Lords of the Sands: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel

by Paul Yoder

  The two fell into a dimensional chasm, plummeting endlessly into the folds of the Seam rift, diamond-shaped cuts in space closing the tare soon after, the camp going dark and silent for a moment.

  Yozo came in relentless, cutting and slashing the bloody stump that kept reforming as the Oathbound’s head. Blood spilt in crescent shapes all about as he smashed the globule of blood and bone, a pink phosphorescence glowing constantly as he pressed his attack.

  Blade struck blade, a sickle catching a sideways slice Yozo performed, then the other sickle came in to slap the sword down and away.

  The skull had reformed, blood gushing up to reform it, but something was different this time, beneath the blood glowed a lustrous skull, translucent, pearl like. Through the cracks in its armor, it shot forth light, gleaming like the light through a stained-glass window. Yozo stepped back and sheathed his sword, waiting to see what this new change in the battle meant.

  The Oathbound let out a horrendous screech at Yozo, its twitchy posture clearly showing frustration with the man. Yozo remained calm—still—waiting for the upcoming attack.

  The space around the bloody skeleton split, a recess within reality fell in on itself, the skeleton’s frame warping momentarily before it jumped, showing up ten feet closer to him than where it was a split moment ago, then it disappeared once more.

  This time, Yozo made a move, drawing his sword blindingly fast, sidestepping as the Oathbound reappeared where Yozo had been, but now, only where his sword was slashing, connecting directly with the crystalized skull, smashing it into fractals that flung at supersonic speeds through the night sky, some inexplicably buzzing off hundreds of yards, some seeming to be caught in an invisible web, moving much slower than they should, while others blipped out of existence at different distances from impact.

  “Matt!” Malagar called, putting down Wyld to rush to the old man’s aid.

  Hamui was up after a moment, hobbling over to the mentor, having witnessed firsthand how badly Matt had gotten it from the Oathbound.

  Propping his head up, Malagar positioned Matt skyward, being careful with his midsection which had been slashed clean open, dark blood glistening like oil in the moonlight oozing out from his stomach and chest wound.

  Matt gurgled, trying to speak, but blood shot out instead, his bloodied features winced in pain. Then…through bloodstained teeth, a smile, looking with his clouded eyes to Malagar, and then Hamui, a measure of peace falling on them, even though no words were said.

  “Rest, Matt. Under the stars—” Malagar managed out, seeing the light of life leave the old man even before finishing his statement, becoming the old adventurer’s short, sweet eulogy.

  Fin had, with Yozo’s help, successfully staunched and bound his wounds, and both sat in silence as they watched from across the camp the passing of a legend, one that had played his part in shaping many lost souls into figures of change, or import—of good.

  “Gods bless him,” Fin offered a rare prayer, and even Yozo could feel the significance behind the old one’s passing.

  “Great respect we have in my country for the grey hairs that pass. I will stay with you to make sure he has a proper burial.”

  There was a movement outside of the camp, and Yozo stood at ready, hand on sword hilt, but as the figure stood, all could see it was Wyld, awakening from her impactful unconsciousness.

  Malagar tensed, not sure if he could tussle with the kaith once more and come out on top as he had, his energy all but spent from the day’s events.

  “It was not just a dream, was it?” she softly spoke, looking around at her surroundings, eyes falling on Matt last, her eyes becoming soft as she walked forward to join the mourning.

  “It’s good to have you back, Wyld,” Malagar whispered.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, wincing and clutching the side of her head, seeming to recover after a second.

  “You bastard, Mal,” she hissed, feeling for a fang that had gone missing, her mouth and head throbbing.

  “At least…you’re alive to complain about that pain,” Hamui said, looking to Matt, then to where Dubix had last been seen. He hobbled off into the dark, leaving the camp in silence once more.

  45

  An Army in Pursuit

  Kissa deftly lifted a folded stack of cloth from passing caravan’s goods, tossing Jasper and Arie a dusty blanket each.

