Breath of the Desert – an Empire of Dust Short Story – Part Two

Today we’re continuing our exciting serialisation of a short story inspired by the Empire of Dust. Written by D. R. Chester, who is currently working with Winged Hussar on an upcoming novel, Breath of the Desert is a three part story. You can read part one here, and part two follows below.

If you’d like a little more info on the background of the Empire of Dust, then check out this article here. But, without further ado, let’s take a look at part one of D. R. Chester’s short story.

The tubby little human who strutted about full of his own self-importance had stopped again and was coughing heavily for some pathetic reason. Murgamog realised that he hadn’t coughed himself in a while. In fact, his cough had stopped when he’d run out of his cigars and hadn’t been able to get any more. It was another rotten curse in a long list of rotten curses this land had to offer. Just the thought of taking a long hot drag and feeling the sensation of the warm sweet smoke fill his lungs put him into a blissful reverie.

He stumbled slightly, caught up in his daydream. He furrowed his brow to make himself appear more focused. He couldn’t afford to look weak now, as he was pretty sure this job would be his last if it didn’t pay off. He’d been so full of expectation when the calling had brought him south with a band looking for a legend to add to their name and a chest of gold to prove it.            

Then everything had gone wrong, so painfully, painfully wrong. The first captain had died fighting the evil dwarfs in the Halpi mountains. There had been victories, but defeats too, fighting for whoever would pay them for their services. The money had either been spent, lost, or unpaid, and none of them had wanted to return to the north and attend the Thing in shame, so they’d just carried on south. He was the fourth captain of the company now. He was pretty sure he didn’t deserve the post so fast, but there had to be someone in charge, and he’d stepped up. Well, after besting the two other candidates in a ‘friendly’ sparring match, of course. He chuckled as he saw one was still limping, while the other nursed a mighty bruise above his right eye.

The Ophidian delegation had seemed more than happy to pay them though, but for what he wasn’t entirely sure. He was usually rather good with languages, but the complex Ophidian tongue was beyond his means. He’d left Orgok to broker the deal, and half the gold was secured in a chest on his chariot, the rest to be paid on return. That was, if the heat didn’t kill them.

Used to the chill of the north, this sun and the bleak wasteland beneath it felt like he had been thrown into the fiery pits of the Abyss. Even the pompous little Ophidian that came with them seemed unwell from it. He wasn’t sure the gore pulling his chariot would last much longer either. It was their last one and he himself had taken to walking long ago, his mount reduced to a mere baggage wagon. If the gore died, they would have to carry everything they couldn’t fit on the slasher. At least the giant lizard was coping with the climate. Their mammoth had collapsed weeks ago from heat exhaustion and now the strips of its dried meat was all they had left to eat. Orgok had said they were heading to a fishing village. The thought of tasty, steamed fish flooded his mouth with saliva, and he almost stumbled again in his dream. Fish! Damn, while he was dreaming why not fish, an ale and a nice fat cigar afterwards? Maybe a paddle in the sea to cool his burning feet too.

A shout from the front of the column alerted him that they had reached the village. Not that you could call it much of a village, he thought. He directed his troops, sending the shooters, with their huge crossbows up onto the dune overlooking the buildings to give them cover. He sent the three remaining boomers in a wide sweep around the perimeter so if anyone tried making a run for it, they’d get them. There had been twelve boomers originally but they’d nearly run out of gunpowder and ogres to shoot them, so the guns had been sold or left behind. There were no enemies here that he could see, and the buildings were in no state to hide any, so he simply sauntered in with his company. The little Ophidian had chirped his orders to Orgok, who now resignedly came over and repeated them with a sigh.

“He wants us to search for clues. He says this place was attacked.”

“Is he sure?” Murgamog shielded his eyes and cast his gaze across the dilapidated buildings. “The sand would have filled any tracks, and there are no bodies or sign of fighting. Nothing.”

“That’s what he said,” replied Orgok with a shrug.

Murgamog beckoned over his small gaggle of goblins and gave them orders to search the village. If there was anything to be found then he was sure they’d manage to stick their pointy noses into it.  After a while they returned with empty claws and slightly sheepish expressions. As he suspected there was nothing to be found, but he scalded the goblins anyway, just to keep them in check. Meanwhile, the ogres were getting restless , having marched all this way through the blistering heat for a fight, only to find more sand. Eventually Orgok came back over, the Ophidian jabbering at him.

“He says the enemy is in the desert,” stated a clearly exasperated Orgok.

“And how does he know that? We found nothing. And what’s the point? This place isn’t worth defending anyway, a strong fart could knock it down!” Murgamog wasn’t sure if it was the heat, or the thought of another failed expedition, but he could feel his temper rising.

“Tell him he can go if he wants to but we’re not. There’s no food or water out there. There is only death in the desert,” Murgamog stated, crossing his arms and stepping forward to tower over the man to make his point.

The little man took a step back in alarm and grasped at the leather bag he constantly kept with him. Murgamog had thought it might be gold, but now suspected it may be a weapon of some kind. He was spared finding out as Orgok stepped in and smoothed things over with the man, who seemed adamant. He then started pointing at the sky over the desert and Murgamog followed his gaze and saw what the Ophidian had seen. Scavenger birds, and they were circling too, which meant they were waiting for something to feed on. Or more accurately, waiting for them to die.

“He says the enemy is in the desert and we must go,” said Orgok, almost apologetically.

Murgamog grunted in affirmation. “Fine. The sun will be down soon, so we camp here and in the morning we go a little further, but never lose sight of the village. I don’t want to get lost out there in the wastes. And if that little fool thinks otherwise, then his head is going right up the slasher’s arse.”

Murgamog turned to order his forces and paused. “Actually, don’t say that last bit. We still want to get paid for this.”

He’d had worse clients, but he still found the Ophidian irritating. What he wouldn’t do for a cigar.

Don’t miss Part Three of Breath of the Desert on tomorrow’s blog! Also, the Empire of Dust are shipping from Mantic this week, and wave two will be going on pre-order this Friday.