Chapter 4

Rather than going directly through the Wastelands and into Bone Hunter territory where rogue sentries might raise an alarm, Malum angled north towards Skrall River. His Vorox warriors followed without question, but even they considered it a bold move. His party numbered seven in total, with a pair of Zesk to accompany them on their expedition across the desert. For some time, Malum matched the pace of his warriors, subtly resetting their path every time they started to veer off-course.

The sun hadn’t risen yet, but its rays arced over the horizon and brought ginger light to the sky. Traditionally, Vorox traveled and hunted at night, only springing from their underground tunnels in the day if they sensed movement on the surface. Out of respect for their new Champion, however, they traveled the expanse by foot.

The warriors of the Sand Tribe knew little about the eastern regions of Bara Magna, only that black rocks rose near the Bone Hunter Fortress and that there was very little to scavenge there. If the land had been ripe or welcoming, perhaps the Skrall would have worked to extend their territory beyond, but there seemed to be a pall over the eastern stretches of the planet. The Wastelands didn’t end so much as the Vorox, Bone Hunters and Skrall independently came to the conclusion that the land wasn’t worth fighting for.

The sand stretched in every direction, as far as the eye could see. It rose up in great dunes patterned in windy waves, and plummeted into deep valleys. The further they traveled from the Iron Canyon and the accompanying borderlands, the more agitated Malum became. Out here, there were no landmarks, no weeds, no clear goals, no places to hide. To him, the sheer enormity of the desert made him feel as though the ground might disappear beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

Cresting a particularly steep dune, Malum caught one of the Vorox staring to the east, a scrawny male who twitched more often than his fellow tribesmen. Following his line of sight with some interest, he spotted a distant outline against the endless sand. Shielding his eyes from the intensity of Solis Magna’s sunlight, he caught sight of an orange figure atop an antiquated Baranus chariot, which skimmed across the sand. Pulled by the lizard-like form of a Spikit, the wagon was gliding at a speed far greater than the Vorox could hope to achieve on foot, fading into the swirling clouds of dust that marred the horizon.

Malum stopped walking to watch the figure fade into obscurity. Gesturing to the patch of sand the vehicle had been spotted and issuing a broken command in the tongue of the Vorox, he sent the Zesk scouts to investigate, with the party approaching in hot pursuit. By the time they arrived at the point the stranger had first been spotted, there remained only a set of tracks, which were now swiftly being obscured by the wind.

“Make anything of that?” mused Malum, curious if his aide held any insight.

‘This is not our territory,’ she replied simply, a muted hint of reprimand evident in her gestures. ‘We know nothing of this place or its inhabitants. An Agori trader, no doubt.’

“Perhaps, though he’s rather far from Atero,” muttered the exile pensively, recalling similar chariots that he had plundered during the Core War. A vague memory stirred of Vulcanus Agori yapping about a slaver that wandered these parts. However, Malum always tended to filter out Agori whining and complaining and regretably had no recollection about what the slaver’s identity was said to be.

Ordinarily, Malum would have been more than happy to venture off on his own and give chase to the mysterious figure and his curious vehicle, but the Vorox under his command were still so unaccustomed to this new part of the world that he did not have the luxury of satisfying his curiosity. Scanning the depths of the horizon, Malum followed the tracks over a dune, trailing off to the west. He marked the spot in his mind, adding it to his growing mental map of the Wasteland’s topography for future reference.

“We carry on eastward,” he announced decisively with a curt nod ahead. “We find more allies. We find what lies beyond.”

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For the rest of the day, Malum and his scouts saw nothing but open desert. While the Vorox were well-equipped for long journeys, their clawed feet evolved to increase traction in the sand, he possessed no such advantage. Up each dune the Vorox and Zesk scarpered while their Champion trudged slowly behind. More often than any of his companions, he found himself drawing water from his pouch and stopping to search for something, anything, that was not sand. It seemed that, no matter how much he drank, he was always thirsty.

As light began to fade from the sky and the air grew heavy and cool, the party set up camp in a dune no different from any other. When Malum sent Vorox to gather firewood, water, and food, he was met with reluctance and hesitation before they obeyed. Something was in the air, it seemed.

