Lords of the Sands: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel

by Paul Yoder

  “Denloth,” the skeleton said, eyes locked with the figure that stood on the other side of the fort atop a wall. A moment later, the figure was gone, and the rattle of more arisen coming their way brought Matt and the ally arisen back to the fight at hand.

  Malagar and Hamui, heard not the clash of steel on steel, or the smashing of bones from Matt’s blows, but stared blankly at the unmoving body of their comrade, devoid a head and spine that was buried in the large, clenched palm of the beast that lay under him.

  28

  The Outcast

  The bells pealed from the white watchtowers above, which were just being lit as the night came on in the market district of Brigganden as Yozo sprinted in and out of the crowded intersection, fleeing for his life.

  “Heretic!” the call sounded, men in white robes screamed, rallying others in the area that wore the same white uniform, all converging on his location.

  He had been singled out by one of the locals for his facial deformity, accusing him of being a sinner. He hadn’t understood the connection, and by the cruel manner of the young man, he figured he was just being a target of harassment simply out of youthful amusement, nothing out of the norm for him since he had left his homeland all those years ago, though no less annoying.

  The persistent harassment had gained the attention of the white robes, though. And when questioned briefly about some god he did not know the name of, he had replied, “Fuck your god,” a retort that had elicited quite the response from all those within earshot, even silencing the jocular youth.

  That little interaction had ended his shopping trip, and stay, in the city early.

  “Shit!” Yozo cursed as he dropped some of the desert fruits he had just purchased, small gourds and melons tumbling into the street from his bag he now cinched back up as he rushed down an alley, getting out of the crowded highway.

  The white robes were persistent and everywhere. Leaping off the side of a building and up a wall, he rushed along its spine as he located the nearest gate leading out of the blocked-in city, momentarily getting ahead of the alarm, rushing through the gate just as the guards began to hear the shouts from the white robes far behind, running after him, off the trail and out into the desert sands.

  Looking back to keep an eye on the slowing guards, he sprinted as best he could in the shifting dunes headed towards the foothills of the nearest mountain range.

  The guards puttered to a stop, giving up their chase quickly, seeing that there was no chance to catch, at least on foot, the swift man.

  The white robed men caught up with the guards, explaining the blatant account of blasphemy.

  “We were running him down for blasphemy?” one of the guards incredulously questioned, getting a worrying look from the other guards, and a menacing look from the white robes.

  The group of enforcers stood, looking at the foreign man run for his life over the distant sand dunes, another guard trying to deescalate the situation.

  “Don’t worry, he’s headed for the Imhotez mountains,” the guard nervously chuckled, trying to reassure the robed figures. “I hear that’s where the arisen army is. That man is good as dead where he’s headed.”

  The group headed back to the safety of the city as the sun completely faded away over the horizon.

  As Yozo turned, a mile between him and the damnable glowing city now, he spat one last curse at the wretched culture that had consistently derided him.

  Looking to the sandy foothills that led into the low mountain range, he figured some travel off the trail might allow him a reprieve from harassment along the highway and perhaps allow him to replenish some of his food supplies. Often, he had noticed, wildlife and game were more abundant amidst the ridges, canyons, and foothills. Not only that, but with the elevation, he’d be able to keep track of Sultan Metus’ company.

  As the night grew darker than usual, clouds covering the stars in the heavens, he began to hear creatures of the night calling—screaming.

  At least with animals, they make no pretenses about the fact that they want to kill you, he thought, not minding the dying calls of prey deep in the crags of the mountains he was headed towards.

  29

  A Dark Night in the White City

  Guards looked down from the tall towers at the gates of the city as Metus’ caravan came to a halt in the dark, rain plinking off countless shields, helms, and tabards as Bannon stepped out front to greet the gate guards. Neither parties wore smiles or otherwise showed interest in exchanging pleasantries.

  After a lengthy conversation, the gate guards moved to the side, waving up top to signal for the large doors to be opened, allowing the regiment entry.

  The old door creaked, straining to open as its sixteen-foot height slowly lumbered wide, Bannon signaling for the troop’s advance, hundreds of feet sloshing through the muddy road to enter the vast city’s main highway.

  The streets were empty, and for how late and miserable the weather was outside, it was understandable. Only the watchtowers were populated, the Brigganden city guards peering down from the white, sandstone chiseled spires, hooded lanterns aglow with some sort of white chemical light, resembling a phosphorus glow, casting an unnatural hue upon the cityscape they walked through, the white light contrasting with the ink-black wet night.

  Metus and company had been placed in the middle of the line, where it was best protected by the Hyperium troops, an unnecessary precaution, Metus thought at first, but as the group entered the unusually quiet city gates, the new Brigganden troops ominously looking down upon them, the only sound other than the oppressive rain being a pig brought to slaughter somewhere nearby, Metus was glad for Bannon’s foresight in which he ordered the tight formation for entrance into the ally city state.

  “What happened to the regiment you sent months ago to help with the retaking and reconstruction of this place? I don’t see a single banner or uniform from the Plainstate,” Reza whispered to Metus as their group quietly marched through the sleeping city in the midst of a downpour.

