The Sand-Knowers

The acrid smell of burnt oil betrayed the mercenaries before they even emerged from the shadows.

Two towering, broad-shouldered lizardmen stepped forward, their hides covered in thick scales of copper tones. Their elongated faces resembled the desert lizards, with slanted yellow eyes and vertical pupils, along with wide mouths lined with short, jagged teeth. Their forked tongues flicked darkly with each breath.

They wore light desert robes dyed in earthy tones and turbans, much like the occultists, covering most of their scaled heads and leaving only the snout and eyes visible. In their hands were long arquebuses of dark wood reinforced with iron, the muzzles still smoking with prepared powder.

“Zahal’arif…” Daniel muttered, tightening his grip on the cane. “Sand-Knowers.”

They were another humanoid race of this world. Nomadic mercenaries from the desert of Arkhad, in the Khurutas region. Though treated as second-class citizens, the Empire had left them free to sell war for coin.

One spat on the ground, his forked tongue flickering in the faint torchlight he carried.

“Lahm’rafeeh… soft flesh…” the Zahal’arif rasped, his voice like stone scraping stone. “We’ll sell them in the Fire Dunes.”

Sallustia raised her blade, the steel scraping against the low ceiling, while Gupta slid sideways, preparing mixtures within his gauntlet.

The first mercenary leveled his arquebus and fired.

A thunderclap roared through the tunnel, like a storm bound in a bottle. The smell of powder choked the air, mixing with the damp rot of the sewers. The shot ricocheted against the stone, sparking bright fragments. Daniel ducked by instinct, feeling the vibration hum through the air.

“They’re no mere hunters” Sallustia growled between her teeth. “They’re trained for close-quarters.”

The Zahal’arif reloaded with precise motions, pouring black powder and ramming a lead ball down the barrel. The other drew a curved bone dagger, the blade angled forward.

Surprisingly, Gupta moved first. For a middle-aged poisoner, his bulk carried speed, feet sliding quickly through the sludge. He extended a finger from his gauntlet, releasing a violet jet of alchemical spray aimed at the arquebus-wielder’s waist. The lizard dodged with practiced grace, hissed, and lashed out with a muscular leg.

Gupta was hurled against the wall, the breath bursting from his chest in a rough groan.

Sallustia struck back with ferocity. Her sword swept wide, roaring against stone. The bone-dagger lizard tried to block, but his knees buckled under the weight of the blow. The black blade slid and severed his hand.

“Mut’zulnakh!” he snarled, spitting saliva with a choked cry.

The other fired again. The muzzle flash lit Sallustia’s face as she twisted away at the last second. The ball grazed her shoulder, tearing skin and spilling a line of blood. She staggered two steps back but did not yield her momentum.

Daniel steadied his breath. The ringing in his ears blurred the world, but his mind hunted for an opening.

“Are you here for the Sword’s gold?” he shouted, forcing their attention. “Or the blood of innocents?”

The arquebus lizard chuckled, a guttural sound reverberating through the tunnels.

“We came for silence. And you’ve already screamed too much.”

He pulled the trigger a third time. Before the thunder cracked, Gupta surged back into the fray. Bruised but grinning, he slammed his gauntleted hand into the mercenary’s arm, twisting the aim aside. The shot blasted into the ceiling. Shards of stone rained down in jagged chunks, slicing leather and skin alike.

The air turned suffocating with dust and smoke. Sallustia seized the moment, spinning with a downward strike. The black blade cleaved through the arquebus-wielder’s arm, ripping scales, muscle, and bone. His cry was shrill, echoing endlessly in the cavern as he collapsed to his knees.

His maimed companion, still clutching his dagger, scooped it from the ground and lunged at Gupta. The curved bone sliced straight, but Gupta reeled sideways in time. The blow scored shallow across his torso, caught by the heavy leather apron he wore. Blood seeped, hot and metallic against his shirt.

“Back!” Sallustia roared.

She advanced unflinching, cleaving diagonally. The mercenary’s defense faltered. The sword pierced clean through his chest, steel bursting from his back. The Zahal’arif collapsed, blood spraying thick and pungent across the stones.

The last survivor glared up at Daniel, panting, clutching his ruined arm. Hate burned in his reptilian eyes.

“You… know nothing. They are coming… the true gods!”

Daniel’s voice was cold.

“You meet them first.”

He signaled Sallustia. She swung, the blade splitting the skull with a hollow crack. The body slackened instantly.

Silence lingered, broken only by water dripping steadily. The mix of powder smoke and blood stung their throats.

Gupta was tending to his shallow wound, breath ragged. Sallustia prodded the cut on her shoulder, crimson spreading down her arm.

“That was close…” Daniel murmured.

Then came a faint sound — a dragging moan from deeper in the tunnel. Their lamps and the fallen torches revealed a woman sprawled on the stones. Her clothes were torn, her body mottled with bruises.

Sallustia knelt swiftly, checking her pulse.

“She’s alive. Unconscious, no bleeding. They meant to sell her as a slave.”

Daniel scanned the darkness, wary.

“We need to move. That gunfire will bring more attention than we want.”

Gupta slung the woman across his shoulders. Her body was frail, her skin chilled, as though each step risked her last breath.

Their footsteps echoed unnaturally, as if unseen voices repeated their movements from the dark.

“They spoke of silence” Grace said softly, almost to himself. “And true gods. It sounded too much like what Umbra told us at the coliseum. Was it a metaphor — or a warning?”

“It doesn’t matter” Sallustia answered firmly, her voice steady despite the blood on her arm. “What matters is that they’re dead. That’s enough for now.”

But Daniel knew it wasn’t enough. The occultists, the presence conjured in sacrifice, the Zahal’arif mercenaries — all threads of a larger web. The Swords had spread mercenaries and shadows into every corner of the city.

The tunnel split in two. One path ascended toward the city’s foundations, the other descended again into the crypt’s abyss. Daniel hesitated, but not long.

“Upwards” he ordered. “We need to leave before more come.”

Gupta adjusted the woman’s weight, and together they climbed. Behind them, the darkness swallowed the corpses of the lizardmen.

That fight had been only a prelude. Each step outwards pressed them closer toward the true horror waiting at the crypt’s heart.