Lords of the Sands: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel

by Paul Yoder

  Fin ignored Hamui and Malagar’s downcast, listless demeanor and pressed the animated skeleton now that it was clear they were, at the moment, out of danger.

  “Now who the hell are you? It’s clear you did your part to help us back there, but why? Your allegiance is defined by your appearance, you infernal, godforsaken abomination. I, for one, have had enough of your kind to last me a lifetime.”

  Matt gave Fin a disapproving look, and the arisen had no chance to respond to Fin’s words as Fin turned to Matt, flippantly replying to his gestures.

  “I know that look, Matt. Don’t you dare take his side, you blind fool. You don’t even know what this thing is yet, do you? Touch him, find out for yourself—”

  Fin saw Matt’s open palm a fraction too late, Matt’s hand landing a clean slap just before Fin could block the strike. Fin fumed, but held back, clenching his fists at the old man who looked ready to welcome a return assault, confident he’d not be able to land a hand on him.

  Matt turned to Hamui and Malagar, who sat watching, glued to the scene.

  “You kids never learn, even after you’re all grown up and moved on. You watch your tongue with me, boy, always. And right now, the hell this man be, human, saren, haltia, praven, arisen, a bloated cow for all I care, he proved a comrade during the most difficult time to prove oneself, on the battlefield. He saved Hamui; hell, he even saved me. I heard what went down, I was there—unlike you.”

  Fin’s emotions flared at the old man’s words. If there was one person that could break him down, it was Matt, and at that moment, he hated him so much for it that he had to walk away, for fear of honestly assaulting him.

  “Malagar, Hamui, go get Cray ready for burial,” Matt called, still looking in Fin’s direction.

  Fin turned, waving an exasperated hand as he yelled, “You’re going to make them handle their friend’s body? I’ll take care of the body. For god’s sake, look at ‘em,” Fin said, chuffing, darkly humored for a moment, realizing Matt was blind and that he couldn’t see their expressions, explaining, “They’re in shock, Matt. That they’re fresh, it’s obvious. You know why I wasn’t there in the fight? I was leading that monstrosity away from all you sitting ducks. We were trapped, I was leading the beast out of the fort. He was taking the bait when one of your nitwits charged in like a hero—”

  “Cray was a hero. You will not take his last triumph away from him,” Hamui solemnly challenged.

  Fin pointed at the jail, shouting back, “Does that look like a triumph to you?”

  There was no answer, and Fin collected himself, realizing his temper was getting the best of him, throwing up his hands, surrendering his point.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, the bluster gone out of him now. “I’ll take care of Cray. It’s easier to bury those we don’t know well.”

  “No,” Matt interjected, “let them gather their friend’s remains. They’ll have to lay to rest a dear one someday. Better it be in training than out on their own.”

  “My god, Matt,” Fin sighed, done with the whole thing. “You two can come to help if you wish,” he said to the two under the pavilion. “I’m going to recover his body and get him prepared for burial. Try and stop me if you dare, Matt.”

  Matt let Fin go, and Malagar stood up, helping Hamui back to his feet, the two following Fin back to the jail to extract Cray’s body from the clutches of the giant ape, leaving the arisen and Matt alone in the court.

  The sound of the three clambering over rubble could be heard in the background for a while before Matt mumbled to the arisen, “He’s a good kid. Obstinate, a real deviant, but his heart is in the right place. I suppose that’s why I took him under my tutelage when he was a young orphan. Hate to see that bright shine get snuffed out in ‘ol Rochata.”

  A loud rockslide caused them both to turn slightly, making sure the boys were safe.

  The arisen slowly began to explain to Matt as they stood there in the dust filled court, “You are blind, I feel it needful of me to tell you, your friend is right about my condition—”

  “What, that you’re a dead man standing?” Matt finished for him, smiling, adding, “I hear no heartbeat from you, nor breath. I’ve never met an arisen before today, so in terms of us,” Matt gestured between them, “you’ve got a clean slate with me. It seems otherwise with Fin. You could be everything he claims you are. Make sure to prove him wrong, and you and me have no issue.”

