They crossed the furious stormland of the black desert, lost among
monoliths and raging winds. The cold princess and the king without a
country. She led the way, her one hand gripping her spear as she
strode the dunes. The black sands sifted and slid away like water,
and the sky was dark with wind. They had lost the trail they
followed, could see no more than a dozen steps before them. Violet
lightning scarred the sky, and none could say whether it was day or
night.
Chona found the cold did not bother her, not now. Her head was
wrapped in cloth to keep the deadly sand from her face, but she could
scarcely see. Prickles of red lightning crawled at the tip of her
spear and over the steel rim of her shield, twitched at her skin.
She leaned into the wind, feeling no pain nor fatigue. The poison
that Khamag had poured into her body had not slain her, but had only
drawn her into a different life. A colder life, without the hungers
and failings of her old body.
That was the only reason she could walk as an equal with the giant
who traveled with her. Kumura was a hulk of pale skin and muscles
like iron. He feared nothing and no hardship seemed to touch him,
save that his remaining eye, weak from years of imprisonment, could
not bear the light of day.
The wind buffeted and clawed at them, and she struggled to remain
upright. Over the moaning of the storm she heard the winding of the
terrible horn, foretelling the pursuit of the deadly nomads of the
Black Desert. Even in such a storm they would not turn aside, as
their god of the dark skies drove them on, calling them to feed blood
to the wind and the sands. They drove through the desert on their
lean black steeds, and nothing seemed to turn them aside from the
hunt.
Chona knew by now they could not shake the pursuit, and they would
have to fight. She only drove them on to find a place where they
might make a stand in the darkness. If they fought in the open they
would be surrounded and cut down, separated and left to stumble alone
even if they escaped death. Kumura was a beast, but he sought the
same enemy, and he was the only ally she possessed. She would not
give him up easily.
She struggled on, climbing a dune so steep she slid down with every
step. It was hard to keep her balance with only her single arm, and
she cursed Khamag once again, promising him she would take his own
false arm in place of her own. Just as she was sinking knee-deep in
the black sand Kumura caught her and hauled her up, his strength
making her weight into nothing.
Together they crested the dune and looked down into a dark abyss as
deep and featureless as the hollow of a sea-wave. Crimson and purple
lightning slashed overhead, and in the sudden flare she saw a form in
the darkness ahead that was more solid than the endless ocean of
sand. Something stood there, ancient and sentinel in the desert.
She pointed, hoping he had seen it – she knew his own sight was
better in the dark than her own.
Together they waded down the slope, the horn coming again behind
them, closer. Chona knew they would have to fight soon, and so she
slung her shield off her back and pushed her severed arm through the
straps. Even so she could not use it properly, so she had a strap
that went around her neck to support the weight and let her keep it
in place without a hand. Stormfire played across her spearhead, and
she hoped that soon it would be dark with blood.
From the darkness ahead of them emerged black pillars of stone, and
set across them a wide stone, forming a primitive arch. The stone
was scoured by sand and stone, smooth as glass, and it flared with
hidden colors in the play of the fell lightning. They both staggered
under the arch, and beyond it there rose a stair, wide and
half-buried in sand. Chona mounted the tall steps, looked back and
saw shadows moving in the storm.
“They are here!” she howled, and Kumura turned. Across his back
he bore the heavy executioner’s sword, and now he took it in his
hands and braced his feet wide on the ancient stone.
Chona turned and braced herself, still half-blinded by the storm,
spear ready in her hand. She saw the coursing of the desert beasts
that were neither horse nor camel. They were long-necked and
long-legged, and they moved almost like spiders as they came up the
stairs. The riders on them were tall and robed against the storm.
She saw only their eyes, blazing green in the dark. They bore long
swords and barbed spears, and they rushed up the steps in a wave,
howling for blood.
Lightning burned and thunder cracked the sky, and then Chona met the
rush. A spear splintered against her shield, and then she parried
the stroke of a sword and struck back, plunging her spear through a
hooded face so that teeth rattled on the stone underfoot. The desert
beasts reared and screamed, and she hewed at them, piercing their
leathery hides until her spear-haft snapped in two and she drew her
sword with a rush of steel.
She drew back so she and Kumura were braced close, so that no
attacker could thread in between them. He hacked the animals down
with great sweeps of his sword, and she had to give him room to
strike. Her sword cut the legs from under one, and it tumbled back
down, bleating and thrashing.
The nomads came against them, eyes glowing lambent in the storm, and
she fought like a fury, cutting down three with scything strokes of
her blade. Her shield turned their attacks, and her armor caught
swords and spears until it was rent and she felt the wounds like
stings. Her sword was red as she retreated up the steps, leaving the
slain and wounded heaped behind.
