Dragon Lords by Chris Turner

Author:Chris Turner [Turner, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Innersky Books
Published: 2017-09-06T22:00:00+00:00

VI: Red Sands

Pale light was spilling over the barrens when Vetra and Jhara sauntered down to find sleepy-eyed Thrules ranged about last night’s fires. Sporadic groans emanated from dust-caked lips.

“Up, you fools,” growled Vetra. He bared his blade. “The alarm could sound and you hounds would be caught unprepared.”

Grumbles and curses passed amongst the hooded men. They eyed the mercenary with sullen respect as he moved through the camp with ease and authority. The girl trailed flush-faced behind him.

Hardly had the two snatched a few wedges of cactus fruit and handfuls of dates when a shout arose from the shimmering plain.

Scouts came riding in on desert ponies. “They’re here!”

Eyes darted to the south. The sign of distant dust clouds rose like smoke on the horizon.

“To your positions,” ordered Vetra. He and Nhfer scrambled onto the open plain, drawing their swords. The Thrule leaders rallied each of their detachments and moved them into position. As the minutes fled by, the rumble of hooves grew steadier.

Vetra and Nhfer steeled themselves with their limited forces to face the approaching Behundrians. Jhara and a red-eyed Lehundr joined the main force of Thrules up the sides of the hill breasting the mesa to await and ambush the host at the appropriate moment. Some of the Thrules lay hidden up in the crumbling rocks and peg-like pinnacles overlooking the dragon fort, while others ran up the shale-flaked paths and crouched behind the fallen columns and cyclopean masonry, or barricaded themselves atop the designated pillars with crossbows and bolts. The dust cloud ranged closer; camel riders and footsoldiers took form. Through the haze and the promise of crippling heat, slaughter rode toward them.

Dozens of camels and horses broke through the mirage of dawn. The roans were driven by white-turbanned riders, some Kirns and Guirites, the latter Behundrians from what Vetra could see. The rest, a mixture of races, marched on foot.

The enemy had brought reinforcements—some three hundred strong, forcing a collective gasp from the defenders. The fifty Thrules, for all their mettle, shifted from foot to foot at the sight of the host. Flags and banners flew from the backs of the enemy riders, the blue and red of the Southern Behundrians: a flag much different from the corrupt satrap of Behundria whose reign beyond the northern hills did not extend to these lawless southern wastes.

“Fire!” an enemy rider yelled, and the first bolts peppered the air. The crossbowmen knelt and reloaded.

Curses flew amongst the arrayed soldiers and those of the Thrule resistance fighters.

Nhfer crouched at Vetra’s side, watching the spectacle unfold through grim eyes. He and the Thrule leader had earlier rehearsed a tactic to draw out the Behundrians while others would ambush them from the crumbling slopes. The pits were ready below and the marksmen hunched behind their barricades on the pillars, bolts ready to loose.

“Stand firm,” Vetra reminded the uneasy Thrules. Nhfer motioned to his men. They glared at the gathering enemy and whirled shiny blades before them, as if to give them confidence.

Samos, the Thrule magician, readied his stones and his bones of magic.

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