Sand and Scrap by Chris R. Sendrowski

Author:Chris R. Sendrowski
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chris Sendrowski

Drexil stood silent before the uprooted Bristle, his face crinkled into a frown. It had taken only minutes for the brutes to tear it free, and now the priceless mechanism sat rusting beneath a veil of orange snow.

“You should have taken more caution with such a prize,” Drexil spat as Lamrot removed a poisoned tipped arrow from one of the Bristle’s shafts.

“Gob trash,” the brute spat, snapping the arrow in two. “Won’t be worth my weight in shit!” Behind him, steam rose steadily from the bunker’s entrance. Drexil watched nervously as the ribbons abated into the darkening sky. That damnable smoke will draw every scrapper in the Waste, he thought, disgusted.

“Door thick down there,” Lamrot said. “Very sturdy. We had to double the amount of paste.”

Indifferent, Drexil turned his gaze to the ground, where priceless scrap metal lay scattered atop the slushy orange snow like so much garbage. He sighed as he kicked a piece of twisted steel that had once been a torch sconce. Amongst the detritus were priceless Tritan shields and gauntlets, two-handed bastard swords and Tritanese scythes. One of the brutes had even removed a corpse’s skull for the gold caps on its teeth. They’re practical, I give them that, Drexil thought.

He strode slowly past another pile of exhumed treasure. Everywhere lay pieces of history: meridium infused swords forged on Tarnak, mail hewn in the bowels of Drow Wen, a Drakonis treasure chest banded and gilt in solid gold. Yet all of it will be shipped back to Cumlety like so much scrap, he thought. A sad sight indeed.

The Tarnak worm grumbled lazily in the distance, its massive nostrils sniffing at the fetid vapors pouring forth from the tunnel. Its two controllers sat silent several footfalls beside it, a dim fire dancing before their furtive eyes.

Drexil sat down on a petrified stump and removed his mask. As the noxious air assaulted his sinuses, he lit an adreena stick. The weed tasted good, but he sensed the effects would soon wear thin. I’ve been smoking too much of late, he thought. In time it would have no effect on him at all. But it was better than facing reality. A failed reality, he thought. In that moment, he yearned for home. For Tritan.

But that’s impossible now, he told himself.

Down in the tunnels, he could hear the brutes shouting and laughing as they went about their work. We should be done with this place by now, he thought. Done and gone. Frustrated, he stubbed out his smoke and descended into the bunker.

At the bottom of the stairs, dozens of torches flickered inside an enormous tripod which the brutes had erected. Drexil walked over to it and warmed his hands above the flames.

“How much longer?” he shouted down the tunnel.

“Three torches time,” a distant voice replied.

Impatient, Drexil spit into the flames. Two more calls of boredom, he thought. Then I will be rid of this wretched place forever.

Or at least he hoped.

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