STORMS OF FORTUNE EXCERPT

Here is the opening chapter to my upcoming novel "Storms of Fortune, Sidoria: Book Five." If you enjoy this content, please consider purchasing the other books in the series. All are available here on Wamingo Publishing's website.

From the Chronicles of

Nicholas “Cole” Wolden

in the year 1363 AE

The sandstorm rolled across the desert, a great howling beast that consumed all in its path with ravenous fury.

It had appeared from nowhere, conjured from the desert’s depths as if by magic. One minute the sky was clear, and the sun shone brightly overhead; the next, nothing but blackness as the storm rushed forward, blotting out all but the most minuscule of sunlight.

Borys and I were preoccupied at the time with trying to free our horse, Boyd, from a sinkhole the animal had immersed himself in along with our wagon. We didn’t see the storm until it was nearly on top of us, and by then, it was too late to do anything but curse our rotten luck.

“Cole, leave the horse!” Borys shouted over the gusting wind. “We must seek shelter before it’s too late!” I ignored him and continued to pull on Boyd’s reins, determined to save him and the wagon, which contained all our food and supplies. We would need both if we were going to survive the perils of these desolate wastes.

It had been nearly a week since we crossed the border from Nabron into Legaria. In that time, it seemed we had encountered one obstacle after another. When the wagon lost a wheel, we had to replace it at the first trading post we came to. Unfortunately, a couple of bounty hunters stopped in to wet their whistles, and we had no choice but to kill them. This enraged the locals, who took up arms against us, resulting in a bloodbath that could have otherwise been avoided.

After that, we ran into a band of hungry goblins who mistook our horse for an easy meal. We had no sooner disposed of them when we happened across a gang of marauders. Lucky for us, their only source of transportation was the hardy but slow-moving yezbac, and Boyd was able to elude them with ease.

From there, we made our way across rocky hills and sun-scorched earth. The grass and trees grew scarcer the farther out we traveled. The lack of vegetation proved worrisome. Until now, we had relied on the land to provide for us, dipping into our supplies only when necessary. As such, we had enough rations to last us a few more days, maybe a week at the most. Still, Boyd relied on the local greenery to sustain him. He would surely starve to death without anything to forage, leaving Borys and me to cross this desolate land on foot.

Since such a prospect didn’t bode well for our survival, we had opted to take a shortcut through the desert region. Our hope had been to find another settlement along the border between the provinces of Dagur and Ayós where we could stock up on provisions. But instead, all we found was a seemingly endless sea of sand.

We were two days out when Boyd began to show signs of exhaustion. We had already driven the animal well past his breaking point, so Borys and I decided to stop and let him rest while we contemplated our next course of action. Boyd took this opportunity to wander off, likely in search of water, and that was when he trapped himself in the sinkhole.

The horse’s terrified screams had drawn our attention. We acted quickly to save him. First, Borys removed his gun belt and tied it to my own. Then, planting his feet firmly in the sand, the priest held on to one end of the belt while I, holding on to the other end, stepped into the sinkhole and pawed for the horse’s reins. But Boyd, frightened out of his mind, whipped his head back and forth, making it impossible for me to get a decent hold.

I had to continuously backtrack to keep from sinking into the sand myself. I was already in up to my shins, any farther and I wouldn’t be able to get back out. “It’s a lost cause, Cole!” Borys called to me. “Best to let him go, or you’ll go down along with him!”

I ignored Borys and continued to paw for the reins. “Come on, boy,” I cooed, trying hard not to show my mounting frustration. “Come on, you damn stupid animal.” Finally, I managed to catch hold of one of the leather straps. I wrapped it around my knuckles and held on tight. “Got it!” I shouted. “Reel us in!”

“Easier said than done,” Borys grunted. He tugged on the belt with all his strength, but the horse would not budge. I tried to coax Boyd into cooperating, but the horse wasn’t in a reasoning mood. Instead, he merely caused himself to sink faster in his growing panic.

It was then I heard a loud rumbling to the west of us. The sky grew black, and I felt Borys’ hold on the belt slacken. “My God,” he murmured.

