Lords of the Sands: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel

by Paul Yoder

  Reza doubted Metus or Henarus could understand her broken words, but she had spent quite a few years in Rochata-Ung, and the bridge language between the lower class and the old natives had been used widely enough in the markets that she had, with her knowledge in ancient Tariganniean, picked up some of the cousin language through immersion.

  Metus continued to talk with Darious, but Reza couldn’t shake the bright blue eyes of the young girl. She could see the mother and daughter also suffered from the horrible contagious disease. She had seen how awfully her kind were treated in the city. She knew little of the place they were destined for, but regardless of if they were accepted in the enclave or not, leprosy was known to ravage and eat away at its victims till nothing was left. She could not fathom that fate for such an innocent looking pair.

  She quietly dismounted and started walking over to the mother and her child. The child held Reza’s gaze, her conviction of holding Reza as an angel clear in her countenance, the mother, hopeful, pleading for any miracle.

  Darious, distracted as he spoke with Metus, looked over to Reza who was approaching the mother and daughter, warning her, “Girl, those two are unclean. Don’t get too close,”

  Henarus dismounted. He could tell what Reza planned to do, and he was there to aid.

  Henarus’ hands glowed a faint blue, striking amid the sun’s dying orange light that shown along their upper half. He softly spoke, chanting prayers to his god, pleading for clarity to endow Reza in preparation to her healing touch.

  Reza felt Henarus’ gentle hand rest on the center of her back, and she was filled with clarity of mind, seeing how far the disease had already progressed with the two, almost encompassing their whole body.

  She decided to not call upon the ring for this healing. Leaf had given her strict warnings of misusing its power, and though she believed giving these two a second chance benevolent, it did not directly aid their cause in ridding the world of Telenth’s corruption.

  The healing would be draining, but she knew now, with the light of Hassome flowing through her, that she could manage healing both of the wretched illness. She would not be fit to be with Nomad that night, but she knew Arie and Cavok would care for him without reservations.

  “Praise be to Sareth. Praise be to Hassome,” Reza breathed, reaching out to touch both daughter and child, the two smiling with tears in their eyes as their skin began to smooth out and clear up, their wraps falling from their bodies, disintegrating into light.

  Reza burned away all that remained of the disease and released them, falling back on Henarus for support.

  “By the gods,” Darious muttered in disbelief.

  Metus had dismounted and now went to help hold Reza up as people from both groups gathered closer, seeing the glow and the crying mother clutching her clean daughter.

  “Henarus, is she going to be alright?” Metus worriedly asked, seeing that she was dozing off in Henarus’ arms now.

  “Hassome wouldn’t have sanctioned the healing otherwise. She’ll be fine with some rest,” he answered, hefting her up in his arms.

  “Gale, go with Henarus and his priest and care for Reza. Cavok, Nomad, start pitching camp nearby for the night. Jasper and Terra, if you wouldn’t mind to tarry with me a moment,” Metus ordered, Henarus following the sultan’s guard along with Cavok and Nomad who gathered the dolingers and hurried to find a suitable site nearby on the sunbaked sands across the trail to begin setting up the tents.

  They got Henarus’ tent up first to get Reza in out of the last rays of sunlight, undonned her armor so that she could rest comfortably under his watchful care.

  Darious’ mouth was still agape, looking over the couple that he had come to know over the last week or two after having them released from the enslavement camps in the city.

  “I have never seen such a marvel. Hassome did he say? What favor must your two friends have in their god’s eyes! And did my ears belie me, or did I hear her pray to Sareth? You travel with a saren knight? My friend, what company do you keep? Who are you?” Darious quizzed, elated at the healing that he had witnessed.

  “Some discretion would be appreciated, Darious,” Metus said, trying to calm the excitement that was beginning to grow through the ranks of the lepers that had gathered.