She stumbled, and Kumura pulled her up, drew her after him, up the
steps and through the great arch. The nomads lay wounded or slain,
and they faded into the dark. Chona saw around them the monoliths
and obelisks of some forgotten and ruined city, half-buried in the
sands and lost to ages. Lightning scoured the black sky as they
reeled through the encompassing wind and the devouring sands.
Together they pushed on, until they reached a wall. Chona felt along
the wind-smoothed surface and felt the outline of a door.
“Help me!” she screamed into the building storm, and then she was
using her sword to dig away the encrustation of aeons, trying to free
the great portal that loomed over them both. It was Kumura who set
his great strength against it and, with a heave of his iron-muscled
body, he forced the doors open, revealing a pitch-black aperture that
led into some unknown deep.
She did not hesitate, and she slipped through the opening and into
blackness. Kumura came after her, and then he set his shoulder to
the stone and forced it shut again, and at once they were free of the
howling winds and the terrible sand. Chona fell to the floor,
coughing and retching, and Kumura leaned on the unseen walls and
heaved and spat out black. The sudden silence was enormous, and all
she could hear of the storm was a faint groaning through the stone
walls. Her hand still clutched her sword tightly as she sagged down
upon the floor. Even her new endurance had limits, and she fell into
a sleep of utter exhaustion.
o0o
Chona woke cold in the dark, and could not remember where she was.
She sat up, felt her sword hilt in her hand and strained to see
through the blackness. She heard Kumura shift and breathe. “Heard
something moving around, not close.”
She ran her hand through her hair, still cursing her missing arm.
Black sand shook loose from her hair and sifted down around her; she
was covered in it. “Has the storm passed?” she said.
“I think so. It hasn’t been long,” he said. His voice sounded
like something broken. Cracking bones in a pit.
She got up. “Let’s see.”
She heard him move in the dark, knowing he could see in the blackness
easily. There was a scraping of stone, and then a sliver of silver
light flared like a blade. She squinted and Kumura flinched back,
and then he set his shoulder and forced the door wider. The wind was
gone, and there was no sound, the desert lay motionless and calm.
Chona slipped out into the night. The sky was clear as new glass,
alight with countless stars that blazed down in so many colors. The
moon was a low-hanging crescent blade on the horizon, illuminating
the black dunes in shining eldritch light. The shadows were absolute
black, while the ridges shone like silver.
She walked out and looked for a sign of the nomads, but nothing moved
as far as she could see. Then she turned and looked behind her, and
she gasped when she saw the massive shapes of the lost city still as
a necropolis in the deep night. All that remained were the
half-buried forms of towers and walls, black stone worn down to
smoothness over unknown ages of time here in this desolate place.
Chona climbed the steep slope and looked down a long, dead avenue
leading into the center of the city, where some greater edifice still
reared above the ruin. She looked at Kumura as he climbed up to
stand beside her. “I have never heard of a city here in the Black
Desert,” she said. “No legends, no tales.”
“Nor me,” he said. He leaned his butcher sword on his shoulder.
“Let us see what there is to see.”
“Then we are of a mind,” she said. She cleaned her sword and
sheathed it, slung her shield on her back, and together they made
their way down the long empty street, looking at the wind-carved
ruins of the city around them. Chona tried to imagine what it had
looked like when it lived, if it ever had. The few doorways were
tall and narrow, and she thought of the nomads, said to be reptilian
beneath their black robes, speaking a language like no other and
defending their ancient wasteland to the death.
Under a host of stars, they followed the dead road to the last ruin,
standing above the sand, massive and black and all but featureless.
They climbed a stair, and then came to another door. Once it had
been carved, but time and wind had obliterated all but the most
rudimentary marks. Kumura ran his hand over it, and then he burst it
open with a single shove. If anything had sealed it before, it was
long faded to dust.
They entered a high hall, the floor drifted with black sands and
light filtering down through narrow embrasures. The hall was lined
with square-cut pillars etched with detailed relief and marked by the
carved likenesses of tall men with inhuman, elongated heads. The
silence was oppressive as they made their way down the hall. Chona
stopped when she saw marks in the sands ahead. “Something is
here,” she said, drawing her sword again. If some desert beast
laired in this place, she wanted to be ready to meet it.
They reached an inner door, and now she saw the true artistry that
had been lost with this place. Inlaid with gold worked into the
black stone, the door was carved in such fine detail and depth that
it was like seeing scenes from a bizarre dream all in black and gold.