  “Cover the blood. Cover the armor,” she whispered to them both.

  Gale had redirected most of the city guard’s attention, and the one guard that still was pursuing them was calling ahead, but had lost his visual on them, shoving his way through the crowd that, just two blocks down, had little indication that they even knew something was amiss down the road, most merchants simply focused on ensuring all their merchandise stayed theirs in the busy crowd.

  “Almost to the gate, don’t look up,” Kissa quietly said to the group as they made their way across the street, trying to merge with the small flow of exiting traffic.

  The move made them stand out, however, pushing through the flow, the guard a block back seeing them through the crowd, shouting up to the gate guards just ahead to shut the gate.

  The guard’s voice was lost in the busyness of the streets at first, but an off glance at the guard’s waving hands piqued the interest of the watchmen at the gate, receiving the message just as Kissa hastily guided the group into the shadow of the huge city gate.

  Gears began turning, gate operators and watchmen above calling all traffic to halt as the portcullis began to slowly lower.

  Most in the crowd either halted as ordered or moved hastily to get out of the way of the lowering spiked gate. Kissa pushed forward to break through the standing crowd line, allowing Metus and the others to run through, herself following up the rear just as the gate lowered overhead, having to duck to avoid the descending spikes.

  “You lot, halt!” one of the gatemen called as Kissa, Arie, Jasper, and Metus all ran through the halted crowd, their cover now completely blown, running off along the dirt highway that led out into the open sands of Tarigannie.

  “Let’s hope Naldurn got the word to Bannon of our need. They most likely will pursue on horseback soon,” Kissa shouted, the lot of them finally making their way through the bulk of the caravan traffic, jogging along the open road.

  They sprinted a mile past the gate before Kissa slowed the pace of the group, looking back at the gate, squinting to see the portcullis begin to rise once more.

  “Are they sending riders?” Metus asked, breathing heaviest out of the group. He was conditioned and in good shape, but measured against the absolute athletes he was surrounded by, plus the extra armor he wore, the run was beginning to wind him.

  “Not sure,” she replied slowly, attempting to see details in the distance.

  “Perhaps we should get off the road, it’ll make finding us all that more difficult,” Metus suggested.

  “Not necessary, Bannon will be here within the minute,” Kissa stated, pointing down the highway to a rising dust cloud, a few riders charging towards them.

  “Thank the gods,” Arie breathed, speaking for all of them that luck had, for once that day, been with them.

  Bannon covered the distance quickly, trotting up with two empty dolingers at his side, Naldurn following behind with two more mounts.

  “There’s the riders,” Kissa stated, looking back to Rochata-Ung.

  “Lots of them…” she slowly added, all looking to the gate to see a mass of mounted soldiers gather outside of the city gates, making a formation, not yet on the pursuit.

  “The Hyperium is mobilized and is awaiting our return, Sultan,” Bannon said, calling everyone’s attention slowly back to the road ahead instead of the road behind.

  “Reza, Gale…the others. We’re leaving allies behind,” Metus softly said, the only one still looking to the massive city behind them.

  Bannon raised his voice, the urgency of the situation clear. “We would
leave more behind as certain casualties if we do not press forward now. We must away from this place. That is a few companies worth of mounted troops amassing at the gates. I don’t know what you did to kick the hornets’ nest, but we need to get you to safety and out of Tarigannie. We are not in a position to start a war with the full force of Rochata-Ung.”

  “Retreat then?” Metus asked, turning back to Bannon.

  “Unless you wish to instigate a war at a very inopportune time, or give ourselves up to Rochata-Ung’s judges to answer for whatever you did to incur their wrath. We can settle disputes of this matter once we’ve returned safely to Sheaf, but you’re giving a corrupt rulership easy pickings to deal with us on their terms if we stay here.”

  “How far are we from the Hyperium, and do we travel along the highway, or off trail?” Metus asked tersely, seeing their time was short.