  The others were well into the jail by then, far enough away that even for Matt only the occasional distant voice made it to his ears.

  “What’s your name?” Matt softly asked.

  “Dubix,” the skeleton whispered, leaving it at that.

  “Well, Dubix, I don’t know how you came to be imprisoned here, or what your plans are next, but with your condition,” Matt said, patting Dubix’s hollow frame, “few, if any, will take kindly to you showing up—well—anywhere.

  “Hamui seems to have taken a liking to you, and he can be a powerful, loyal friend. Malagar seems to have no complaints with you either, so if you wish, you may travel with us, though our path, I see, just got a lot more dangerous in the days to come. You watched out for us in that battle, let us return the favor,” Matt chuffed.

  Dubix looked at the old blind man for a moment before looking over at the demolished jail where they had sprung him from. Turning back to Matt, he hissed, “You may regret welcoming me as you have.”

  Matt’s smile faded slightly as he answered, “Regret at extending a hand to someone, I can live with.”

  “Look, Matt. I know it’s no place for him, but we’re burying him in rubble in the jail. Hamui is etching a monument for him right now,” Fin said, the strains of the day showing in his voice.

  “If Wyld has any chance of rescue, we’re it, and their trail isn’t getting any fresher. You know how it is, a good wind will make it near impossible to pick up on that trail out here. And god damn it Matt, if you argue with me about this, that’s it, I’m done here, and you can rot in hell for all you put me through over the years.”

  “I put you through?” Matt scoffed, turning to face Fin as he made his way back to the courtyard through the rubble that had almost come down on them earlier that day.

  “So, does that mean you’re comin’ with us?” Matt asked, smiling as he felt Fin join the circle.

  Sighing, Fin nodded, “If you’re chasing that Denloth character, then yeah. He seemed like no common underling, correct me if I’m wrong,” Fin said with a fair bit of snark directed Dubix’s way.

  “Denloth…is a match for me. He is of the upper ranks, it is true,” Dubix confirmed.

  “I came to you to get your help in the upcoming war on the arisen. If you’re already headed that way, well, even better. I wish Cavok and Reza were here, but as you yourself taught me, it’s more important to be flexible to the whims of the fates than to be rigidly pursuing your schemes.”

  “Well then, looks like we’ve got ourselves a recon team. Those arisen won’t know what hit ‘em,” Matt crooned, rubbing his weathered hands together.

  After a moment, the soft desert wind blowing through the courtyard, Matt added, “Let’s help finish Cray’s grave and pay our respects to the boy.

  “Shame. He had the same thing I saw in Cavok. Strength, but a heart under all that muscle. He was tender in a few areas, but given time, I think he would have been something. Tarigannie lost a fine man this day. He died saving his friends, though, and a more honorable death, you won’t find.”

  Fin placed a hand on Matt’s arm, leading the hunched over man through the rubble, and the three made their way to the jail where Cray was buried.

  31

  A Respite Along the Way

  The clouds had followed them all that week of travel, the troop only seeing the Tarigannie sun a few times over the slow traveling days.

  Sultan Metus had kept their detachment at a leisurely pace so as not to out-distance the larger Hyperium com
pany. The larger the company meant the slower the travel, and even the elite Hyperium was not immune to mount and equipment issues.

  A sickness had run through to a few of the troops as well, and the pressure from a brisk pace had been decided against, as Bannon suggested to add a day to their travel plans as they took the road from Brigganden to Rochata-Ung.

  Metus had no qualms of the slightly more leisurely stride, and neither did the dolingers that bore them across the sands.

  The road was long before them, and though they had left Brigganden the morning before, they still had one more day of travel to make it to Sansabar at their current pace.

  A few drops of light rain showered them off and on, keeping them damp, though not soaked. The usual barren desert dunes were sprinkled with a few hints of vegetation in flatter areas, scraggly desert flowers, prickly ocotillo bushes, or various cactuses beginning to bud and bloom with the consistent rainfall of the past few weeks.