She saw the city itself rearing high in the sun among mountains and
trees, she saw a people with strange heads and the wrong number of
fingers on their hands, and they all looked upward to a towering
figure crowned with fire that reached down from the sky. A king of a
vanished land, a god of a dead city and a dead race.
She almost stopped Kumura when he set his hands on the door, but in
the end she did not. He braced the powerful muscles of his back and
pulled, and with his iron arms he wrenched the portal open. The
hinges groaned and cracked, and one of the great handles broke loose
in his hand, but there was enough of a gap for them to make their way
through.
Golden light shone out from the inside, and Chona kept her sword at
the ready as she slipped through the door and stood in the hallowed
hall where no human foot had trod for uncounted ages. She saw again
the strange marks in the sand, and she knew that something not human
walked here. She heard nothing, only the endless, aching silence so
heavy it lay over them like a grave shroud.
She crossed a wide landing, and then she looked upon a chamber that
stunned her to stillness. It was so vast and grand a room it seemed
impossible, the roof overhead a great dome pierced through in a
radiant pattern to let the light through, the gaps covered with some
translucent, amber material that turned the starlight and moonlight
above into a rich golden glow.
Down the wide stair, the floor of the chamber was ringed with ranks
of statues worked in the likenesses of warriors, the ones nearest the
walls standing sentinel, while the innermost rings knelt in the sand.
They were of stone, yet so lifelike that it seemed they might rise
and walk as living men if she blinked for too long. Some of them had
tumbled over and lay stretched in the dust of fallen ages, the only
sign that anything had stirred in this place for an aeon.
At the center, raised upon a dais, stood what looked like a tomb,
complete with an effigy laid upon the top of it. It had the look of
a man divided into many parts, each one separate and worked in the
same black stone. She could not see from where she stood, and she
took a step forward.
A slight slithering sound was all that warned her, and she turned as
something armored and gleaming rushed from the darkness. It was like
a scorpion, but so huge its head stood as high as Kumura’s, and the
plated body that stretched behind it rushed forward on a multitude of
legs. In a moment she knew the origin of the strange marks upon the
floor – the marks of many barbed feet that left sign that belied
the massive beast they carried.
A claw snapped for her with a shearing blow that would have ripped
her in half, but she hurled herself backward, tumbled down the
ancient steps and clung to her sword as the monstrosity rushed after
her, an obscene chittering coming from the jagged parts of its mouth
as they ground together hungrily.
It was almost on her when Kumura rushed in from the side and hewed at
it with his killer’s sword. He hacked off two small legs, and it
jumped sideways with a scream of rage. It struck at him and he
parried, reeled back from the force of the blow, his sword ringing.
The thing rushed on him, claws snapping, and Chona saw the tail
coiled high behind it, the murderous stinger long and dark and
dripping with venom.
Chona was on her feet, lunging for the beast. She hacked at the
legs, trying to get past them to the body, but her own slim blade
would barely mark the hard, armored limbs. It turned on her and the
stinger lashed down with a speed that numbed her. The blow smote on
her shield and splintered it, sending her down to roll away among the
fragments. If she had still possessed a left forearm, it would have
been broken.
She came up as the thing rushed on her, the claws snapping
ferociously. She dodged one, parried the other, and then it clamped
shut and broke her sword in half. The horrid, faceless mouth was
before her, chewing and grinding, and she snatched her dagger from
her belt and hurled it into that hungry maw. She heard the steel
splinter and then the thing backed away, spitting out the pieces.
Kumura hurtled into the side of the thing with all his weight,
crashing against it and knocking it sideways. It shrieked as his
sword came down and splintered armor and flesh, spilling blackened
ichor onto the stone. They tumbled together, Kumura’s butcher
blade striking again and again until a lashing stroke of a claw
dashed it from his hands.
Chona struggled up and grabbed the broken blade of her sword from the
dust. It was better than no weapon at all. The thing flung Kumura
back and she saw the tail coil in a spiral, readying to strike again.
Heedless, she leaped down the steps and sprang, landing on top of
the bestial guardian. Before it could shake her loose, she rammed
her blade down and into one of the blisterlike eyes, bringing a gout
of vile blood.
Screeching, it slapped her aside with a blow of its claw, and she
fell hard on the stone floor, knocking over a pair of carved
warriors. She twisted as the monster loomed over her, and then the
tail uncoiled and struck her with terrific force. She felt a lance
of agony through her chest, and the stinger punched through her armor
and impaled her, filling her body with burning venom.