“Borys, dammit, the belt!” I looked over my shoulder to see what had distracted the priest and felt my breath sucked out of me. The entire western region was aswirl in the most enormous sandstorm I had ever seen. It was at least a mile high and twice that in width, and it was barreling towards us at a speed that defied its size. If we didn’t find a safe place to wait it out, we would be flayed alive in a matter of seconds.

“Leave the horse!” Borys yelled. “We must seek shelter before it’s too late!”

“Our supplies!” I yelled back. “Without them, we’re as good as . . .” I trailed off as I realized the absurdity of my statement. Without the supplies we might die out in these wastes, but our deaths were a certainty if we stayed here a moment longer.

Damn it all.

I yanked out my gun and pressed the barrel against Boyd’s head. “I’m sorry, boy,” I said. The horse stared at me with wide, rheumy eyes. I saw in that look an animal already on the verge of death. I would just be ending his misery.

The shot was barely audible over the howling storm. Boyd collapsed, and the sand began to swallow both him and our wagon at an even quicker pace. “Pull me up,” I said, holstering my gun. When I didn’t receive a reply, I looked up at the priest, who stood, transfixed by the coming storm. “Borys!” I shouted, but he paid me no heed.

“They come,” Borys gasped. I began to call his name again when Boyd’s reins caught on my boot and pulled me down along with the dead horse. Still mesmerized by the storm, Borys let go of the belt and backed away a couple of steps. The look in his eyes was one of pure fear. “They have found me! They have found me, and they come!”

“Borys!” I clawed at the sand as I sank farther into the hole. Reason overrode blind panic, and I realized that Borys wouldn’t help me. In his present state, I doubted he even remembered I was here. If I was going to get out of this bind, I had to do it myself.

I unsheathed my knife and quickly sawed through the reins. The leather straps gave way, much to my relief, but I wasn’t out of danger yet. I was still sliding into the hole along with the loose sand. Another few feet, and I would be trapped just as Boyd had been. Only I wouldn’t have the luxury of someone giving me a quick death as I had the horse.

“They come,” Borys repeated. “But how? How so quickly?”

I stabbed my knife into the sand up to the hilt, and, using it as an anchor, tried to climb out. But I only made it a few feet before the loose sand pulled me back down again. “Borys! Gods, you sonofabitch!” I bellowed. “Fuck you and your upstart religion! If there is a hell I hope you burn for eternity in its fires, you damn, useless, false priest!”

That seemed to catch Borys’ attention. He looked down at me as if coming out of a trance, saw my flailing hand, and grabbed hold of it. I dropped my knife and held on for dear life, almost pulling him into the sinkhole as I scrambled up and out. I was barely on stable ground again when Borys pointed to a cave a good twenty yards away and told me we had to make a run for it.

The sandstorm was so close now I could feel grains of sand pricking at my skin. Still, I took a moment to turn and stare that massive beast in the eye. My curiosity over what had so entranced Borys overrode self-preservation. “They come,” he had said. What did he mean by that? Who or what was coming?

Lightning flashed within the sandstorm’s murky innards, and for a moment—a brief moment—I thought I saw a shape flying on broad, notched wings. I couldn’t make out a face, but where its mouth should have been was what I can only describe as a whirlpool of blue flame, which whipped and crackled around the thing’s head as if trying to consume it.

The lightning dissipated, and the thing, whatever it had been, was gone, swallowed once more by the darkness. I turned and ran as fast as possible for the cave’s entrance. Borys was already there, beckoning me to hurry. I needed no encouragement on his part, I can tell you.

I dove headfirst through the opening and took shelter behind a large outcrop of rock just as the sandstorm passed over us.

The wind was unrelenting. It gusted and smashed against the cave’s entrance as if enraged at our having escaped its clutches. Sand choked the air and began to pile up around us. I yelled to Borys that if we stayed where we were much longer, we risked being smothered. Borys agreed, and we retreated farther into the cave.

I removed the field light from a pouch on my belt and shone it around the cave’s narrow passage. We had lost all our supplies with the wagon, leaving us with only the items we now carried. This included our canteens, a crude map of the region we had picked up at one of the trading posts along our route, a compass, a handful of bullets, some rations, a nearly depleted box of matches, and a few first aid tools.