  The occasional splash of color had made traveling more pleasant, and Nomad felt, aside from their dire mission, the morale of the troop was gratifyingly peaceful.

  He looked to Reza, who had remained by his side throughout most of the trip. He could feel that she worried over him. She was always there at night to calm his night terrors and visions that woke him without relent. He would soon need to camp away from the rest, he knew. He hated thinking of keeping everyone else up as he screamed and moaned throughout the night. Reza, no doubt, would insist on camping with him as she had on their journey to Jeenyre weeks ago.

  He looked over the caravan of friends, most well-known to him, though some like Sultan Metus, and especially Terra, he had not had much time with.

  Terra was simple enough a person to figure out. She seemed very genuine, and aside from her youth and naiveté, he could feel the reasons for her presence there were pure and true. She clearly felt a duty in aiding in the stoppage of Sha’oul.

  She strolled alongside the ever-stoic Cavok, whose side she was often aflank of. The odd pair seemed so much a contrast, but he had witnessed good come of the unlikely friendship that had begun to develop between the two.

  Cavok had come out of their recent adventures calloused, and more on edge than ever. Even to Nomad, he had troubles loosening up to him of late, and Nomad could hardly blame him. He had some awareness of the terrible struggle he had put up in fighting Cavok, and he doubted many could let go those beatings so readily. He knew Cavok would someday get over their recent bouts, but he suspected it would take time.

  Now Cavok had to deal with Terra’s optimism and good heart, and that was a positive force that, even after just a few days on the road, had begun to wear down the walls of building rage he had built up over the last few weeks.

  Reza had refused to leave Nomad’s side for most of the time. He knew she was worried over him, and he felt uncomfortable and guilty at the burden he was to the group. And there was good reason to worry about his gradual transition, which was already beginning anew. He knew this time where he was headed, and that was killing him.

  “You alright?” a concerned Reza asked, nudging her dolinger up close to his, the group at a slow trot along the highway towards Sansabar.

  He nodded, trying to shake the constant worry and thought of doom that hung over their mission in his mind. He had been deep in thought of it all the whole day, worried of the outcome.

  They had told him they were to travel to Rochata-Ung to find Zaren which may hold a solution to fully curing his curse. They were headed that way, though he felt something else was in the plans that everyone else was in on but him. He did not see the need to travel with a large regiment of troops, or with Metus for that reason, but he trusted the crew that surrounded him, and did not want to press them for information, though the worry of unknown plans and kept secrets did weigh on him.

  “Let’s take a rest and let Bannon catch up. We’re getting a bit ahead it seems,” Metus said, steering his mount over to the clump of bushy desert palms and sand grass tufts off the trail.

  There were no complaints from the group. Though the journey thus far had been moderately paced, they had taken fewer breaks than some of them would have liked. A few more days, however, and they would be at their destination, which was a welcomed thought to most of them, but especially Nomad. The sun had not been kind to his aching back, which had begun to flake and split in the location he had been stabbed so long ago now.

  Luckily for him, the sun was beginning to calm for the evening. It was a few hours away from setting, but it was casting a few vivid pastels across the dunes, foothills, and budding plant life now. A cool breeze blew through the little cove of vegetation they were nestling into for a water break, refreshing the group almost as much as their drink.

  “Cavok. Not rum,” Arie quietly scolded as the large man placed a flask jar with caramel colored liquid in it to his lips.

  “We were rationed it,” Cavok replied as though that answered Arie’s concern soundly.

  She gestured to Terra close by who was too busy getting off her dolinger to notice the conversation, Arie giving him a wicked eyeing.

  Cavok rolled his eyes, let out a displeased huff, and corked the flask, stashing it back in his pack roughly, going for water instead, getting down to help Terra, who had somehow entangled herself in the gangly dog-like beast she had been dismounting from.