Chona screamed, and then Kumura leaped in and his blade came down,
splitting the beast’s head apart with a single terrible stroke. He
ripped his blade free as the creature crawled away from him,
thrashing and hissing, pouring ichor out upon the floor, until it
crashed into the ranks of statues, tumbling them like toys, and
collapsed into twitching death.
There was silence in the tomb once again, and Chona lay in a silence
locked on her by agony. She tried to clutch at her chest, but she
could not even control her limbs enough for that. She gasped and
choked on her breath, her muscles rigid and clenched. She saw red,
and then she could not see at all. She heard footfalls, and then
Kumura lifted her from the floor and wiped away the blood she shed as
tears.
She looked at him, a thousand screams trapped inside her, and then
she fastened her iron will upon her voice and met his one-eyed stare.
“Avenge me,” she choked out, and then one final spasm of pain
consumed her, and she hissed through clenched teeth, spitting
defiance as the darkness closed in on her, and buried her.
o0o
After an age she gasped in a heavy breath, feeling coldness creep
through her veins like ice. She lay for what seemed an eternity in
darkness, unable to move, unable to even feel her flesh. She
breathed, and that was the extent of her power. Slowly, so slowly,
she felt life begin to return to her body. She forced her eyes open
and looked up at the domed roof of the great chamber, sun shining
down through the porphyry, covering everything in gold like honey.
She tasted ashes, turned on her side and spat out dust. She was
alone, laid with care on the edge of the dais that held the great
tomb. Her limbs were stiff as stone, her flesh cold, and she felt as
though she weighed as much as a woman carved from iron. She wondered
how long it had been since the sting. Days? Longer?
Kumura was gone, and why should he not be? He thought her dead, so
he left her here and went on. She would expect no less. She
breathed deeper and felt some warmth return to her. She put her one
hand under her armor and felt the sting, the terrible wound scorched
by the power of the venom. How did she live? Was it some other
effect of the poison she had breathed in the tomb of her ancestors?
Perhaps it reacted with the sting of the scorpion-beast and left her
alive, or perhaps it was simply not strong enough to kill her now.
She pushed herself up, her arms shaking. She expected to be hungry,
or thirsty, but she felt no cravings, no emptiness. She was only
cold, but she warmed as she moved. Here atop the dais was the effigy
of the body in the tomb, carved into the black stone and inlaid with
gold and jewels dimmed by ages of dust.
Chona had no sword, and her armor was rent and ruined. She cast it
off and turned to the tomb. Perhaps this dead king had been interred
with his treasures and war-gear. There might be something she could
use within.
Strange how his body seemed to be divided – the arms separate, the
legs and head as well. The effigy was made so, perhaps his body was
whole inside the crypt, or perhaps this was just some custom of a
vanished race. She set her hand on the tomb and pushed and pried at
the heavy stone until she felt it shift. With all her strength she
shoved the lid aside, and within she saw no sign of a body, only the
ornaments of a ruler. A golden circlet studded with gems, a corselet
made of blue scales and inlaid with gold.
And there lay a hand, only that, adorned with rings and bracer, the
flesh black and smooth as stone itself. It lay beside a sword with a
straight blade, the leather grip rotted away and the hilt greened
with corrosion, but the black blade was clean and sharp. It would
do. She wondered where the dead man had fallen, that his body could
not be brought here and interred, only his hand remaining.
She looked at the hand. Not a king then, a god. A fallen god who
was cut apart, and this piece brought back and entombed here in
eternity. She wondered if he had been cut apart to preserve him, or
to prevent him from being born anew. Her mouth was dry, and she felt
a humming in her mind, like a distant song, tuneless and unending.
She reached in and took up the severed hand. It was colder than it
should be, heavy and rigid as iron. She looked at the severed end,
and then, before she could think more on it, she pressed it against
the stump of her left arm.
There was an instant of freezing cold, and then the dead flesh flowed
over her arm and sealed it in place, and Chona cried out as sensation
ripped through the new limb. She staggered back and fell from the
dais, writhed on the stone floor as she felt cold blood flow through
her veins, felt the dead hand move as it it were her own. The
fingers twitched, and she gasped at the feeling it sent through her.
She felt limned with a cold light, and she breathed out a cloud of
mist into the dry air.
Slowly, shaking, she got to her feet. She lifted the new hand before
her face, the flesh black and gleaming like ice, and then she
clenched the dead fingers into a fist and a shudder passed through
the chamber. Dust billowed, and stone cracked and shifted as a
hundred stone warriors moved, stirring in their endless slumber, and
then they moved as one, rising to their feet. They drew their
shields in close and struck their swords against them. The beat of
an iron heart enslaved to her new will.
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