Morgan Rice - An Oath of Brothers

What she wouldn’t give now to hold Guwayne again; what she wouldn’t give to see Thor again, to have him by her side. To have Ralibar and Mycoples back. She felt utterly alone, and wondered if things could get any worse.

She contemplated her family, not long ago all together, and splintered, fractured in so many ways. Her father and mother, dead; Luanda, dead; Gareth, dead; Godfrey, entering Volusia on a dead man’s mission; Reece, with Thor halfway across the world, most likely dead; and Kendrick, her last remaining relative at her side, on a fool’s march into the desert where he would likely soon be dead. She wondered why destiny had been determined to rend everyone apart.

A hot, dusty wind blew up in her face, and Gwen sheltered her eyes as another cloud of desert sand tore through. She choked on it, coughing with the others, trying to regain her vision.

This time, though, the wind did not pass through; on the contrary, the red dust felt as if it were clawing at her face, scratching it, and it became stronger and stronger. Gwen heard a sudden shriek, an odd noise that sent a chill up her spine, unlike anything she’d ever heard, and as she looked up into the dust, she was shocked to see before her, emerging from the dust cloud, a pack of creatures.

The exotic creatures were tall and thin and twirled in the dust cloud, their bodies red, the same color of the dust, with long jaws and stretched-out ghoulish faces. There were dozens of them, carried by the wind, twirling inside the cloud of dust, and they let out a horrific wailing noise as they appeared, spinning amidst the dust, and suddenly attacking all her people.

“Dust Walkers!” Sandara yelled out. “Defend yourselves!”

Kendrick, Steffen, Brandt, Atme and all the others drew their swords, and Gwendolyn drew hers and spun along with them, as the Dust Walkers descended upon them from all directions. Gwen slashed and missed, and a Dust Walker scraped the side of Gwendolyn’s face, scratching her with its claw. She screamed out in pain as her face was scratched, its palm as rough as sandpaper.

Another came at her and sliced her arm with its three claws, making her again cry out in pain.

Another came at her—and another, Gwen feeling as if she were tumbling in a field of thorns.

Steffen stepped forward and slashed wildly, as did Kendrick and the others—and they all missed. The Dust Walkers were just too fast.

The Dust Walkers darted in and out of the crowd, scratching and slashing, the cries of Gwen’s people calling out as they inflicted a thousand small cuts.

Gwen, desperate, grabbed a dagger from her waist, spun, and slashed one right in the throat. It dropped to the ground, screeching, disappearing in a pile of dust.

“Get down!” Sandara called out. “Drop to your knees! Cover your heads!”

Gwen heard a baby’s cry rip through the air and she looked over to see Illepra clutching the baby, both of them getting attacked. She dropped her dagger and rushed forward, protecting them, covering the baby with her body, and dropping them down to the ground.

Gwen lay on top of them, covering up the baby with her hands and arms and elbows, feeling the scrapes and scratches all over her as the cloud continue to blow through. She felt as if she were being scratched to death, and did not know how much more she could withstand. At least, though, she was protecting the baby.

Gwen knelt that way, as did the others, for what felt like an eternity, the horrific buzzing and howling and wailing of these creatures filling her ears.

Finally, the cloud began to recede, blowing through the desert, right past them, until the scratches grew lighter, the noise quieted, then it all stopped.

The desert was suddenly still, quiet, just as it had been before they’d arrived, and Gwen knelt and looked back and watched the cloud blow on through, disappearing into the horizon.

Shaking, Gwen got to her hands and knees and surveyed her people. They were all still on the ground, scraped and cut, looking traumatized. She turned the other way and looked out at the great expanse still waiting before them, and she wondered: what other horrors lay before them?

Godfrey opened his eyes with a start, clutching his belly, as he was kicked by someone twice his size in the jail cell. Lying on the muddy ground of the cell, he looked up to see a tall, unshaven cretin with a big belly, going prisoner to prisoner and kicking each one, apparently just for fun. As Godfrey stumbled to his feet, he did not know what was worse: this man’s elbows in his ribs, or his body odor.

This entire jail cell, in fact, was stinking to hell, and as Godfrey looked around at its collection of losers, he could not believe he had wound up in a place like this. All about him were men of every race and color, from every corner of the Empire, all slaves to the Empire, none of the Empire race. They were all crammed into this cell, perhaps fifty feet wide, all of them sulking or pacing, knowing that nothing good lay in store for them.

Godfrey looked over to see Akorth, Fulton, Merek, and Ario, all awake, some pacing, some sitting, none of them looking too pleased. What a quick turn their fate had taken. It had not been long ago that they were all up on the streets of Volusia, all laden with riches and about to strike a deal to save his people. Now, here they all were, common prisoners, unable to even sleep on a muddy floor without being assaulted.

Godfrey scratched his arms and saw the red marks and realized he’d been bitten up by some sort of insect on the muddy floor. He scratched and scratched, annoyed. Probably fleas, he thought. Or perhaps bedbugs.

Akorth and Fulton looked even more disconcerted than he, their hair a mess, unshaven, dark rings beneath their eyes, both of them looking as if they could badly use a drink. Merek and Ario, though, despite their smaller size and younger age, despite being surrounded by such hardened criminals, appeared calm and fearless, resolute, as if they were taking it all in stride and preparing their next move. In fact, they looked much more composed than Akorth and Fulton.

“Don’t get in my way again, boy,” suddenly came a harsh, guttural voice.

Godfrey turned to see that same cretin, having finished his rounds, now facing him, with the largest belly he’d ever seen, getting close and scowling down at him.

“I wasn’t in your way!” Godfrey protested. “I was sleeping! You are the one who kicked me!”

“What did you say?” The man glowered and began to walk threateningly toward him.

Godfrey began to back up, and as he did, he slipped on the mud and landed on his rear—to the laughter of all the other prisoners in the cell.

“Kill him!” one yelled out, egging on the cretin.

Godfrey’s heart pounded wildly as he saw the cretin grinning and getting closer, as if ready to devour his prey. He knew that if he did not do something soon the man would crush him with his weight alone.

Godfrey scooted back on the mud, sliding, breathing hard, trying to distance himself from him.

But the cretin suddenly groaned and charged, and Godfrey could see he was going to pounce on him, land on him, and crush him with all his weight. Godfrey tried to back up more, but bumped his head into a stone wall. There was nowhere left to go.

Suddenly, Ario stepped forward, stuck out a foot, and tripped the cretin.

The man fell flat on his face in the mud, and Godfrey spun out of the way before he did, sparing himself from being crushed.

All the prisoners in the room now turned and watched, hollering, laughing uproariously. The cretin spun around, wiped the mud from his face, and locked eyes on Ario with a look of death.

Ario stood there, staring back, unflinching, calm and fearless. Godfrey, incredibly grateful to Ario, could not believe how calm he was, given that the cretin was five times his size and that he had nowhere to run.