  “Reza is indeed a saren, but a young one, and one on a holy mission at this time. While I am happy to see you both healed of your disease,” he said, smiling genuinely to the mother and daughter who had wiped their tears and stood nearby listening intently to Metus’ words, “I do fear we cannot repeat that miracle again, not here and now at least. To perform a healing of that caliber drains her energy greatly. And where we’re going, we cannot afford to be spent upon arrival. The fate of many lives count on the success of our mission. That is all I can tell you on the matter.”

  “Delain, Iris, come,” Darious beckoned, inviting them to stand before Metus.

  “Where do you head next, if I may ask?” the barreled-chested man asked, smile still creasing up the sides of his thick mustache.

  “First, we’re off to Rochata-Ung,” Metus answered.

  “It is not a far journey then, one more day of travel and you’ll be there. These two,” he said, gently patting the mother and daughter couple on the shoulder, “as far as you or I can see are healed. They were cast out of Rochata due to the advancement of their sickness. They don’t need to come with me to the enclave anymore. Would you be willing to escort them home since you’re heading that way already?”

  “Of course,” Metus replied without hesitation, guiding them to Terra, asking her quietly to show them to his tent, admitting that he’d most likely be with Reza and Henarus that night anyways, and to get them a change of clothes.

  “I’m sorry we can’t do more for you at this time,” Metus announced, speaking to the gathered audience of lepers, looking on in longing of Delain and Iris as they walked away, cured and headed for a fresh start.

  “We’re engaged in a holy work. The lives of all Tarigannieans are at risk. Once we accomplish our purpose, however, I will send representatives and doctors of the Plainstate to assess how we may be able to aid the enclave. What we can do will be done at that time, I’m only sorry that time is not now, however. I will make good on my promise, though, I swear it to you.”

  Heads turned, and the attention faded from Metus’ speech as a group of riders raced at a gallop toward the camp along the highway coming from Rochata-Ung.

  Everyone backed slowly to the tent line once more at the approach of the twenty-some-odd horsemen, Darious’ demeanor turning grim as soon as the lead horseman was in view.

  “I’ve dealt with that snake before. He is a Rochata council member. Careful, he no doubt is here to stir up trouble,” Darious whispered to Metus, eyes locked on the horsemen the whole time.

  “Oh, I know him,” Metus grumbled, Jasper stepping up beside his liege, the dark orange glow of a sun already set, casting a refracting dust gold glow on the steely trio awaiting the riders’ final trot.

  “Darious, I did not give you permission to take these people from the stone sites. Plagued or no. You only have authority to take unclean from private investors, not from the city’s workforce.”

  “Workforce? I see the council wishes to sooth the term slave to be more palatable to their sensibilities. These people are on the brink of death. Let them be.”

  The dust from the trail drifted off as the rest of the horsemen trotted up, forming two lines of ten behind their leader, the councilman giving an unpleased glare to Darious, answering, “The law is clear, and they will be coming back with me this night. There will be no sleep, no food, no water, no rest until they are back within the compound from which you stole them from.”

  “They have already served Rochata to the edge of their health. You would take them back for them to die and infect others. What good are they to you then? They would be a detriment, not a benefit.”

  The sharp angled man was about to re
spond to Darious’ rebuttal, but, glancing at Metus, his attention latched now solely on the sultan.

  “What an unexpected surprise,” the man crooned.

  “Set. It has been many years. I hope time has improved that disposition of yours; though, by what I’ve heard thus far between you and Darious, I have little hope for that reality,” Metus said, trying to keep as even toned as his emotions would allow him.

  “My brother died by your hand, Metus. I cannot forget or forgive you for that. He did not deserve the fate you laid him with,” the slender man on horseback coldly said, resentment clear in his voice.

  Metus shook his head slowly, answering, “He earned his death, and you know it. His campaign of sedition was performed openly. The trial he stood for exposed his treachery against the Plainstate clearly. His guilt was unquestioned in the court of law.”

  “A court that was run blinded by bias!” Set rejected.

  Metus was quick to respond, “Biased to protect the state from collapse and treason, which your brother campaigned for.”

