Chapter Fourteen - Dust Runners

I stood up from my squat, pulled my pants up, and did up my buckle before grabbing my duster from where I’d left it on the ground. When I returned to Rusty, it was to find that Clin was very much not looking my way, and his ears were burning up.

“You alright?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he said quite quickly.

I shrugged and sniffed at the air. Dry. Very dry even. None of the electric taste of an oncoming storm though, and the bushes I saw were still doing their early morning flowering, trying to attract rock wasps and tarantula hawks.

Stretching, I worked out the kinks in my back and then scanned the horizon, or as much of it as I could see. Nothing much, though there was some sand in the sky to the north. A passing caravan, maybe?

“Right, you done?”

Clin looked up from his breakfast, Mostly oats and some more hardtack. “I am,” he said.

We packed things up, got aboard Rusty--Clin kept one of the blankets to use as a seat, didn’t blame him--then we were off again.

The trek was a trek. Lots of walking, lots of taking detours when I read the sands and figured we’d be best moving around rather than through. Lots of focusing past the boredom. I stuck close to the rocky outcrops I could see, and made sure that we were always heading south with the mountains to our left.

An hour passed, then two. That was when I noticed a gauge flickering. One of the pressure gauges for Rusty's right leg. The one I’d landed crooked on the day before while saving the elf.

It wasn’t dropping fast, just a little flicker with each step, but twenty minutes after I noticed it, I could confirm that it was dropping. “Gods damn it,” I muttered.

“Hmm? What was that?” Clin asked.

“Gauge is dropping,” I said.

“I’m sorry, I can’t see very much in here. It’s too dark.”

“Yeah,” I said. It was just noise. I spun Rusty’s head left and right, looking for a place where we could stop and where I could jump out to check things. What I found wasn’t some shade, it was a spot of dust hovering in the sky above. “There’s something out ahead,” I said.

“Something? Could you be a little more specific, please?”

I licked my lips, then pulled a flask from the wall and took a pull. Lukewarm water made talking easier. “Dust runners. Not a storm or anything, just one thick plume. Something’s moving out a ways ahead of us.”

“Then we go around,” Clin said.

I pulled my arm out of the control gauntlet to rub at my chin. “Maybe,” I said. “Could be handy. Need some repairs.”

“I doubt the gnomes would be friendly enough to offer.”

He had that right, gnomes weren’t known for being the generous sort. “Don’t think it’s them. Look at the way the dust’s spread out. That’s a formation moving in single-file. Don’t know too much about gnomes, but they tend to move all grouped up like, on account of their treads sending sand flying behind them, and unless there’s a whole army out there, that ain’t them.”

“So, how is it then?”

“Not goblins, too much dust. Traders then, or nomads.”

Clin grabbed at the back of my seat and pulled himself up. “Pardon.” His head came to rest near mine so he could see out my periscope. “Would that be good for us?” he asked.

“Depends. Nomads would help. A bit of water, which we’ve got. Traders would too, but for a price.”

“I’m trying not to be found, them seeing me might lead the gnomes to us.”

I shook my head. “Not the nomads. They don’t talk to the gnomes much. Bad blood. Traders, the rough sort out here? They’d sell their mothers for a handshake and a smile.”

“So, traders we avoid, nomads we approach,” Clin summed up.

“Nah. We need the repairs one way or another, and moving south with a caravan would be nice. You just need to sit tight in Rusty if it’s traders.”

We continued walking, with my attention always cast towards the dusty plumes. Then I saw something dark darting out above.

“Nomads,” I confirmed.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Saw something flying above. Has to be a wyrm rider.”

I could feel the elf shifting. “A wyrm. As in a smaller, two-legged dragon?”

“Not a dragon,” I said. “Dragons are a whole other sort of problem. Wyrms are mean bastards, but those with the nomads are usually alright.” I pushed Rusty to move a little faster, and as we crested a dune, I was able to see the nomads in full.

They weren’t moving all that quickly, not that they couldn’t.

About two dozen vehicles. Six of them were huge, walking mecha, with six legs and massive bodies covered in sand-coloured plates. Twice as tall as Rusty, and four times his height in length. Those were the nomad’s homes, all in the centre of the caravan’s formation. There were a few guns poking out, mounted here and there across their carapaces in little turrets.

Some had sand wyrms roosting on them, others had open tops and I could just barely make out humanoids working on them.

Racing around them were dune buggies, four-wheeled little vehicles that rode on metal drums across the sand. They were covered in the same leaf-shaped plates as the bigger mecha.

And finally the sand wyrms. Not the fliers. Sandwalker wyrms. Huge, flat creatures as long as Rusty was tall, with four powerful legs and a body covered in sandy scales that had spikes in their middle.

Some of the sandwalkers were juvenile enough that their front legs still had some wing flaps left to them.

“I’ve seen those before,” Clin said. “In a book. The eggs become sand wyrms, and then they make cocoons to turn into those larger creatures.”

“That’s the gist of it,” I said. “The silk’s worth a fortune, and the scales can be melted for steel or something. Nomads would know more than I do.”

“Are they human?” he asked.

“Some,” I said. “Might find a few dwarves, and maybe an elf or two. Mostly it’s kobolds.”

“Kobolds. There are some that live in the forests near my home. Nice folk. Primitive, but gentle and caring.”

I looked over my shoulder a little, but he didn’t seem to be putting a snake in my boot or anything. “Right,” I said. He’d be surprised about this lot. I was kinda hoping he’d try to pet one, but my bounty wouldn’t pay out if he died.

The caravan saw us coming, of course. Probably long before we saw them. The advantage of always having the high ground with their fliers. I’d seen them hook bombs onto their sand wyrms before. Never saw them used, but I had an imagination.

A pair of dune buggies broke off from the rest and sped up, tossing dirt into the air behind them as they rode out towards us.

I started down the gentler side of the dune, on a path where I’d always be visible. My weapons were still stowed, and I was right out in the open.

The dune buggies had a little basket at the top and back where a pair of kobolds were sitting next to a small mounted gun. Nothing that would break Rusty, but enough to scare off a more cowardly goblin or take down some of the predators lurking in the sand.

Once I was on more even ground, one of the buggies circled around me, constantly painting a wide path around and kicking up a wall of dust. The second slowed down and came to a halt a little ways ahead. One of the gunners rose up and waved.

I brought Rusty to a complete stop and with a bit of effort, pried open a panel on his front so that I could hear them better. Still had to shut a few things down, cooling included, but I figured we’d be out of the mech soon enough. “Hey there!” I called.

“Hey there hunter, what are you doing in this paradise?” the gunner asked. He had a slow accent, common with nomads, as if he had all the time in the world to say what he had to say.

“Heading to Mortarview. I have some damage. Could use a hand. I’ve got water.”

The gunner nodded and ducked back, then returned. I couldn’t read his facial expression, not through his thick goggles and cloth mask, and nomads moved a little strange, so his posture which read to me as calm could have meant anything. “Got! Follow us then, hunter,” he said. “Respect the water.”

“Respect the water?” Clin asked. “Did I hear that correctly?”

“Don’t piss around the nomads,” I said. “Not unless your little elven dick fits into a flask... your own flask.”

I couldn’t see his face, but I could feel his indignance. “That’s disgusting.”

“Got to respect the water,” I said with a grin. Though I had to agree. You did what you had to to survive, but not an ounce more. “Come on, let’s go trade.”

***