It was precious little protection against these wastes. Even if we started rationing our supplies now, I figured they wouldn’t last us more than a few days. We were as good as dead if we didn’t find an oasis or some sort of settlement before then.

No sooner had the thought entered my mind than I dismissed it. Time enough to worry about crossing a seemingly endless desert once we found our way out of this cave. For now, we had to focus on not getting lost in this underground maze of twisting passages. If we weren’t careful, we could stagger off a ledge, become trapped between the rocks, or simply starve to death. And that was if we didn’t go mad first, stumbling around here in the dark, far from the sun and fresh air above us.

My chest tightened at the prospect, and I found it increasingly hard to draw a proper breath. Closing my eyes, I leaned against the cave’s wall while I fought to steady my breathing. I was not fond of tight spaces, even under the best of circumstances. Ever since I was a kid . . . since the day I had to wedge myself under a cavalry scout’s bike to hide from a band of pillaging marauders . . . I’d had a strong dislike for enclosed areas. The mere thought of being buried alive under all this sand and rock had me on the verge of a panic attack.

Borys’ light continued to bob and weave ahead of me. He wasn’t yet aware that I was no longer with him. I had to pull myself together before he took notice. The last thing I needed was that madman seeing me in a vulnerable position. He was liable to get all sorts of crazy ideas.

I drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I did this several more times, forcing myself to relax. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get my breathing somewhat under control. I felt the tightness in my chest ease a little. I concentrated on the field light’s narrow beam, ignoring the crushing weight of the darkness around me.

It’s going to be all right, I told myself. You’re going to find a nice quiet place to wait out this sandstorm, and then you’ll find a way back to the surface. There’ll be sunshine and fresh air. Wide-open spaces. Won’t that be nice?

Oh sure, and ninety-degree heat, dry winds full of sand, and a neverending desert to cross. I chuckled quietly to myself. There was just no pleasing some people.

“Cole, over here,” Borys said, shining his light on a small opening in the cavern wall ahead of us. I managed to get my feet moving again and hurried after him. I still owed that madman a punch in the jaw for his actions back at the sinkhole. That thought, more than any other, spurred me onward.

Borys ducked inside the opening, and I reluctantly followed. The passage led into a circular room where we discovered the skeleton of a man in a deteriorated tan coat, blue shirt, and jeans lying beside the remains of a long-dead fire. “Well, this is hardly encouraging,” Borys mused. He stood with his back to me, shining his light on the corpse’s skull.

“Borys,” I said evenly, betraying no hint of the anger broiling inside me. “Turn around.”

Borys did so, grinning that maddening grin of his. “Aye, Cole? Would you like to apologize for your slandering of the Lord’s name out at the—”

I punched him square in the jaw. Borys grunted and fell backward, landing next to the corpse. “You lousy son-of-a-bitch, you would’ve left me to die out there!” I snarled.

It took Borys a moment to regain his wits. He lay where he had fallen, massaging his jaw and staring up at me with glassy eyes. It looked as if I had nearly knocked his lights out. A large part of me was sorry I hadn’t. The man was bad news, a murderous lunatic who passed himself off as a priest. The longer I stayed with him, the greater my chance of winding up like the skeleton lying beside him.

“Cole,” he said at last, though his busted lip made understanding him a bit of a challenge. “One of these days, that temper of yours is going to get you killed.”

I glared down at him. “When that time comes, all I ask is ten feet of ground and that you face me like a man.”

“You misunderstand me.” Borys grabbed hold of a piece of rock jutting from the wall and pulled himself to his feet. I took a step back and gripped the revolver holstered at my side. The other held the field light on his face. He squinted and motioned for me to lower the beam. “I meant in general. Some day your temper’s going to get the best of you, and you’re going to wind up food for the vermin to pick over.”

I continued to hold the light on him. “You’re not angry that I hit you? Come on, you damn near lose it any time somebody so much as touches you.”

