The Chronicles of Kenrick

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine





At dawn, or what Kenrick assumed was dawn, the gnome population began to wake and quickly ready their supplies. Less than an hour after the first gnome stirred, the entire clan was on the move, heading down a wide abandoned tunnel and away from Sadira.


Near the back of the procession, Kenrick struggled to keep up, labouring over several sacks of flour. Sweat dripped down his face in the humidity of the tunnel. His arm burned from the steel in his arm.


Kenrick’s closest captors, what the chief referred to as the ‘unfledged’, gave him a wide berth. The small gnome children carried their own weight in supplies; all struggling to keep pace with the leading gnomes. One of the three gnomes that had first confronted Kenrick trailed the entire group, turning every so often to peer into the darkness behind.


Just before noon, the clan emerged from the tunnels and into the sunlight. They filed into the middle of a concaved sand dune whose walls rose more than fifteen feet on all sides. Each voice nearly broke with a gasp from the intense heat that radiated from all around them. The dry air quickly sucked away any exposed moisture on their bodies.


Shielding his eyes from the sun the best he could, Kenrick continued to follow those in front until they reached the middle of the clearing. The group easily spread out, with much more room than the cavern in the tunnel. Kenrick waited to be instructed on what to do next.


“I thought they would be here.”


The squeaky voice came from behind Kenrick, but before he could turn around to see who it came from, the gnome that had been assigned to watch him pushed him to the opposite side of the dune, away from the tunnel entrance.


Other voices soon began to voice their worries. It wasn’t long until the clamouring of the gnomes became louder than the hushed desert breeze of the Burnt Plains.


Emerging from the crowd, the chief waited for silence to fall across the dune-bowl.


“We can be sure that they are only late.”


Cries burst from the worried followers mouths.


“But they left a fortnight before us,”


“And they are in their prime, unlike us.”


The chief raised his un-caned hand. The desert breeze once again whistled down into the clearing.


“Omerean would not allow anything to befall them. Would you believe that his plans would be so easily foiled?”


“Yes,”


The answer was silent, and yet loud. It came from nowhere, but it came from all around; the wind, the sand, the sky.


In mere seconds the relatively quiet clearing erupted into hysteria. Panicked cries of alarm spread from one mouth to another. Heads bobbed, looking to the sand walls that surrounded them for the man that defied their logic. Those with weapons raised them. Kenrick rested his back against the sand wall behind him. He followed desperate eyes to the sand ledges above but did not otherwise move.


“He has forsaken you. Forsaken us all,”


The chief stepped forward, shouting into the increasing wind, challenging the omnipresent voice.


“Blasphemy!”


“Ha, you know not what you say-”


Loud screams interrupted the voice. They came barrelling down each side of sand, creating an ear splitting percussion as they crashed into the dune-bowl.








A. Darkness covered the clearing, as if Caddock had finally swallowed the last sun, just as black figures crested the sand walls.


B. Screaming as loudly as they could, gnomes crested the sand walls, weapons drawn.








Brock Sansome


Author of The Spheres of Caddock series and the interactive web-based novel The Chronicles of Kenrick.


www.brocksansome.com