  The two men were becoming heated, and everyone else nearby stood in tense silence. The only movement was Cavok and Nomad as they slipped in from the approaching shadows of twilight, their cloaked figures menacingly haunting Metus’ flanks like reapers ready to take any life that threatened their royal charge.

  Set smiled, looking at the small show of force presented to his twenty cavalry. His wicked grin showed his thoughts. Even with both the unclean camp allying up with Metus’ small troop, Set was confident that he could paint the sands red with the sultan and his people.

  “You are in Tarigannie, now, Sultan. I would have advised you to watch your tongue with me, but it’s too late for that. You speak falsehoods of my brother, Het, and invade our lands. Not only that, but we have an outlaw here smuggling city workforce members from Rochata-Ung. We have the authority to trample you all here where you stand.”

  Darious stood stern-faced. It was clearly a rotten day, but he had seen many of those. He clutched at the hilt of his dagger in his belt comfortably, ready to act at Set’s move.

  Metus looked to the horizon behind, seeing a glow of torch fire nearly a mile out, turning back to Set with a smile.

  “I am not alone, Set. My men ride dolingers, a hundred strong. If you plan to murder all of us here, you have mere minutes before you’d be overrun. I’d not advise it. This camp would be our shared grave instead of just mine if you do.”

  Set looked to the torch fire that was steadily making its way closer, and the size of the troop did seem to be as large as Metus had boasted of. A frustrated snarl began to appear on his thin lips.

  Metus continued, “We come in peace, Set. I’d advise you to come to terms with your brother’s crimes and not follow in his footsteps. I’ll be seeking an audience in Rochata-Ung soon. Do not cross me. It will only end poorly for you. This is your only warning.”

  The Hyperium had begun to close the distance quickly at that point, their numbers clear now, all in a healthy gallop towards the large group at the camp.

  Set eyed the approaching army momentarily, calculating a response. He no doubt had much to say to the man that had executed his brother, but the time was short, and he pulled on his mount’s reigns, ordering his twenty to clear out, galloping back the way they had come.

  “We didn’t need the Hyperium to take care of that rabble,” Cavok gruffed.

  “Agreed. Too bad they didn’t test us—” Nomad added, cutting himself off from continuing his thoughts out loud, returning abruptly to tend to the dolingers, leaving Metus, and even Cavok, concerned for their unusually dark comrade.

  The Hyperium began to trot into the field, Bannon and Arie making their way to Metus to check in.

  “We saw the horsemen and hurried here. Is everything alright?” Bannon asked, still mounted, Arie beside him.

  “All is fine, though your timing was perfect. We’ll need to keep relatively close from here on out. There are those who do not wish us here. Tend to your troop. Set camp a ways down the road and I’ll come visit in a bit after concluding my own camp’s preparations,” Metus said, breathing a bit easier after the lucky timing of Bannon’s arrival.

  Bannon and Arie bowed slightly in their saddles, trotting off to order the troop to begin preparations for nightfall.

  “You did not tell me you were a sultan,” Darious quietly said, some judgment at the edges of his tone.

  Metus turned to consider the large man, “Pray forgive my precaution. It is not wise to announce my status to all I come across. I hope it is not taken as an affront.”

  “Perhaps not,” Darious reluctantly agreed, nodding in approval after giving the situation some thought.

  Breathing deeply, having escaped a potentially disastrous encounter, the man bowed in thanks, adding, “I wish well upon your journey, Sultan. I’ve heard good things about you, and from what I’ve seen thus far, I am willing to allow myself to believe them, for now. But Sultan, be careful in this land. Tarigannie is a harder land than your tamed Plainstate. If you do not guard yourself closely, her and her people will take advantage of any weakness you leave exposed. Luck will only get you so far here.”

  The stout man huffed out a sigh, only then relieving his hand from the hilt of his dagger as he shook off the stresses of the night before returning to the camp of lepers, leaving Metus with his people.

