Lords of the Sands: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel

by Paul Yoder

  Instead of simply sending a messenger to deliver this news, I wished to come to deliver this message, personally, and show my support in numbers, not just words. I have brought my most highly trained troop, the Hyperium, to help blunt Sha’oul’s forces and to stand next to our ally’s side in their time of need, for if you fare poorly in this coming battle, we too will share your fate soon thereafter due to the nature of his necromantic arts.”

  “A messenger would have been faster,” the speaker bluntly stated after Metus ended his speech, adding, “The council appreciates your intent, but we’ve known of this arisen nuisance for some time now. I can assure you, Rochata-Ung is more than well equipped to deal with any advances upon our lands without the need of a small token attachment of a hundred troops.

  “If Tarigannie is this Sha’oul’s target, then we shall end him and his army that has given so many others such trouble. We give no quarter, and with us, this war will end. We need no aid from other states or nations.”

  “This foe is beyond one state to put down. Sha’oul has the backing of a god!” Reza barked, completely done with how nonchalant the Judge was treating the dire situation.

  “You will be silent!” the speaker firmly ordered, pointing his nubbed gavel at her. “Sultan Metus is the only one permitted to speak to the council, or the lot of you will be thrown out.”

  The judge continued, “As for your Hyperium, see that they are out of Tarigannie’s borders swiftly. Ally or no, we do not tolerate outside states leaving troops wandering our land for very long without seeing to those trespasses.”

  “Surely you’re not serious?” Metus said in disbelief, looking to each of the council members. “A grave threat approaches…and you’re turning away help?”

  “Sultan Metus, you will see to it that your Hyperium troop is out of Tarigannie borders within five days from now, or it will be seen as an act of war. You, and those with you, may remain for as long as you wish, but as I see it was your intent to deliver this most important message of yours, seeing how it has now officially been delivered, I assume you’ll be returning to your state shortly as well.”

  The speaker left little time for Metus to offer a reply, as he was still somewhat in shock as to the degree of arrogance the council was displaying.

  “Judges, are we in accordance?” the speaker asked, all offering an unconcerned, “aye.”

  “This assembly is adjourned then. Guards, will you show our guests back to their quarters for the evening? They may stay there the night before heading off. I’m sure the trip here has been taxing for one of his status,” the speaker said, Metus noting the offering the high judge provided him and his band at the end, not sure if it was a display of offhanded kindness, or mockery.

  “This land is doomed,” Arie whispered as they were quickly ushered out of the court.

  “Worse than doomed,” Reza added in a voice loud enough for the old judges to hear. “Cursed.”

  42

  Confusion at the Gate

  “The sooner you beckon to my call, the sooner your suffering will end,” a whispered voice called to him in the guise of a million voices.

  Nomad’s mind was being flayed open, all his inner thoughts, all his deepest memories and emotions being exposed to the searing heat of boiling, angry souls that swam all about him.

  The press of vitriolic entities swirling around him was suffocating, leaving him no space to come up for air to breathe and gain his bearings.

  It was a familiar hell he found himself in. One that he had existed in endlessly not so long ago.

  A chant began, no pauses between syllables—endless and breathless. They assaulted Nomad’s opened mind cavities.

  Nomad’s control relinquished, and the orders that were being given to him in a language he had become very familiar with over the last few months, overrode his will. He was allowed one thought—walk south.

  In the dead of the night, Nomad rose, getting out of bed in his fatigues, and began to head towards the tent door.

  Henarus, asleep on the cot next to Nomad, awoke as he did so, calling to Nomad who ignored the beckons.

  Rushing out of the tent, he placed a hand on Nomad’s shoulder, but Nomad continued his march with no acknowledgement of Henarus’ presence.

  The prophet studied the sleepwalker for a moment as the two walked out of the camp before realizing he was not going to be able to rouse his companion from his slumber.

  Asking for Hassome to hear his prayer, he began to offer up supplications to guide Nomad’s mind back to his body.

  The chant was quiet, but soon, Nomad slowed to a standstill, and the two stood there in the open desert, Henarus’ deep, soft voice comforting Nomad’s restless limbs. Slowly, Nomad was able to begin to find a path back out of the labyrinth of misery that his dark master had wound around him, even if it was only a temporary measure.

  Eventually, he let Henarus guide him back to their shared tent, getting him back into his cot to return to his slumber. Nomad seemed to sleep soundly after the prayers, but for Henarus, it was the start of a long, sleepless night.

  Though the night was long for Henarus, the morning was longer still. It was well past breakfast already and Nomad still lay in a deep slumber. Henarus did not know Nomad terribly well, but he knew enough of the man to know that late rising was not common for him.

  Figuring it best to allow him the extra sleep, he had stayed with him until the sun was well overhead, deciding to check in with the leadership, as he could see a gathering of Bannon and the other high-ranking officers on the perimeter of the camp.

  Henarus strolled up to the leadership meeting, looking worse for the wear than all others there, but aware enough to pick up quickly on the ongoing conversation concerning Sultan Metus and crew and the worry they all harbored for their return.