“Aye,” Borys said. He wiped blood from his busted lip and stared at it in the light’s beam. “I don’t suffer such offenses lightly. But you are right. I should have come to your aid sooner. I beg your pardon.” Borys bowed his head to me. I continued to hold the light on his face, uncertain if he was truly sorry or if he was just waiting for me to lower my guard so he could put a bullet in my back.

“Cole, listen to me. We need each other if we’re going to survive. Plain and simple. If I kill you, then I kill myself. It was never my intention to leave you to die. Are you not standing here now because I chose to save you?”

“I suppose so,” I said. Borys was right, damn him. We needed each other too much to throw it all away over something that no longer mattered. I lowered the light, though I kept my right hand on the revolver’s handle on the off chance he was bluffing.

“I’m going to see if I can get a fire going,” Borys said from the darkness. “By the by, you have quite the right hook there. Think you rattled a couple of teeth loose.”

I snorted dismissively. Once again, I had let my temper get the better of me, and as always, it had only made matters worse. I considered apologizing to Borys but decided against it. The priest may have saved me, but he had taken his sweet time doing so. I don’t think I’d ever been as scared as I was in that sinkhole, and I would never have had to endure it if Borys hadn’t been distracted by the sandstorm.

“What was that thing out there anyway?” I asked.

“Thing?” Borys knelt over the remains of the old fire and went to work getting it lit.

“You know damn well what I mean. The thing in the sandstorm.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” He spoke in an easy manner, but his hands trembled so badly that when he pulled the matches from his belt, he dropped them on the cave’s floor.

“I saw it,” I said. “Or something anyway. It had wings and blue flames where its face should’ve been.”

“Blue flames, you say? Quite the imagination you’ve got there, my friend.” He retrieved the matches and attempted again to rekindle the dead fire. His shaking hands made it all but impossible.

“What was it?” I persisted.

Borys forced a laugh. “The Devil himself, who knows?” He nodded to the corpse. “There’s no way I’m going to get this fire lit. See if you can find anything on our friend there that’ll burn, will you?”

“Have it your way.” I bent over the skeleton and examined it with my light. Whoever the person was, his left leg was in a splint, indicating that he had broken it sometime just prior to his death. A sawed-off rifle, sheathed knife, and satchel sat beside the remains. Inside the satchel, I found a small fortune in kyn, and several wanted posters for the infamous bandit, Franck Dodge. There was also a letter addressed to a sweetheart in the province of Lyra, signed in the bandit’s own handwriting.

I looked again at the skeleton. Could these be the bones of Franck Dodge, the so-called “Scourge of the Ten Regions”? I pulled the knife from its sheath and studied the initials “FD” carved on its hilt. The same markings were also on the satchel’s flap and stitched inside both boots. That all but confirmed it for me. Here were the remains of the notorious thief and gunfighter who had led the cavalry scouts and local constabulary on a merry chase for well over three years.

By the looks of it, Dodge had suffered a broken leg and sought shelter until it healed up, but gangrene must have set in, and he died soon after. “A rather inglorious end for the Scourge of the Ten Regions,” I said aloud.

“What are you talking about?” Borys said from the shadows. “And what’s taking you so long? We need to get some light in here.” He sounded a bit desperate, as if he feared the darkness—or, more to the point, what the darkness might hold.

“The skeleton,” I said. “It’s the bandit, Franck Dodge.”

“Truly now?” Borys crept over and shined his light on the skull. “I believe you’re right. There’s the fracture along the brow from the time I rapped him with my revolver.”

I looked at Borys and then the corpse. “What, you’re saying you knew this guy?”

“I had a few run-ins with him. Deplorable fellow. This is a fitting end for him, believe me.”

“Was it?”

Dodge was something of a romantic figure around these parts. Many Deadlanders considered him a hero, a simple farmer who had lost it all and decided to strike back at his Imperial oppressors. I thought of the dozens of wanted posters the scouts had issued for Dodge over the years. We had thought him a clever crook who, with a bit of luck and foresight, had managed to elude our grasp. But the truth was he had been dead all this time.

“Aye. One reaps what they sow,” Borys said. “And our good friend here sowed much chaos in his lifetime.” He pawed through the satchel full of kyn and grinned at me. “Though I must say it was nice of him to leave a donation to our cause.”