The Vorox were content to almost entirely bury themselves in the sand, burrowing down into cooler depths with only the tips of their stinger tails protruding and leaving no trace of their presence to desert scavengers. The warriors intended to rest together, but the exile called upon the youngest male to take post on the slope and keep watch. As the lone tribesman scuttled away, Malum cast himself down heavily by the fire and ate his meat in silence, until his hunger was gone, receiving yet more defiant scowls.

Still struggling to sleep in such conditions, the exile chose instead to dig a large hole and retreat into it. When at last he had completed his labors, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but, though he came to the verge of oblivion, the voices in his head would not quieten for some time. Drained from the journey and unaccustomed to nights spent beneath the surface, the crimson warrior finally lapsed into deep slumber until he was woken for his own turn on watch.

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Continuing their journey early the following morning, Malum was again met with disappointment, gazing out at the endless dunes with resentment in his heart. Dry heat burned his eyes but still he marched at the same pace as his followers, spurred on by the promise of the answers he would find in the east. Before long, he found himself falling into a familiar rhythm, mimicking the movements of his warriors. There would be punishment for anyone who slowed the entire pack down with their lack of energy, Champion or otherwise.

As midday gradually rolled closer and Solis Magna loomed directly overhead, one of the scouts stopped at the top of a dune and held out his hand in the universal sign to approach with caution. Taking the warning with heed, Malum clenched his jaw.

“Hold steady,” he commanded, flexing his Flame Claws in anticipation.

As commander of the pack, Malum led the way, flanked by the three strongest Vorox, Spears and Thornax Launchers close at hand. Beneath him, the sand was flat for some distance, unobscured by the dunes he had come to think of as permanent features of the Wastelands. In the middle of the incomprehensible flatness was a large black mound. From his vantage point and with the air full of whipping sand and dust, it was impossible to guess at what it might be, or even how large it was.

The shape was black with sparks of reflected light, which suggested something about it was shifting or possibly metallic in composition. It was lumpy and seemed to be the size of his home back in Vulcanus. The sand around it was the same golden texture that had become Malum’s whole world, and there was nothing to mark a difference of topography. Just the slightly shifting, pulsing, dark silhouette out in the middle of the Wastelands. In a land of such nothingness, any idle thing seemed unusual.

‘We should trail around it,’ noted his aide cautiously. ‘Whatever it is will only delay us from our goal.’

Gazing in wonder, Malum’s mind began to make sense of what he was seeing, for he had never before witnessed anything living that was larger than a Rock Steed. He had heard tales of large predators that had roamed the ancient planes of the world and known them only by reputation of their fearsome jaws but had never seen the giant bodies they were said to be attached to. The corpses of Cave Shrikes had been uncovered by adventurous Agori and occasionally one would hear rumors of a Skopio sighting, but truly, few could name or describe the mythical beasts whose bones had been fashioned into their weapons and armor. There were no creatures in the world bigger than the Sand Stalkers and Spikit used to pull Agori caravans. If the Vorox knew any more than he did, they certainly offered no hints.

“We approach,” he ordered, ignoring the scorn of his companion. “Flank it from both sides. Leave the Zesk here.”

Splintering into two groups, the Vorox crawled silently down the slope of the dune and into the valley, positioning their Zesk to keep watch from above. If they felt apprehension, their features did not betray them, though several sets of eyes darted around for signs of a Bone Hunter ambush from above.

Drawing closer, Malum studied the pulsing shape with great intensity. Curiously, it did not seem to behave like any creature he knew. There was something uncomfortably alien about it, whether it was the constant shifting of its form or the unnaturally moist quality of its appearance, he could not decide.

As the pack approached, the entity did nothing but shiver to itself, for no reason they could discern. Raising a hand in signal, Malum halted. Obeying, the Vorox stopped, awaiting instruction from their champion. They were anxious and twitchy, for it was rare that Vorox found themselves vulnerable in this manner. They chittered and hissed in hushed tones, resisting the survival instincts that told them to cut ties and leave the foolish Glatorian to let curiosity get the better of him. But Malum was nothing if not stubborn. He wanted answers and no force on Bara Magna would keep him from finding them.

Without a word, he activated his shoulder-mounted Thornax Launcher, took aim and fired at the heaving ebony shape.