  “I doubt the audience with the judges took too long. I’m hoping they will return or at least send word by the end of the morning,” Bannon said, looking to the other three leaders in the huddle.

  Patting Henarus on the shoulder, Bannon smiled warmly, “Sleep evaded you it seems,” welcoming the tired man to the conversation.

  “When were we expecting Sultan Metus to be wrapped up with his tasks in Rochata-Ung?” Henarus asked, trying not to let a yawn out, his eyes tearing up a bit in the process.

  “The two tasks they had were to relay the news of the arisen threat to the council of judges, and recruit the enchanter and his apprentice. I would not assume that would take that long. By noon they should have had more than enough time to accomplish both ventures, or at the least have sent word of a delay to us.”

  A clean shaven, blond haired man in the circle spoke up. Henarus knew the man to be Hathos, the Hyperium Primus, otherwise commander of the Hyperium, only outranked by Bannon. Henarus knew little of the man other than his quiet, but intense demeanor.

  “I would have liked to resupply here. The Hyperium could use a few more rations for the road ahead, but…to be honest, I don’t trust this city. Aside from that, I don’t like the disposition of the governing body and how they are treating Sultan Metus. I do not think it wise to spend more time than necessary here. We could resupply in some of the smaller towns along our route if needs be.”

  Most nodded their heads in agreement, Henarus considering the serious concerns each of the men held with their current situation.

  Looking back to the tent Nomad was staying in, he noticed through the open flap that the cot he had been sleeping on was empty.

  Making a quick scan of the encampment, he caught the attention of the group, each interested in what seemed to concern Henarus so much.

  “Henarus. What is it?” Bannon asked, but an answer was forgone as the sounds of a scuffle out in the bush sprung them into action, rushing to the sounds of the nearby brawl.

  Looking through the tall sagebrush, down a knoll close to the main road, all recognizing one of Kissa’s shadows, Haldurn, laying on the ground, getting up as No
mad turned, an evil in his eye and a snarl on his lips as he faced her, then turned for the road.

  “Nomad!” Henarus scolded, shocked by the scene and the apparent hostility towards one of their own.

  Nomad made no notice of the cry, and he continued his march away from the camp.

  “Tend to the lady, I’ll take care of Nomad,” Henarus said, not waiting for compliance from the rest before scrambling down the crumbling caliche hill towards the man he had been given charge of.

  “Nomad!” he called, coming close to the hunched man, hesitation grabbing him just before reaching out for his shoulder.

  Nomad stopped but did not turn to face him.

  “Nomad—” the prophet began, but a low growl cut him short.

  The foreigner began slowly walking south once more, starting to leave, but Henarus, speaking in tongues, suddenly shot forth his hand, gripping Nomad’s right shoulder. Nomad let out a roar so demonic, everyone present could have been fooled that they had stepped into a rift directly to a lower hell—the mourning, damnation, and anger of a thousand souls unleashing in one call.

  Nomad snapped around, smashing Henarus across the face, sending him flying into the surrounding brush, at once unconscious.

  Hathos was there in an instant, standing between the prophet and the wild man, Tau and Naldurn rushing to back him up.

  Bannon was to Henarus’ side quickly, but the man showed no response, clearly knocked clean out by the brutal attack.

  Nomad turned his back once more, unconcerned that there were three warriors at the ready before him.

  “Let him go, we don’t have time for this,” Naldurn said, still slightly winded from being knocked down from him earlier herself. “Sultan Metus and the others are in need! The Hyperium needs to be mobile immediately. Kissa is leading them to the gates, but there is no safety after that without us.”

  Bannon hoisted Henarus over his shoulder, seeing that he would not rouse, and ordered the others, “Do as Naldurn says. Ready the men. On my order, we head towards the city gate. Naldurn, with me.”

  Hathos and Tau lingered to make sure Nomad did not return to attack again, and then headed up the slope as Naldurn made her way to Bannon, helping to shoulder the unconscious man’s weight.

  Bannon turned and watched Nomad head south, knowing it was a bad move to let him go, but with their worries about the safety of the sultan verified, they had no time to lose another high-ranking officer in attempting to detain him.

  “Damn this place,” Bannon spat, heading back to camp, ordering Naldurn to send a Shadow to follow Nomad and for her to fill him in with the details regarding Sultan Metus as they made their way to a medic and his priests to care for the unfortunate soul.

  43

  Whispers of Riches, Whispers of Death

  The night had been rough for Metus and Reza, the two staying up most of it discussing their next move having come off a crushing defeat of diplomacy, which they had not been expecting. They knew Rochata-Ung’s leaders were shrewd and proud, but not to this level.

  They had not been expecting them to leave free help on the table, but then, to them, ‘free’ aid was not completely without strings attached. Even if other nations got wind that an arisen army attacked Tarigannie and they had accepted Metus’ help, it could be seen as their nation not being strong enough to deal with the threat on their own, which might give surrounding nations a lesser view of their position of strength and military security.