“A lot of good it does us here. I’d much rather find a satchel full of food and water.” I tested the edge and balance of the bandit’s knife. It wasn’t as well made as the cavalry-issued knife I had lost out at the sinkhole, but it would do under the circumstances. I slipped the knife back in its sheath and hooked it to my belt.

“Well, this is the next best thing, wouldn’t you say?” Borys placed the kyn back in the satchel and secured it around his shoulder. “With it, we can buy food and water and maybe safe passage to Idaeus.”

“If we survive that long. And I don’t just mean the desert. We’re entering barbarian-controlled territory now. There are still some pockets of civilization hereabouts, but we would be fools to flash around that much currency.”

Borys chuckled. “And here I was hoping to end up in a shallow grave with my belly slit open.”

“It’s no laughing matter, Borys. Forgive me for saying, but you have a history of reckless behavior. More than ever, we need to blend in with our surroundings. The less attention we draw to ourselves, the better.”

“You would seek to advise me?” Borys’ tone was indignant, but I also sensed petulance in it. Like a spoiled child who must endure a scolding.

I avoided staring directly at those dark eyes of his. They had a way of drawing you into them, of muddling your thoughts and making you susceptible to his suggestions. Hypnotism, my old teachers called it. “I am simply asking you to restrain yourself.” At least until I can get away from you. “Can you do me that small favor?”

“If it means that much to you.” Borys caressed the gold cross around his neck as he stared into the darkness. “We shall make our way across these lands like shades in the night. Is this what you wish to hear?”

I shook my head. “Hearing it is one thing. Putting it into practice, something else entirely.”

“Then let me put your fears to rest.” Borys raised his right hand. “By Draoo do I swear that I will not make a spectacle of myself,” he said, invoking the god of riddles and secrets.

“Not quite how that works but thank you.”

“My pleasure, Cole ol’ buddy.” Borys gestured to the dead man’s rotting clothes. “Now, if you don’t mind, how about that fire?”

I went about removing the skeleton’s clothing. Some of it crumbled and fell apart in my hands, but we were able to salvage enough to get a small fire going. The flames chased away the darkness, and I saw Borys relax a little. “What was that thing in the storm?” I asked at length. “And don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“There are things that exist in this world that are beyond the practical,” Borys said. He sat with his back against the cavern wall, arms crossed over his chest, staring into the fire. Outside, the sandstorm continued to howl and beat against the rockface. “What you saw can best be described as a soul-stealer, a havoc-bringer. Better we don’t speak of it.”

“Screw that,” I said. “You sacrificed that doxy to it back in Raven’s End, and now you sit here ready to piss your pants over it. Is this thing after you? Do I have to worry about you sacrificing me to it?”

Borys shook his head slowly. “No. We managed to give it the slip for now. I believe the sandstorm worked in our favor. Somehow it masked my . . . well, let’s just say we are in the clear, so relax and try to get some sleep, will you?”

“Like that’s going to happen.” I could imagine this cave’s next occupant stumbling across my bones lying next to those of the late Franck Dodge. All because Borys decided to offer me up as a human sacrifice while I slept.

“We have a long trek ahead of us,” Borys said, “best to rest now while we can and replenish our strength.”

“Fine. You first. I’ll keep watch.”

“Watch over what?” Borys spread his hands. “Other than a few bats and the dearly departed Mister Dodge, we are completely alone.”

Keep watch over you, I thought, but said, “There are other passages in this cave, who is to say we are alone?”

Borys offered a tired smile. “Oh, have it your way. First watch. Wake me when it’s my turn, eh?” He wrapped himself in his coat and closed his eyes. In less than a minute, he was snoring.

I sat opposite him for a while, listening to the sandstorm and wondering what exactly I had seen gliding in it on demon’s wings. It had a connection with Borys; that much was clear. The priest would not say why, but I had a feeling it was after more than just his body. Soul-stealer, he had said. Havoc-bringer.

These thoughts were foremost on my mind as my eyelids grew heavy and I drifted into a restless sleep.

Copyright, 2022 by Jeremy Lee Riley. All rights reserved.