  “The Hyperium is awaiting us up that ridge. I suggest we move off trail. The Hyperium is fast, but we are not prepped to outpace a cavalry unit like that. We were rigged to camp and travel for weeks, not hours like them. If we stick to the highway, with their fresh mounts and soldiers, they’ll likely catch up to us in the following days, if not hours before we reach the border. At least with traveling the countryside, they’ll need to slow as much as we are.”

  Metus reflected on Bannon’s reasoning, wondering how their good intentions to help the people of Tarigannie went so south.

  “Kissa, Arie, Jasper. Can I trust you three to split when we reconnect with the Hyperium and make your way back into Rochata-Ung and do what you can to make sure the others are safe? I cannot simply leave Reza and the others without attempting some type of aid.”

  “At your command,” Kissa readily agreed, but Jasper, Metus could tell, was displeased with the order.

  “My one duty is to protect you, as is Gale’s. How can we do that apart from you?”

  “Your first duty is to obey my orders,” Metus said in a firm tone, looking to the city walls where more troops arrived, knowing their time did not permit an open debate on the issue.

  “Yes, my sultan,” he agreed, seeing there was no room here to sway Metus from his path in sending him away.

  “Due east, it is,” Metus said, turning back to his general. “Lead the way, Bannon, to the Hyperium. Let’s hope no more swords need to cross paths this day.”

  The desert sun took on an unusually red hue that day as it wore on, blaring down on the group as they rushed to reconnect with the Hyperium unit and moved to skirt along the foothills of Daloth’s Spire, a spike of igneous rock that formed the main spire of the mountain range surrounding Rochata-Ung’s natural northern barrier.

  Kissa, Jasper, and Arie split after the meetup and went to lay low in the brush far out of the path of the approaching cavalry.

  The plateau had granted them a good view of the size of the unit of cavalry that pursued them. The number grew to five companies of roughly one hundred men each, more than enough to cause great concern for all as they rode off through the sand and brush, seeing the pursuit was on in full force now.

  By noonday, they could see the cavalry battalion slowly closing over the distant foothills two miles behind. By the time evening came on, the cavalry had closed the gap by a mile. They were able to make out details of the troops now.

  “They’ll be on us before nightfall at this pace, Sultan Metus,” Bannon said in a voice only meant for with whom he spoke.

  “I know,” he said grimly, squinting against the sun to see if he could see who the lead horseman was.

  “I’m sure that’s Set. He holds rank in Rochata’s military. I have a feeling all this mess ties back to him.”

  Metus looked out over the landscape before them for any hope. There was a thin line along the dunes heading north that lined the low sandstone mountains.

  “Is that…a road? I thought we were far north of the road to Sansabar,” Metus said, confused by the appearance of the path a ways out.

  “That does appear to be a road of some sort. We are far too north for it to be heading to Sansabar, though.”

  Looking back to the approaching cavalry, Metus said, “Let’s see where it leads. With hope, maybe it leads to an old encampment or some fortification. It’s about our only chance at establishing some upper hand with our pursuers at this point. A show of advantage might be our last chance at diplomacy before—” Metus left off, considering how far he’d let the hostilities go before deciding to surrender or fight.

  “Looks like it leads into a canyon or something. Might be a dead-end,” Bannon worriedly said, looking back to keep an eye on the approaching cavalry.

  “At least we’d have our backs against a wall,” Metus argued.

  Bannon conceded the point and rushed up to the head of the formation, giving quick orders to his company leaders of their new destination.

  The sun was low on the horizon as Bannon led the Hyperium in a charge up the old trail into a side canyon.

  Before them stood a settlement, not terribly large, or well kept, but one with sturdy stucco walls, though, it looked inhabited, and by its location, Bannon figured it to be the enclave of the unclean.

  Ordering the rest of the troops ahead, he fell back to Metus, meeting with him once more along the side of the troops, telling him of his suspicions, the both of them riding up ahead to stand before wooden gates of the fort town.