  The heart of the thicket looked dark and damp, covered by yellow, pollen-filled brush. He half desired to seek seclusion in its canopy, just to get out of the direct sunlight; but the amount of scorpions and fire ants that probably infested the plumage of dead fronds caused him to hesitate. Instead, Reza pointed towards a bowed palm tree that cast a large shady spot in the sand, and the two tied up their mounts to gain respite in the cool shadows as the others did the same, fanning out in the area.

  “I think we’ll need to start bandaging your back again. I can see a black stain coming through your shirt,” Reza said in a subdued tone, getting some medical supplies out of her pack.

  He stripped his shirt off, revealing his wound to her. She had been checking on it each night and morning, and she had said it did appear to be getting progressively worse. That it had entered the bleeding stage was frustrating. He knew that marked the beginning of the urges and impossible nights. He doubted that he would, from then on, be getting much sleep, at least during the night.

  She dabbed a clean cloth into some alcohol, resting the cool, stinging cloth along the outsides of the agitated split in his skin that had formed over the day. It was small now, not but two inches, but he knew it would grow to cover half his back eventually, effectively killing him and giving his body over to his former master, the Lord of Ash.

  She finished cleaning the wound, then, unraveling some fresh bandages, she placed one over the laceration and began to wrap the long one around his torso, helping to keep the cloth snuggly over the cut.

  “You have sacrificed more for me than anyone, Reza,” Nomad quietly said, looking out at the bright yellows and oranges of the landscape.

  The statement lingered, Reza finishing her task with the bandage slowly, resting a hand on Nomad’s shoulder, his hand coming up to feel the warmth of her skin, brushing along the back of her hand and wrist.

  Feelings had slowly begun to numb once more. His connection to his senses were starting to blunt, the throb on his back leaching away his vibrancy. He could feel her softness, but barely. The sensations of life were waning.

  The somber moment hung in the air for a moment longer before approaching footsteps in the sand slowly moved the two apart, Nomad putting his shirt back on and Reza sitting back in the shade, seeing that Metus and Arie were on their way over to them.

  “How’s the back, Nomad?” Sultan Metus asked, the two newcomers taking a seat in the sand beside them.

  Nomad nodded with a weak smile in reply. In truth, the speed of his curse’s return was quicker this time around than last, and it worried him; but, at least for now, he
was in good company, and his mind was still mostly his. He could not complain.

  “Well, we’re going to be coming up on Sansabar in an hour or two. We’re naught but two days out from Rochata-Ung at this point,” Metus finished with a smile, happy with their time and the ease of the journey thus far.

  “I’m sure you’re thrilled to have Jadu’s constant chatter in our group once more,” Nomad said, smiling mischievously at Reza, souring her mood instantly at the thought of putting up with the talkative praven’s antics once more.

  “He had better have learned to hold his tongue around me. His incessant prattle was straining me beyond my patience.”

  “Asking Jadu to hold his tongue is like asking the sun to stop in place,” Nomad chuckled, knowing how much Jadu could obliviously get under Reza’s skin by just being his jovial, chipper self.

  “You forget, Reza. Jadu is supposedly quickly becoming a powerful enchanter. You may find it difficult to subdue him with threats as you used to—well, attempt—to do,” Arie added, smiling at the obvious distress Reza displayed at merely the prospect of sharing company with Jadu once more.

  “Magic or no, if I order him to shut his trap, he had better do it,” Reza crossly announced, getting a chuckle from the others.

  “A dangerous combination you two are. Hilarious to watch, but dangerous,” Arie laughed.

  “Indeed, and poor Jadu is completely unaware he is engaged in a battle of wills when Reza puts the heat on him. He is a guileless and happy little soul,” Nomad smiled. “It will be good to see him again, before….”

  Nomad left off before finishing his thoughts in regards to the decline of his condition. The others seemed to know where he was headed regardless as the convivial moment quickly passed.

  The four shared a moment of silence, gazing across the pastel-colored dunescape before rousing the others to finish their journey before nightfall.