Chapter 6: What Shadows Hide

Thanks to b0b for beta reading this!

Knight-Errant Angela – The Halani Desert

“Oh, I am going to spank that slut,” Angela fumed as she pulled the final piece of hide over the frame of their tent. “Where did Sophia get to?”

“Snuck off with my wife,” Chaun answered, lounging on a pile of supplies. He strummed his lyre.

Angela frowned as she straightened up, fixing him a hard stare. “I see you managed to avoid work.”

“It is a skill of...”

His words trailed off as he straightened, cocking his head. Rising over the buzz and bustle of the caravan setting up for camp was an ululating cry. The surrounding servants let out gasps of fear while the caravan guards, wearing a motley collection of mail and boiled leathers, drew swords. The cry came from around the camp.

“Las’s cock,” Angela groaned, dashing to where she left her kite shield. “Thrak!”

“Here, Angela,” the orc said, his massive ax in hand, swarthy body painted by the setting sun. He gazed to the horizon pointing to the dunes.

Black-swathed desertmen on camels poured over the dune, racing down sandy slopes, raising flashing scimitars, their cries raising in volume. I set my shield and drew my sword, wishing Midnight was here. I hadn’t thought of my stallion, abandoned when we fled the Saltspray Palace, in days.

He would be invaluable right now.

“Chaun, stay in the camp. If you see Sophia or your wife, keep them there. Minx, you stay, too.”

“And miss out on the fun,” the halfling grinned as she skipped up to us.

“Yes,” Angela nodded. “Thrak, take Faoril. Xera, with me.”

The mage produced a vial of Thrak’s cum and downed it, a smile crossing her lips as a shudder went through her body. She was such a slut for cum. She pocketed the vial and gave me a nod before heading off with Thrak to join the other guards racing forward to meet the charge.

Farson was to the south of me, marching forward in his black armor, his sword in hand. He moved with a relaxed confidence. His lamia slave wasn’t with him. That was the first time I had seen him without the slave scampering at his side. He glanced at me and gave me a nod.

I did not like it.

“Let’s go, Xera,” I said, casting one last look at camp. Where was Sophia at? I thought she would appear with the alarm being raised. It wasn’t like her.

But the charging desertmen were too immediate of a threat. She had matured, growing competent since when we first set out from Shesax over four months ago. She would be fine. I didn’t have to worry about her.

I would so spank her when I found her.

Xera padded behind me as I joined the other guards, waiting for desert man’s charge. I shifted my stance on the sand. It was like the training ground where I practiced with ... I hit one of the empty holes in my mind occupied by my relationship with Kevin and excised by the Lesbius Oracle. I shook my head and raised my shield, readied as the desertmen charged closer and closer.

Sand kicked up from the feet of the camels. The desertmen whirled their scimitar over their heads, leaning over their mounts. Their ululation grew louder and louder. My heart beat faster and faster. I leaned forward, setting my shield and bracing my body.

They hurtled closer faster and faster, racing at us. The caravan guards all stood ready, their blades heavy. None carried shields. It almost distracted me, causing me to ponder why they would face mounted attackers without shields, but the pounding of camel feet on sand brought my attention back to the attackers.

So swift. They moved at the speed of a charging warhorse.

Then the camels were on us. A scimitar scythed down at me and struck my shield. The impact jarred my arm. My feet slid back in the sand, digging furrows. On either side of me, the caravan guards swung their heavy, curved blades, cutting the camel’s flesh. If they dodged.

Camels spilled to the ground, screaming in pain, throwing their riders to the sand. The unfortunate guards fell in bloody spurts, their life soaking into the sand as the final rays of the sun winked out and night settled.

I set my shield as the second wave charged in.

Thrak

“Save me some,” I grinned at Faoril as she lifted her arms, wiggling them, her robes sliding down to her elbows.

“And risk you getting your head cut off?” Faoril asked.

I snorted. “By them.”

The raiders charged down the dune, ululating. My hand tightened on my ax. The rage growled inside of me, begging to be unleashed, promising to kill them all. I didn’t need it. Not against these raiders.

“Fine,” Faoril said. “To keep your fragile, male ego intact, I’ll leave you some.”

“It is delicate as fine porcelain,” I laughed. “I thank you.”