  Even without the issue of tarnishing their self-sufficient image, he doubted any of the judges wanted to, in any way, be in debt or favor to the Plainstate. Metus knew the leaders and people of Tarigannie had always seen the Plainstate as a weaker, softer nation. An ally in trade and concept to keep the relative peace, but they had long derided the cleaner, freer way of life the peoples of his nation upheld in contrast to the harshly ruled overlords that enslaved their citizens in all but name.

  Metus had figured that they would have seen reason and accepted aid, but he had to admit to himself, and Reza, he had been naive to how stubborn and self-invested others could be.

  The morning sun coming through the windows now, Metus roused Gale and Jasper, who had slept heavily that night seeing that Reza was up to stay vigilant, while Reza woke Arie.

  “I’ve been talking with Reza through the night, and though I would like to wait longer for Cavok and Terra to return, I feel with how we were received and treated yesterday, all haste in returning to Bannon and the Hyperium would be wise.

  “Perhaps we can attempt to seek them out at the college. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find. I hope their mission went better than ours,” Metus whispered to the group once they were up and gathered. Though the guards were no longer at the doorway, prying ears were ever listening in Rochata-Ung, they all knew.

  “I hope their delay in returning is not due to misfortune,” Reza said, voicing Arie and the others’ floating dread of the reality that their already recent setback could easily get much worse.

  “We will soon find out,” Metus said, closing out the huddle. “Pack your things, we head for the college.”

  The streets of Rochata-Ung proved to be a small labyrinth for Metus and company, Reza helping to steer them in the general direction of the college, remembering the side of town she had heard it was on from her time as a citizen there years earlier.

  Though she had the direction, she had never actually been to the enchanter’s campus, and the press of the market and crowds made it difficult for the group to catch their bearings.

  “There,” Reza exclaimed, pointing over the commotion of the market they were in to a tall building with a blue-tiled roof, surrounded by pink cherry trees, in the distance through the long street ahead of them. “That’s the college, I think.”

  Gale split the crowd in front of them as Jasper carried up the rear, ensuring that none got separated as they were pushed and steered from one side of the street to the next.

  “We had to travel on market day,” Metus murmured, cursing their luck as four large, rough-looking men stepped in front of the street a ways down, making a commotion, blocking everyone off for a half block.

  “Street’s closed, make your way around, by city’s orders!” the largest man boomed into the disgruntled crowd, some offering foul insults and threats while others went about turning down side streets or turning back, the crowd generally splitting up into smaller flows.

  Reza looked to Gale, both with an unspoken look of vexation between the two.

  “Side passage, it’s only a block,” Metus shouted amongst the rancor of the crowd, prompting Gale to hesitantly guide the group down one of the residential alleys, away from the mass of congested merchants, farmers, and buyers.

  “Never trust an alley in a city like this,” Arie spoke in a low voice to Reza, attempting to warn her of their chosen path.

  Reza had no answer for her. Her focus was solely on getting the group quickly through the detour and back to the main street that pointed towards the college.

  The crowd thinned out further as they made a right turn along a side passage with tattered awnings, canvas worn and soiled from disrepair drearily hanging over them, shadowing them from the warm Tarigannie morning sun.

  Gale slowed, looking to the side, then above along the balconies, turning back, causing the rest in the group to look around on high alert.

  Jasper drew his scimitar in a flash, grabbing his shield from his back as some of the crowd panicked from the aggressive action, while a few stayed, grim faces and weapons furtively appearing from cloaks and wraps of cloth.

  Up ahead, a few more from the crowd turned around, drawing shivs and small blades, halting the group’s advance, while the ones from the rear penned in their retreat.

  “Above as well,” Gale whispered back to Reza, bowmen drawing their strings, readying their aim from the splintered balconies.

  “We want no blood,” a thin, longhaired man said, stepping through the
last of the retreating commoners, all at this point seeing they had found themselves in the wrong alleyway that particular morning.

  “A dignitary of your position should have some amount of financial leverage on you. For you and your mates’ sakes, I hope you do. It’ll make this process much less…messy.”

  “I would prefer for things to go smoothly,” Metus said, stepping up in front of Gale and Reza, facing the oily haired man.

  “Good, that’s good. I like your attitude. We might all end up having a good morning if that’s the case.”

  “I have two conditions, though. If you can agree to them, what wealth I have on me, is freely yours, no hard feelings,” Metus offered, his cool demeanor doing much to calm the tension on both sides.

  “Let’s hear it,” the man said, his snakish smile easily showing his glee in the potential score.

  “This ambush—it’s too well planned. You must have had time to set it up, which means you learned of my presence here from someone. None of us are dressed like dignitaries, so tell me, how did you come to know of my position, presence, and path?”

  The man considered the long-winded question for a moment, deciding on how much information was prudent for him to give up.

  “Word gets around in this city. I can’t rightly be giving up my sources, you understand, but I could say—well—power hates power, I suppose. There’s reasons for some of them wankers in the judicial district to dislike ya. None my business, though. My business is more of a simple nature, with yer gold.”

  Metus let out a dismayed sigh, his worries seeming to be validated with the man’s answer.

  “What’s yer second condition? Out with it,” the man ordered, a hint of anxiousness showing as everyone stood waiting for Metus to lay out his terms.