  “After turning over the city politics to the returning Brigganden functionaries, the new information flow has been…more arduous to procure of late,” Metus said under his breath to Reza, eyes from the many towers ever upon him especially.

  Shrouded in a soaking wet hood, Nomad marched up beside Reza, whispering a few words into her ear before slinking back to his position beside Henarus and Terra.

  Bannon called for a halt as they approached the inner court’s gate as they waited for it to slowly open.

  Metus turned to Reza and asked, “What did Nomad have to say?”

  “He suggested,” she began, pondering a moment the advice before relaying it to Metus, “that we order the men to not sleep while here, even if we must stay in this city overnight.”

  As the troops up ahead began moving further into the dreary, dark city, more guards posted along the inner court’s walls, watching the foreign troop in silence like owls in the night, Metus responded, “That…sounds like prudent advice.”

  The audience with one of the high judges had been coordinated quickly, and no sooner had Bannon secured lodgings for the troops in tents in the large courtyard than Metus and his select troop had been shown to the hearing room.

  A black-robed, litigious looking man sat high atop the judges’ benches, bookended by two clergy in white ceremonial robes, the judge scrawling upon parchments with no concern that Metus had arrived while the clergy stared down at the group coldly.

  After a few minutes of scrutinous reading and writing, the frail man in the black robes looked up at the two city guardsmen that had led Metus into the hearing room, barking “Report,” at the senior guard.

  The guardsman stood at attention, giving a brisk, customary Brigganden salute with hand clenched upwards across his stomach, “Aye, your lord magistrate. Sultan Metus and company arrived with an attachment numbering one hundred strong this evening. Upon their request, Sultan Metus wished to exchange wor
ds with available city leadership before departing on the morrow. This is my report.”

  The thin man with sharp features looked down to Metus for the first time since his entry, eyeing him harshly, looking over those he had brought with him—his two personal guards, Reza, Arie, Cavok, Henarus, and Terra.

  “Ah, Sultan Metus,” the judge softened at the recognition of royalty, “my apologies that the other two high judges are not available for your audience, but the hours are late, and judge Gibben and Niratt do hate to clock in hours past sundown. To those who might not know me, you speak to judge Hagus. What might I help you with this evening?”

  Sultan Metus bowed his head, forgiving the absence of the other judges, explaining, “No apology necessary, judge Hagus. I am here under no schedule and ask you forgive me of my impromptu visitation to the great city of Brigganden. I would have sent word, save for the expedite nature of our mission. The fact that you welcome my sizable troop at such a late hour unannounced speaks volumes of your openness and trust in our relationship.

  “I hope my men’s camp for the night here will not inconvenience the legislative members here in the inner courts, if we are a bother, we can camp outside the city walls for the night upon your request—”

  The judge waved his bony hand, interjecting Metus with, “It’s no problem at all. The courtyard is yours for the night.”

  Metus bowed, giving thanks to the Judge’s hospitality.

  “Very good, you have my thanks. There is one other reason for stopping here before we head west to Rochata-Ung. Not but a year ago was Brigganden brought low due to an unprecedented arisen invasion. Even in the months following their defeat, their commander and army was pushed to the south lands.

  “Unfortunately, it has come to my knowledge that they have been busy at rebuilding their army, and another threat of invasion is looming on the horizon. We are shoring up our nation’s defenses and advise Brigganden to do the same—especially by the southwestern wall. We have word that the Imhotez mountain range is their present position, though, I cannot say for sure if they still remain there as of tonight.

  “Prepare for the worst, the arisen army has proven its lethality in the past. We hope to sound the alarm to this threat in Tarigannie to help harden its defenses and perhaps come to an alliance to deal with this communal threat. The same offer I extend to Brigganden.”

  “The arisen army will not come back to Brigganden. If they do, they are fools,” the judge confidently stated.

  “After returning to rebuild this great city, we, the judges, pledged to the people that an arisen threat would never again bring low our way of life. As you know, it is not just manpower and the size of an army that can stop the arisen. It is the aid of the divine that ultimately wards off the scourge of the living dead. We secured an agreement with a sect of followers of Elendium, a prominent god that directly opposes Telenth, and many of the other lords of the Deep Hells. They have given demonstrations of their great power and standing with their god, and our people’s safety has been secured.”

  As the judge spoke, Metus was keenly aware of the transfixed eyes from the two robed men in white aside judge Hagus, both having watched only Metus the whole conversation.

  “Though we would like to assist you and the people of the Tarigannie region in the fight against the arisen, you must understand the state we are in, only having just begun the true rebuilding of our large city. We must tend to our people before we can consider tending to another’s.”

  Metus took a moment to consider Hagus’ stance on the matter. His reports had not indicated a revival of religion. That having been the case, he figured this was a recent development. Alternatively, the leadership of the city was keeping the new clergy presence a secret.

