Bellatrix: Swords of Chaos, Book One

by Alex Cannon

CHAPTER 23

  Hamilcar was certain he could take no more of this.

  The night air was like a frozen tomb. Hamilcar was bone cold and mad.He chewed on his anger every day and every night, refusing to release it. These Zmarly people would face a reckoning—one that would be a furious thunderstorm of pain and despair.He would see to it.

  Hamilcar was roped together with Hutch.The old man was sturdy, but the constant walking through the desert heat was beginning to beat him down.They walked from sunrise to sunset everyday.They were spent. Their bodies had not been tempered in this heat, and were unable to sustain an extended march.

  At night they were dropped into a huddle and a tarp was set up above them.The tarp helped to keep the heat of their bodies from floating into the cold night. Hamilcar thought it was a poor excuse for a tent.

  They were also given water, but not much, and no food.Hamilcar’s stomach grumbled routinely.

  Every day increased the ardent fury strumming his soul, begging for release.

  They had been traveling southward, sometimes veering to the east or west if a plateau or mountain was too severe to warrant climbing.The Zmarly seemed to know exactly where they were going, their gait never varied to the dismay of the two men.

  Hamilcar could see their scoffing looks as they trudged over the flat vistas and plateau hilled lands.They had no trouble traversing the arid plains.Hamilcar attempted to give the Zmarly a part of his mind, and argue with them about it.He yelled at them for an hour about how they were born into this heat and knew nothing else, but they either didn’t care, or couldn’t understand. Hutch had stared at him like a tired old dog just wanting to lie down in a river.

  And on they walked.

  Hamilcar was uncertain of how many days they had been moving. The lighted hours were monotonous, and he fell into a fitful slumber every night.He would then be awakened by a slap to the face, and hauled to his feet.His leg cramps were the worst early in the early day and late in the evening.Sometimes they would cramp up so much, he would have to be carried by the Zmarly.He could sense their condescending attitudes toward him.He ignored it. What did he care about these people’s impression of him? They were heathens, savages.

  His shirt had been removed and his breeches left on.He was relieved to find they had missed his loqua stone in a still-hidden pocket of his breeches.

  Hutch lay next to him snoring softly.

  Hamilcar could see a few slumbering figures at a distance. Most were in the erected tents. The entire camp was asleep.Why wasn’t he?He was certainly exhausted enough. In the distance he could see the moon coming up over a plateau in the distance, its light cold and pale, like a corpse.The quiet was almost deafening.The wind stirred things up a bit, shifting sands and thin stalks on the arid plains.

  He felt a stirring in his pocket, like something hopping around. At first he thought it was a desert rat or some other vermin trying to eat away at him.

  Then it occurred to him. It was his loqua stone. He tried to get it out to touch it. His partner had told him touching the stone was the only way to establish a contact. He wiggled about maladroitly, unable to get his hands in the proper position against the ropes.

  After awhile the stone was still again.Hamilcar cursed under his breath at his inability to fetch the thing.He was almost to the point of lashing out, but sleep conquered him. His spent energies of the day whisked away from him.He was soon in a deep, troubled sleep.

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