Chapter 3

When Kyry came to, he could not tell how long he had been out cold. Hauled unwillingly back into the waking world, fragmented memories began returning to him, as though his brain was ticking off items on a checklist. He had lost time and, for a blissful moment, he had not thought to question where he was. The world came back to him in bits and pieces.

At first, he’d thought it was a dream of Bone Hunters and captivity. When at last he opened his eyes and saw the beady eyes of Vorox staring back at him, the Agori realized he had traded one nightmare for another.

As he jolted into full consciousness with the certainty that he was going to be devoured, Kyry lashed out in fear, flailing his arms in a frenzy. The hands that subdued him were none too gentle, wrestling him back to the ground with such force that the fight was knocked out of him. Only then did Kyry realize that he had been screaming. Lying prone, his helmet pressed into cool sand, the Agori could only stare at his surroundings, unable to work out where he was.

There were three Vorox in the chamber, which appeared to be a modest hut with sand flooring and musty fabrics draped across the walls and doorway. They wore battered and bleached armor stained a deep tan by the elements. They chittered and gnashed at him, but their language was lost on him.

“Bestill yourself, Agori,” snapped a figure in the shadows, a black form against the square of light spilling in from the doorway.

“Wh-Where am I?” asked Kyry, trying to phrase an intelligent response but managing only a weak mumble. “Where did the Vorox come from?”

The figure edged closer, his features silhouetted by the intense brightness behind him.

“They tend to your wounds at my command,” he explained shortly, which ranked among the least comforting responses Kyry had ever received. “You traveled by caravan from Vulcanus. Where was your escort?”

Kyry stared at the Glatorian, still having difficulty interpreting what he was seeing. Slowly, it started coming back to him; the caravan, his companion, the Bone Hunters…

“She didn’t make it,” he muttered, the words sounding distant as he thought of the felled Glatorian, still lying in the field of sand and corpses. “The ambush - they laid a trap in the canyon. I led us right into it…”

“And you alone survived, a captive of the Bone Hunters?”

The question seemed almost as cold as the answer was self-evident.

“They were planning to ransom me back to the Fire Tribe,” answered Kyry limply from his position on the ground.

The figure made no movement to indicate he had heard, continuing to observe the Agori with keen and unflinching interest. Shaking the fatigue from his weary bones, Kyry tried to pull himself into a sitting position only for waves of pain to shoot through his body.

“You hit your head,” explained the stranger, with something close to guarded empathy. Sharp and direct, the words itched like the bite of a Sand Flea. It took Kyry time to digest their meaning, for the edge of his alertness had suddenly grown dull in recognition.

“I remember you,” he murmured with a deep frown, sensing a familiar quality in the figure’s voice. “You’re Malum the Exile. You were once our ferocious Second Glatorian, trained under Ackar himself; a force of nature unleashed!”

As he spoke, the Glatorian’s eyes glazed over, making it impossible to discern his response. When he spoke again, however, his tone was tinged with bitterness.

“See how Vulcanus rewards her warriors,” he bristled. “But I am now called Malum the Champion by the Vorox. The whole of Bara Magna is my arena.”

Something about his clipped tone gave Kyry pause. Only then did his present situation dawn upon him in its entirety.

“Am… Am I your prisoner?” he asked, his eyes betraying him as he glanced at the Vorox.

Malum leaned closer, an angry shadow passing over his sullen features.

“That depends on what information you can offer me, Kyry of the Fire Tribe,” he said, steel in his voice. “Out here, knowledge is the one commodity as precious as water.”

The faces of the Vorox changed in that moment, though their eyes remained on him. Their features were suddenly alive with interest, yet they made no hostile move. They were brutish and intimidating. Malum had not picked them for tenderness.

“The Sea of Liquid Sand encroaches further on the borders of Vulcanus,” reported the Agori, wise enough to sense the unspoken threat. “Or at least that’s what we think it is - the scouts we sent haven’t returned.”

The outlaw gazed back blankly, for the news was at least two weeks old to him and therefore as stale as fermented Thornax Stew.

“Perhaps you misunderstand my meaning,” he said with considerable dryness. “Why do you journey north with the concessions of an arena match?”

Kyry knotted his brow, momentarily flustered. Of the deadly figures who roamed the Wastelands in the tales of other guardsmen, Malum was the last and most grim. A thousand stories had been told about him. In the imagination of the young Agori, he had loomed like a giant, brooding savage.

“You want to know… the outcome of our arena matches?” he finally murmured with a certain amount of reserve that was unnatural to him. “Is that all?”

“The arena is where politics happen, Agori,” said the Glatorian in response, his steely gaze unflinching. “Matches determine trade and alliances between tribes; they settle disputes over land and supplies, staving off the alternative. Whatever happens in the arena of Vulcanus affects all of Bara Manga. So tell me, have the Skrall bested my old mentor, or has Strakk been eating his Thornax?”

From his position on the ground, Kyry paused to choose his answer. A low growl from one of the Vorox prompted him to be quicker with his words, however.

“You faced a Skrall in the arena once before,” recounted the Agori, his throat as dry as sandpaper. “As you know, they are a brutal and barbaric band of Rock Tribe warriors. They showed up shortly before your exile to settle in the ruins of Roxtus and claiming the whole of the Black Spike Mountains. So far, their warriors are undefeated in the arena, for they are stronger, faster, and infinitely more cunning than Glatorian. Over the past nine months, they have bested not only yourself, but also the likes of Strakk, Vastus, Kiina and, most recently… Ackar.”