The black scales that had been shifting in the sunlight exploded on impact, revealing a swarm of Scarabax Beetles, their faces stained with the rusty red texture of recent feeding. Screeching as they swarmed the valley, the nocturnal creatures furiously swept at the sand with their proboscises, their vicious mandibles churning for meat.

“Fall back!” bellowed the exile, laying down a covering fire of Thornax to allow his followers a window with which to retreat.

But the order came too late. Stitching together in a composite mesh of their bodies, the cluster of beetles morphed into a swirling liquid mass that swiped at the scavengers. Before his very eyes, Malum watched as a pair of Vorox were swallowed up by the insects, screaming as they were sucked up by the voracious creatures.

Pausing to assess the situation, Malum recalled his own experiences of Scarabax. Every desert had its insects but few were as voracious or intelligent as the Scarabax. He had seen specimens captured by Agori traders, even squashed a few under his heel whilst traveling between arena matches in his previous life. Never before had he seen them behave like this.

As the Vorox receded back, the swarm moved to give chase, revealing the raw carcass of an enormous desert creature, which had been almost entirely devoured by the beetles. At first, its structure appeared unlike any domestic creature Malum was familiar with, adorned with too many ridges and spines to fit the shape of a Rock Steed. As the swarm moved, however, he came to identify it as the emaciated remains of a Sun-Rock Dragon, the legendary desert predator from whose bones his very Flame Claws were crafted. There was little left of the fallen beast, just blankets of scales hanging off bleached ribs and tendons.

As nearby Vorox scarpered for cover at the top of the dune, Malum rose to his full height and stepped forward to meet the challenge, flailing his arms high above his head, a technique that often intimidated lone Scarabax. But the swarm swept past the crimson warrior almost entirely, sending a chittering tendril of insect bodies to engulf a nearby warrior. Hearing the cries of the Vorox as her arm was swallowed up by the ebony whirlwind, it dawned on Malum all too late that the victim was none other than his aide, who had lunged forward to take the blow meant for him. Struggling for her freedom, the long-suffering Vorox yanked and tugged only for more Scarabax to crawl up her shoulder.

Brandishing his Flame Claws, he took wild swipes at the Scarabax, drawing their attention away from his companion before she could be claimed by the sprawling beetles. In a fury of metal and muscle, the exile tore at the entity before him, cleaving and cutting until great fistfuls of broken beetles fell to the sand.

“Throw the canteens!” roared Malum desperately, tearing the skein from his waist and hurling it into the churning cloud of talons and mandibles.

Droplets of water arched into the air, soaking the entity’s turbulent midsection and causing it to buckle in on itself. The swarm lost its composition if only for a moment, loosening its grip on the captive Vorox long enough for her to pull what was left of her arm free. Following his lead, several of the Sand Tribe warriors reached for their own canteens, hurling them into the mess of insects and soaking them with what little they had left to spare.

The effects were instantaneous as the Scarabax furiously tore into each other, their shared directive shifting entirely at the slightest trace of moisture. Consuming every drop in a frenzy of sparkling shards of exoskeleton, the beetles began gorging themselves on whatever droplets were within reach. Within seconds, the united biomass had been reduced to a churning deluge of insects guttling one another.

Kneeling beside his injured translator, Malum latched the Vorox’s remaining arm around his shoulder and hoisted her back to her feet. While the Scarabax continued to crumble in on themselves, the scavengers retreated to safety. Grimly, he stopped to look back at the scene unfurling at the bottom of the dune.

Already the half-digested carcasses of his fallen soldiers could be seen on the desert floor, a grim and unnecessary loss that he would rather have avoided. Their unceremonious endings weighed heavy on his heart, for both had only recently joined his following and had proved especially loyal. Both had shown him great kindness and deserved better.

Stealing one final glance at the broken entity of writhing Scarabax, Malum hoped only that he had managed to deal a blow from which the colony could never recover. Perhaps the sacrifice of his people today would bring them better fortune further along their journey.

Trudging away with his injured companion limping beside him, Malum knew nothing of the effect he would come to have over the creatures. If nothing else, they would remember the fearsome claws and savagery of the Sand Tribe’s champion.

Someday.