A smile grew on her lips and then sand exploded. It burst around ten of the tribesmen in the first rank. Tendrils of flowing dust wrapped about their camels, yanking them down to the sand, spilling their riders. They tumbled in yellow clouds that then coalesced and pinned the riders to the ground. Her magic surged through the sands, tripping up more of the attackers. Then she hardened the sand, fusing it into stone, trapping the soldiers and turning her attention to others.

I stepped before her as the survivors of her attack rushed at us. Scimitars raised high. Camels bayed. My ax swung, bit into flesh. I cleaved through the camel’s chest and the rider’s leg. The beast crashed into the ground, tumbling past us, rider screaming.

I reversed my swing and slammed it into the next rider as he slashed his scimitar at my head. The force of my blow threw him from the saddle of the camel. He hit the ground, flopping like a clubbed reindeer. Blood flicked from the end of my ax as I swung again, cleaving the legs out of a third camel.

Sand erupted before me, engulfing a fourth rider. His camel emerged from the cloud, veering to the right without its riders guidance. The dust contracted around a man, his hands and feet sticking out of a ball of rock, screaming in fright.

Faoril did not kill any of them.

Another rider bore down at me. I had no time to ponder Faoril’s state of mind. She hadn’t fully overcome the trauma of killing Relaria. I ducked the scimitar swing and slammed my ax into the camel’s flank, drawing a bloody line. The rider pitched from his dying mount. I leaped over the kicking camel and landed on the groaning rider before he rose.

My ax fell on his head.

“Thrak, there’s another tribe to the south,” Xera shouted.

I looked up. The second wave of this attack slowed, staring at their fallen brethren. Down the line, more had reached the defenders. Angela fought with her shield and sword, hacking and slashing, while Xera’s bow twanged, felling riders. I glanced south. Where had they come from? They marched across open sand with no dunes to give them cover.

Faoril pulled out a vial of cum and downed it. “Thrak, you can handle them, right?” She pointed at the regrouping riders.

“Easily,” I grinned, marching across the sand, my heart beating with exhilaration. “Go wrap up those from the south with your magic. No need to prop up my fragile ego any longer.”

Faoril laughed and turned. Wind swept around her and lifted her into the air. She soared to the south of the camp as I broke into a run. I bellowed at the top of my lungs, gripping the ax in both hands. The riders fought to control their camels and regroup to fight me.

Chaun

The servants huddled with the camels, the sounds of battle raging beyond the tents. Dust drifted through the air, scented with blood. My fingers strummed on the lyre, my voice singing a calming song, keeping panic out of the air.

I wish my music worked on myself.

Where was Xandra? Was she out there in the fight, using her totems? She was such a frail thing. She had only fought once against the imps. She was not cut out for such danger. I wasn’t cut out for such danger. But we were dragged into this by prophecy.

I sang by rote, my fingers dancing across my lyre. My neck craned, peering past pack camels and the servants keeping them from bolting, looking around tents, searching for a glimpse of my wife’s sky-blue hair, her slender frame.

Where was she?

Screams drifted over my music. Sand exploded. Dusty gouts burst up into the air as Faoril unveiled her magic. My eyebrows furrowed. Or maybe that was Xandra using her totems, summoning elementals. I hoped she was safe, Angela watching her back.

I glanced to my right and blinked. Minx was gone. The halfling rogue had been sitting on the pile of goods playing with her dagger. Small footprints darted to the north. If I knew she would run off, I would have asked her to find Xandra for me.

Maybe I should go look for my wife.

Another scream.

My fingers played faster, my voice rising. Xandra was fine. She had her magic. Sophia was with her and the priestess could use her magical dagger. She was fine. Safe. Thrak, Angela, Xera, and Faoril would send the desertmen packing, assisting the caravan’s guards. Then we could get back to the business of finding the Mirage Garden and leave the roasting desert behind.

Minx

I could not believe that Angela didn’t think I could fight. Didn’t she see me battle the gnome alchemist? Okay, yes, I was taken out of the fight by her lust bomb. But I was winning until then. It irked me that she told me to say back with Chaun.

I mean, he was a handsome stud and the way his fingers danced on his lyre did give indication on how well he could finger a wet cunt—and I had heard his wife singing his praises enough—but he wasn’t a fighter. Like Sophia and Xandra. They were the support.

I was the offense.

I had my knives. I had my alchemical bombs. I could do so much. I pulled out a sticky bomb as I darted across the sands, weaving between the camels legs, and popped out on the northern edge of the battle away from Angela and the others. I raced past Farson and shuddered, his gaze following me.

I did not like that one bit.