  “Darious! Is Darious there?” Metus called out over the eight-foot-tall wall, which was just tall enough to keep him from seeing over it.

  The troops had just begun to settle as a familiar face popped up over the structure, Darious standing on a platform behind the wall to address the sultan and his troops.

  “Not that I’m unhappy to see you again so soon, Sultan, but by the looks of your haste, I should hope you do not bring trouble with you.”

  “We do indeed bring trouble behind us. Set pursues us with five hundred horsemen. You know Set well enough that without the clear upper hand, he will abide. Out in the open desert, I fear he will strike.

  “If, however, we are allowed entrance into your walls, I believe negotiations may be possible. If I’ve got to give myself up to his judgments, so be it, but those terms will not be able to be made if he runs upon us out here in the open like I fear he would. Might we utilize your wall?”

  “You can’t utilize our wall without bringing the whole town into your clearly hostile affairs, Sultan. With all due respect, we stand nothing to gain, and everything to lose here. How could you expect me to call myself a leader if I just let you drag my people into this?”

  “True, and fair enough. What if I could offer your people a better life?”

  Darious looked to the horizon in thought, watching the sun as it lowered closer and closer to the horizon.

  “I’m listening. What’s your proposal?”

  Metus looked to Bannon, considering quickly his options of what he knew he could deliver on.

  “You are forced into an unwanted, out-of-the-way canyon here in Tarigannie. No aid from your neighbors, healers, or supplies. There is no hope among your people, I have seen it at camp nights ago,” he started, considering his solution to their problematic way of life carefully before continuing.

  “There is a land in the Plainstate, Barre, which was ravaged by the arisen earlier this year. The arisen have moved on, but now the town is in disrepair and desperately needs families, abled bodies, to build it up once more, tend the land, and provide growth. We could offer you land there, supplies to begin a new for a renewed, relevant way of life for your people.

  “We have the best healers in the Southern Sands, and as we healed that child and her mother the other day, we can start cleansing your people’s sickness.

  “You would all be given a new chance at life. But…first we need this one favor of you. Let us into your walls where we can begin discussions with Set.”

  Darious thought hard on the proposition. It clearly came with high reward, but at th
e potential cost of every life under his charge if Set came in his fury and was not satisfied in simply eliminating his enemy, but also the enclave he had a grudge against for years now.

  “You put me in a difficult position, Sultan Metus,” he said, looking past the Hyperium to see a dust cloud behind them that indicated the approach of the horsemen.

  “Your decision now, or we ride on,” Metus said.

  “Where’d ya be riding to? Up the mountain?” he said, on the edge of humor and frustration. “There’s no other way out than through them now,” Darious sighed, realizing they were all in this together at that point, regardless of if he wanted no part of it or not.

  “Open the damn gates,” he called down to someone on his side of the wall.

  “I’m caring to my people. You have the walls. I expect you to follow through on all your promises,” Darious said, exasperation clear as he spoke.

  “And Sultan, I expect you to claim victory if it comes to it. If you fail and my people suffer due to your intrusion, you will have their innocent blood on your hands.”

  As the gates opened, Metus called to Bannon, “Lead the troops in.” Bannon promptly did so, and Metus pulled up next to Hathos to confer with him as to their best options and chances at winning an encounter considering the odds.

  “Five to one are not good odds,” Hathos softly spoke, causing Metus to instantly regret all events and his choices that led everyone to this point today.

  Hathos did not leave Metus lingering in his despair too long, turning to look at the hundred men that entered the fort and said with a confidence that bespoke volumes to the faith he had in his men, “But the Hyperium have seen worse. Much, much worse.”

  46

  The Setting of the Red Sun

  Grit from the wide canyon’s mouth blew against the stucco wall of the fort town as the remaining troops entered through the chambered gated entrance. Most of the Hyperium’s leadership stood along the walled platforms, overlooking the horizon where the cavalry ominously stood, half a mile out.