  35

  The Privilege of Blood

  A roar ripped through the canyonlands, silencing all other wildlife for miles around as the eight-ton mammoth gorilla backhanded an arisen, one of a hundred corpses that had been tasked to tie down and restrain the cornered beast. The arisen blasted to pieces upon impact, smattering its rotten entrails along the large cave wall.

  Spearmen moved in once the ropes were tugging tightly on the beast’s limbs and neck, the phalanx of broadhead spear tips coming in inch-by-inch, tens of points digging into the large beast all at once, causing it to thrash wildly, letting out another enraged guttural scream that boomed out of the cave.

  The short skirmish saw ten more arisen blown apart by the gorilla’s powerful hands, but more spears crept in behind, slowly skewering the creature, causing each outburst to lose steam.

  A smile split Sha’oul’s lips, showing yellow-black teeth, Denloth at his side, appraising the dark lord’s mood.

  “Terrific beasts, as are much of the creatures in this wild region. We will find few creatures, in such numbers, larger, more powerful than these. It is good that you had thought to come here to recruit their flesh to the master’s cause. All to ash….”

  “All to ash…,” Denloth echoed, bowing his head in thanks from the praise from his lord as another gut-wrenching bellow resounded from the canyonland cave.

  “Come,” Sha’oul beckoned after seeing the strength fade from the giant mountain gorilla as more spears jabbed through its thick hide with less and less retaliation.

  “Today is the day of visitation. The ashen moon rises high to the east,” he said, pointing to the barely visible circle in the eastern sky.

  “Sacrifices must be offered, or we shall pay the debt to our master instead.”

  Sha’oul’s ruddy burlap cloak whipped about him as he headed off with Denloth in tow, the gusty canyon breeze tearing at their robes all the way to the large ritual tent.

  The two entered the tent’s open doors, two robed figures dropping the door flaps closed behind them.

  “You have not entered the place of visions yet, nor seen the visage of our lord, have you, Denloth?” Sha’oul asked in a gravelly, hushed whisper.

  “No, my lord,” Denloth answered, looking around the circular room, runes and symbols, some he recognized, some he did not, painted and displayed along the sandy floor.

  Carved out husks of tribesmen were displayed, posing in various positions which he could only speculate as to the meaning from their contorted positions.

  In the center of the room stood Sha’oul now, a ri
pple in the sand emanated from two pulsing black tusks, both taller than even Sha’oul.

  “Bring them in,” Sha’oul called to the shaman at the tent door. The cloaked, misfigured thing hobbled out, and Sha’oul dug out a long sliver of bone from the circle of teeth, tusks, and bones that encircled the rippling sand.

  “All who witness his face must pay for the privilege in blood,” he said, jabbing the spike of splintered bone into his massive forearm, ripping it out, covered in thick blood, stabbing twice, and thrice, leaving three oozing holes in his bare left forearm. He clutched the spike with his other hand, stabbing three holes in his right forearm. Denloth saw no pain across his master’s face.

  Sha’oul held out the dripping shard to Denloth. Not a word was said, but Denloth knew what must be performed.

  Each stab was painful, and though he winced, he held his composure as he self-inflicted egregious perforations along his arms. The price to underpay his blood tax would be too costly. He stabbed until Sha’oul held out a hand to collect the shared instrument.

  Cries and wails of horror and sorrow filtered in through the tent doors as three men and three women from the badlands tribes were prodded towards the two large tusks at the center of the tent, their bindings and leads making it impossible for them to resist and tear away.

  Pushed ahead by the demented abomination of bones that somewhat resembled humanoid vultures, the chosen six came to a halt before Sha’oul’s imposing frame.

  He smiled, his black and yellow teeth promising nothing painless to the unfortunate souls cowering there.

  He refrained from overly enjoying the bottomless well of despair from the strong bodied sacrifices.

  “Each within his, or her, prime. The best of all six tribes, one from each, that we raided and harvested from. Their flesh is without blemish, at its height of its mortal performance. The potential each of these youth poses is boundless. Look to the moonless night’s stars and their destiny lies among them. What might such fine mortals strive to achieve will now…never be.”