I reached the edge, standing with the other warriors as the camel-riding desertmen were almost upon them. I threw the sticky bomb at the nearest rider. The bomb struck the desertman in the chest, bursting, spurting white-yellow foam about him and his camel. The beast cried out, stumbling, the foam reaching its legs, forcing it to stop running. It bleat in annoyance.

I laughed, glancing at the caravan guard standing beside me, a bare-chested Halanian, his ebony skin glinting in sweat. He glanced at me for a moment, and I arched my eyebrows, grinning. He spat and turned back to the charging warriors.

He had no appreciation of style.

I shoved my hand into the pouch and felt the X carved into the clay ball—a sleeping bomb. I whipped it at the rider almost upon us. It hit the camel in the head. Purple gas puffed around the mount and rider. The camel took two steps and then fell forward asleep, the rider tumbling over its head and landing with a grunt.

I chortled, readying my dagger for the charge as the rest of the attackers bore down on us. The desertmen howled at us, ululating, swinging their scimitars at the caravan guards on their charge past us and...

They ignored me. The camels thundered past me and not a single one charged me or swung a scimitar at me. The Halanian guard who lacked a sense of humor, fell dead, his head missing I spun and glared at the tribesman.

“Hey, I’m fighting, too! Don’t ignore me.”

I darted after the offending warrior. He flicked the blood from his scimitar and charged at the back of another caravan guard. The desertman was ignoring me again. I wanted to howl my frustration. My feet threw up sand as I dashed at a diagonal line to intercept his attack, my dagger clutched between my teeth. He waved his scimitar over his head as he charged past, camel’s feet throwing up sand.

I jumped, reaching.

I snagged a leather strap holding his saddle. I grunted, my body smacking into the camel’s rear leg. The rider didn’t notice me as I scrambled up, grabbing the thick, curly fur of the camel and then the rear of his saddle. I made it to the back of the camel, standing behind him.

And stabbed him in the back.

I hit a critical spot. He stiffened, the scimitar falling from his hand. I ripped out the dagger, blood soaking into his black robes. He slumped to the right, teetering for a moment, and then fell out of the camel and tumbled across the ground. I jumped off the back of the camel, landing light on the ground.

“That’s what you get for ignoring a halfling,” I laughed and kicked sand at the corpse. “Next time, don’t ignore us.”

I looked around for more to fight. I peered south through the camp. Faoril stood alone, facing a charging horde. She had no back up. I grinned and dashed through camp. If there were only two of us, the attackers couldn’t ignore me. I would make them respect halflings as a threat.

Xerathalasia

Angela’s thrust caught the rider in the stomach. He slumped over his camel as it charged past. I stepped to the side, avoiding trampling feet, and fired an arrow. It hissed over Angela’s head and took another tribesmen in the throat.

“There are a lot of them,” I said, my ears twitching. “Is this natural?”

“No idea,” Angela shouted, setting her shield for the next charge. “But if they are this aggressive, I don’t see how caravans can travel the desert without being annihilated.”

The ululation of the second wave crashed over us. I drew, knocked, and fired, taking the rider in the chest. He slumped over and his camel veered to the right then slowed to a lazy walk as the others sped past.

“Support any weak spots in the line,” Angela shouted and raised her shield. A dull thwunk echoed as a scimitar slammed into the hard wood banded in metal. Her sword flashed, cutting into the poor camel. Pain burst in its cry.

The poor thing just wanted to obey her master, carrying him into battle. Humans could be so cruel. I knocked an arrow, scanning down the line for any gaps. Several guards were down, others fought riders, blocking and parrying. I drew and fired. My arrow slammed into a rider’s back. I drew again and—

Farson wasn’t fighting. He watched Angela.

My ears twitched as I studied him. His face was dark marble. His sword gripped in hand. Blood stained the tip. A dead tribesmen lay at his feet, but he wasn’t helping the nearby fight. Just watching Angela.

I wanted to put an arrow through his throat.

Warlock Faoril

The wind I summoned set me down on the southern side of the camp. I was the only defender here. The rest were to the west, holding back the first tribe. But there was a second tribe racing across the desert, scimitars waving as they charged, kicking up a cloud of dust.

They didn’t ululate like the ones to the west. They were sneaking in, flanking the caravan and hitting it where it was defenseless. It was a good tactic, I supposed. Thrak would know better. I had studied history, and the battles, but not in depth to judge tactics.