  “Though Elendium followers are few in the Plainstate, he is a well-respected god in our lands. What authority presides here? A faithful cleric, one Bede of Hagoth was our representative for many years—”

  The man in the white robes on the judge’s right, abruptly entered the conversation, “Bede was known to us. A wayward follower not recognized as holding a status any longer. She came with many apostate questions in her last visit to the Valiant synagogue. Saint Fiuray stripped her of her rank afterwards, cutting ties so as to rout out the sin of corruptive thought before it gained a hold in other fellow believers.”

  Terra looked to Metus, the rest of the group behind him murmuring at the disrespectful condemnation of their beloved departed friend.

  “There will be silence. The High Judge and Sultan Metus have the floor,” the other white-robed man said in a curt tone.

  “You say you follow Elendium. What rank do you hold in the church, if you don’t mind my asking?” Metus questioned, attempting to defuse rising tensions.

  “You stand before a Bishop of the Most High God. I represent Elendium for Brigganden, and it is my duty to see his will fulfilled,” the man that appeared to be in his late sixties proudly said, Metus quickly following up before the man had a chance to puff up his chest anymore.

  “And your name, good Bishop?”

  “Bishop Tribolt.”

  “I admit, I am somewhat perplexed at the presence of the church in this setting. Forgive my naiveté on the subject, but I did not know the church was involved in the judicial system at all in the cities they reside in. Is this a new practice being adopted by the faith?”

  The judge responded, “Bishop Tribolt is our honored guest at court, upholding the law of god to ensure the people of this city remain worthy of Elendium’s aid. Our people welcome the faith with open arms. To keep the laws of god is a small price to pay for security of our lands and lives.”

  “Citizens of Brigganden are required to keep these laws, not just followers of the faith?” Metus questioned, concerned for the drastic turn his neighbor nation had taken over the last few months.

  “In order for Elendium to grace this city with his presence and protection, they must keep his laws, it is a prerequisite of his grace,” the priest to the left answered.

  “What is a law without consequence? Do you have punishments for those who do not follow these laws of Elendium?” Metus probed, having a sneaking suspicion that he already knew the answer to his question.

  “The punishment varies from crime to crime, but yes, we are enforcing violations of such offenses against his holiness. They are, to be clear, simple guidelines, hardly even a hindrance to Brigganden’s normal going-ons, but it is expected for all to attend worship and inform themselves of the commandments of Elendium, or render themselves subject to the courts of the church.”

  “Courts of the church? What of this court? Is this not the court of the people?” Metus asked, beginning to become a little heated at the thought of what the judges deemed sensible in the face of the threat of the arisen.

  “You ask many questions, Sultan. Careful you do not overstep your welcome. Your people may come and go this night, but should you be visiting our city again, we will expect you to abide by the church’s law or we will not forgive your trespasses again,” Bishop Tribolt tactlessly snapped, the threat clear and in the open.

  “I—” Metus said between a heavy breath to calm himself, “will consider your words. A treatise on the rule of law would be helpful if I could get a copy before we depart. It’s imperative I keep up to date with neighboring customs and rules of governance so as to respect those states we have interactions with.”

  The Bishop simply nodded his agreeance in reply, the judge clearing his voice, refocusing their conversation.

  “It is understood that your audience here tonight was to affirm the arisen threat at our borders, to give us due warning of our communal enemy. It shall be recorded, and your troop will be granted a one night’s stay in our judicial courtyard. Afterwards, you will clear the area and be seen out of the city. Does this notation accurately reflect tonight’s audience and is there anything else you may want added to the record, Sultan Metus?”

  “Your summar
y well reflects our meeting. Thank you, High Judge,” Metus said, bowing once more to show his appreciation.

  The judge snapped the small, pinch gavel, signifying the end of their meeting. With that, Metus, along with his company, were seen back out into the pouring rain in the dark of the night—many new concerns having been freshly added to his already troubled mind.

  30

  A Monument to Great Deeds

  The cleanup of the remaining arisen troops had not been easy, Hamui and Malagar having been in shock at the sight of their brutally dispatched teammate, Cray.

  Fin had come around the gate entrance once the group that had followed him beyond the walls had been dealt with. Matt and the arisen that had aided them had subdued what arisen remained in their area, with Fin getting the jump on the three archers that had been harrying them the whole fight. He had been especially vicious in dissecting those three who had been responsible for maiming him.

  They had looked for the one Hamui’s friend had named, Denloth, but found no sign of him anywhere in the fort, though Fin had pointed out tracks leading to the southeast, heading to the Imhotez mountains.

  Hamui and Malagar were sitting under the pavilion in the fort’s courtyard, sipping leisurely from their water skins, Matt conversing with the slither-tongue fellow that had helped them in the heat of battle just an hour before, halting their conversation as Fin strode up from the internals of the fort, rubbing the pain out of his freshly patched right shoulder.

  Having finished his survey, Fin announced to the group, “No sign of your buddy, Wyld. If she is here, chained up, I couldn’t find her. I bet that Denloth guy you mentioned took her with him. There’s a few tracks that lead to the mountains.”