fine, white shirt, buttoned from the neck down with tan pants and black leather boots. His black hair fell to the small of his back, and his eyes were a hard gray, and he bore two crisscrossing scars across his nose. He approached the queen, who sat still, and he dropped to a knee at the center of the room to her.