I pulled out a third vial of Thrak’s cum and downed it.

It was still warm and creamy, as fresh as when I collected it. I hadn’t messed up the preservation spell since my test and the lemures cum. A flush of embarrassment shot through me just at the thought, and I shook my head.

I had an army of bandits to defeat.

I surged earth magic into the sand. It was loose, able to be compressed. I formed a large trench, ten feet wide and spreading across their entire advance. A thin layer of sand still covered it, compressed to a solid plane but as thin as glass. It would never hold Minx’s weight.

The camels surged closer and closer to my trench. I pulled my magic out of the sands and readied winds to hit those in the back who didn’t fall into the trench. I swirled whirlwinds on the perimeter, starting out as dust devils and growing into tornadoes to plunge through the attackers.

The first camels reached the trench and...

Charged over the thin layer of sand. I goggled. My tornadoes fell apart. There was no way the camels could have ridden across without breaking through. They were huge beasts, with warriors riding on them. I know I made that sand thin enough that it couldn’t support Minx’s weight.

Fear shot through me. They were so close. And still no sound. No thud of the camel’s feet on sand. No rustle of fabric. It scared me. My stomach tightened. But I was trained for this. Not to panic. Not to seize up. But to act.

I detonated sand before the front ranks. Shock waves propagated through the ground, shaking the grains about my feet while sand burst into the attackers. Instead of camels and riders falling to the ground—screaming in pain, their flesh scoured by sand particles, leaving them bleeding and shredded—they burst into motes of shadows.

Shadowmancing. Farson.

A cat hissed behind me. I turned, saw nothing. But something slammed into my head. Light flared across my vision. My body went numb. I hit the ground. The cat purred in satisfaction. My eyes rolled in my head. Fuzzy pain spread across my thoughts.

A second crack slammed into my head and plunged me into darkness.

Thrak

The riders were around me, letting out their cries, circling me, swirling their scimitars over their head. They tried to intimidate me. They had superb control over their mounts, riding so close one camel could bite the next’s tail. Their eyes were dark, all that was visible of their faces.

“You boys too scared to fight me?” I laughed, throwing my arms wide, blood dripping from the crescent blades of my ax. “Eight of you, one of me, and you ride in a circle, holding your cocks like scared boys at their first gangbang. Come at me. Fight me. I am Thrak of the Red Eyes. Stop pissing yourselves and fight.”

I turned slowly, watching them, waiting for my chance to spring. Beyond them, the fighting raged. Angela blocked with shield and swiped with sword while Xera’s bow sang, felling riders. Chaos raged along the line, half the caravan guards down. Farson walked across the sands towards Angela, ignoring the attackers.

Bastard. But Angela could handle him. She had Xera backing her up. My real concern was Faoril.

I glanced to the south. Tornadoes gathered as the new wave charged in. My stomach twisted. I couldn’t see Faoril from here, my vision blocked by tents. She had so many to face alone. Would her magic be enough to stop the second force?

The change in the rider’s shouting gave me a heartbeat’s warning. I ducked as a scimitar flashed over my head. They had turned and charged in while I stood distracted. It was impressive feat, timed so each rider raced at me, paths crisscrossing without hitting me. I dodged another scimitar attack and swung.

My blade cut through a camel. It screamed and threw its rider. The dying beast stumbled, ruining the coordination, and slammed into the next charging tribesmen. The collision sent both beasts crashing to the ground.

I laughed, swung, and swept a tribesmen from his saddle.

Blade hissed. I dodged right. Fire burned along my arm. The tip of the scimitar cut into my flesh. I roared and hacked, hewing attackers as they tried to kill me. Crimson spurted through the air. Rage roared in my chest, demanding to take control as I dodged and weaved, swung and swiped.

I killed.

The tornadoes spun out of existence. Explosions detonated to the south. And then there was silence. The southern tribes charged towards Faoril, and she wasn’t responding any longer. Fear shot through me. Why wasn’t she fighting?

I charged forward and cut through a tribesmen. I had to reach my mage.

Xerathalasia

“Stop!” I shouted as Farson advanced on Angela as she fought a trio of mounted desertmen. She cut one down, her back to the Shizhuthian warleader. “Stop now, Farson!”

I drew my bow, arrow knocked and aimed.

The warleader stopped, glancing at me. A smile crossed his lips. A mocking smile. Did he think I couldn’t take him in the unprotected throat or eye from this distance? I could hit him four times before he close the distance.