The revelation brought with it a long and thoughtful pause. If the news sparked an emotion within Malum his expression did not show it.

“The expansionism of the Skrall endangers us all,” continued Kyry tentatively. “Since your exile, they have challenged all four tribes for any findings in the desert, no matter how tenuous their claim, reveling in chances to crush Glatorian in the arena. If their conquest continues unchallenged, Raanu predicts they will have won all of Bara Magna in a matter of years. It won’t be long before they seek to conquer the Wastelands too…”

At the mention of the Agori Chief’s name, the former Glatorian’s eyes narrowed and the Vorox at his side began to chitter in aggression.

“Perhaps if you set me free, I can convince Vulcanus to take you back,” murmured Kyry, a glimmer of hope in his voice. Part of him knew this was impossible, but he was desparate.

Malum said nothing at first, his face inscrutable as he stared into the shadows and far away.

“The Fire Tribe owes you a great debt for your heroism against the Bone Hunters and you have proved yourself an honorable warrior,” continued the Agori, keen to press a point too far in the hopes that his words might spur the Glatorian to action. “I remember the days when you defended Vulcanus with honor and risked everything to secure supplies for us. You even trained guardsmen like myself, teaching us how to fight while helping us understand why. I’m sure you would be welcomed back now that three months have passed!”

Anger flashed across Malum’s features so suddenly that Kyry could only suppose it had been bubbling beneath the surface the entire time. The serrated tips of his Flame Claw swung at him, catching the Agori by the neck and hoisting him from the ground as he struggled and squirmed.

“I shall never again fight in the service of the Fire Tribe,” growled Malum before releasing his grip on the Agori and gesturing to the three Vorox present in the tent. “I command the greatest warriors on Bara Magna, each trained to follow my orders precisely. Their loyalty is unwavering and they know how to act rather than react, no matter the situation. A life like theirs adds determination, a grit that cannot exist in your precious civilization. The Vorox are my people and these drifts and dunes you Agori call Wastelands are more home to me than Vulcanus ever was.”

Gazing at the Sand Tribe warriors, Kyry observed only three sets of razor-sharp mandibles and a ravenous hunger in their dull, reptilian eyes.

“The caravan and its Thornax contents are the property of the Sand Tribe now” continued Malum, approaching one of the creatures and placing an affectionate hand on its shoulder. “If the Fire Tribe wishes to challenge this claim, I will gladly deal Ackar the second defeat of his career.”

“And what of me?” asked Kyry, finally finding the courage to speak up but terrified of the answer.

“It appears your wounds have healed,” shrugged the exile silkily as he made his way back to the doorway and lifted the tarp covering the entrance. “You will be given a sword and a shield and you will make your way back to Vulcanus.”

Kyry opened his mouth in gratitude, but the words caught in his throat as the exact meaning of the words slowly dawned on him.

“I leave you at the mercy of the elements,” continued Malum. “The same position I once found myself in. Should you succumb to the heat, the Agori of Vulcanus will have more water to share. Should you survive… perhaps you too will find that the only comfort in this world is the charity of the uncivilized.”

✴        ✴        ✴

Leaving the Agori to recover in one of the huts, Malum reconvened with his tribe and appraised them of the new information. Having reclaimed the camp single-handedly, he had earned both the attention and the respect of the local pack leader, offering the caravan full of Thornax to sweeten the deal. Before long, his aide had helped him to negotiate a more lasting partnership and the clan had begun to assimilate into his following.

Observing the Vorox hard at work removing the detritus of Bone Hunter occupation, Malum walked to the shade and gazed up at the structure embedded in the cliff face. The huts were perfectly aligned and structurally reinforced, possessing the likeness of shelled crustaceans clinging to the wall of the canyon. Far above, a solid rock overhand shrouded the entire settlement from the surface. Grand statues had once adorned the ledges high above the dwellings, all but one now reduced to rubble by the Bone Hunters or the forces of time. The looming figure of an ancient Skrall warrior stood tall between the six empty crevices; the Elemental Lord of Rock, no doubt.

A handful of Zesk sheltered there, picking over the supplies left by the Bone Hunters. Only one among them was moving with purpose, busying himself by digging at a pile of sand. After a long moment of foraging, the lone Zesk tried a scrap of metal from the ground, which Malum recognized instantly as the timeworn helmet of an Agori.

‘Dig deeper,’ he ordered in the broken language of the Vorox, forcing a weary smile. ‘Whatever you find is yours to keep.’

As the Zesk scrambled for scraps among the sand, Malum sensed the approach of a messenger behind him. As he turned, it suddenly occurred to him how cool the air had become as the sun danced low in the sky.

‘The Clan Elders have accepted your request,’ reported the young Vorox, his stinger tail swishing through the air with eager anticipation. ‘They will supply you with escorts on your journey. I pledge myself to your cause, for you are Malum, Champion of the Vorox.’

The exile nodded, turning his attention to the trail that lay ahead. There could be no room for failure or indecision when the fate of the Sand Tribe lay in the balance.

“Then you will accompany me on my quest, but only if you are firm in your conviction,” cautioned the crimson warrior solemnly. “We will not return until we have found answers to questions that have spurned me since the Shattering: what became of the Elemental Lords? Where are the Great Beings? And what happened to the oceans of Aqua Magna?”