| Subject: Hi everyone. I'm back from my long absence because I went on this SUPER long trip in a prelude to easter. I went to go visit my gandparents and they lacked internet, and then when I got back, i had tons of HW to catch up on, but I'm back now! Alright, next part's INSIDE> for those still intrested. |
Author:
Sekin Brightfall
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Date Posted: 23:46:55 04/16/04 Fri
In reply to:
Kioko Maemi Mitsu
's message, "Go Sarvin! I love your story, Sekin! ^_^ Can't wait for the next part! (Sorry I was gone for so long but my internet connection vanished for almost a week and I was busy with easter and everything....)" on 17:56:45 04/16/04 Fri
Sarvin staggered and almost fell, but caught herself by stabbing her sword into the ground and leaning on it, panting and gasping. Blinking blood from her shinning eyes, Sarvin wiped her face with one gloved hand, wincing as her wounds burned the glass in them glittering. She sagged heavily on the road outside Prock, and almost fell down onto her knees but she gathered up her dregs of energy and unearthed her sword. Limping, she slowly made her way to the woods. "I've not come this far just to give up now," she snarled through gritted teeth and although it was one of the hardest things that she had ever done, she forced herself to keep tottering on. And to herself, she sand softly an old marching song that she remembered from so long ago…
"Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!
Feel the ground shake,
Feel the water tremble.
Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!
Feel the pounding of the horse's hooves
Feel the beating of the massive drums.
Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!
Feel the battle approaching
Feel the courage to stand strong!
Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!
See the Banner of the Light fly,
See the victories carry on!
Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!
Pledge to the Fight!
Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!
For the Blade of Light!
For the Blade of Light!"
Grisen finished cleaning his sword blade and hefted it, studying the metal. The blood channel he had polished carefully, until it had gleamed and no trace of the deep scarlet Radgem blood remained. Deep into the metal, was carved the image of a spiraled sun, its rays made out of sword blades. Grisen had polished the insignia with more care than any other part of his weapon and now his eyes followed the spiral of the graven sun with just a hint of mockery, and a small bitter smile flashed across his face.
"She's taking too long."
Grisen lowered his sword and let his gaze turn back to Fyrth. The rebel stood leaning against a tree and staring off into the woods with his arms folded across his chest.
"You sound almost worried," Grisen remarked dryly. Fyrth shot him a sideways glance. Grisen shrugged. "If anyone can take care of themselves, it's Sarvin. She's fine."
Fyrth shook his head slightly. "Something's happened…I can almost sense him…"
Grisen sighed. "Who?"
Fyrth's eyes remained locked on the woodlands. He seemed nervous, his gaze didn't remain on one tree for very long and he fidgeted, unfolding and re-folding his arms and shifting his weight from foot to foot. More than once, Grisen saw his hand drop down to the long dagger at his side. "Al'Sheen'al'Tamorac," Fyrth said quietly. "And the others…Bwir maybe…I can almost sense his Weaving…"
Grisen rose to his feet. "Should we go and see if we can help?" He had to almost force the words out. Going back into the Stabnar, Radgem, and Shadowrider infested town wasn't the best thing to do…and besides, that town carried too many memories…His mind drifted back….
The clawed hands dug into his shoulders cruelly; holding him back against the wood of his house's walls through he struggled savagely. He screamed as well, tears running down his dirty and bruised face. He felt her being pried away from him, out of his cut arms, her wails mingled with his shouts. "No! Not her! She is all that I have left! Not Elanin! NO!" He fumbled to regain her, but yet more deathly white hands pinned his arms to the walls. Grisen could see her, a crying little bundle in the hands of the largest Radgem present. His little Elanin. His daughter.
He thrashed and kicked, but the Radgems' grip never faltered. Golden eyes mocked him, their pale thin faces twisted with smiles too full of teeth. "Elanin," mused the lead Radgem. His teeth were filed to even sharper points, caked with yellow and black from drying blood. He fouled her beautiful name just by saying it, but Grisen ceased struggling, his eyes tinged with hope. He should have known better.
With a flick, the Radgem tossed Elanin's blanket to the floor and held up the crying baby to his eye-level. His face broke out into a mocking mangled version of a smile. "Elanin…A pretty name for a pretty corpse!" The Radgem present howled with laughter.
Grisen fought to snatch his daughter back. "No! Please no! She's all I have left!"
The Radgem leader threw back his head, shaking with mirth. "And do you know why? Because YOU didn't meet the quotas again. Again! You're a farmer Rolark! It's your fault that your wife and now your little daughter died."
Grisen couldn't speak. He couldn't explain that he wasn't a farmer, he was a warrior. He couldn't protest the incredibly high quotas. He couldn't even scream. The Radgem's nail had dug into his daughter's face, just below her eyes and crimson drops spilled down his fingers. She screamed with all her might, her little face purpling, blood tricking from her face. Grisen slumped back, tears streaming from his eyes, his whole body shaking.
"First the eyeballs go!" laughed the Radgem that held Elanin. "Then we'll see what wonders I can do with the skinning knife!" More hands clasped Grisen's throat, pulling his head up so that he was forced to watch it all. But he wouldn't have looked away even if he could have. He never wanted to forget the moment; he wanted to store it inside him, to fuel his rage, to share her pain. Elanin. His daughter…
Grisen shook his head and blinked, coming back to the present with a start. Rubbing his hand across his eyes, he said, "Sorry, I didn't hear you. What did you say?"
Fyrth's gaze was unblinking again. "I asked if you were alright."
Grisen shrugged. "I'm fine…Why?"
Fyrth's eyes seemed glued onto him. "Your face clenched as if you were in pain."
Grisen managed a half-hearted laugh. "Well that accursed Shadowrider wound has not yet healed and until it does, I don't think that I'm going to walk around beaming out smiles."
Fyrth's face never changed not even the slightest. Grisen felt those eyes trying to bore into him. For looking so dull, they now seemed to glow as brightly as Sarvin's.
"What do we do now?" Grisen asked. "If Sarvin's in trouble we should go and help her."
Fyrth's eyebrow rose. "And get ourselves captured?"
"You can't just be willing to sit here and let her be tortured or killed!" exclaimed Grisen. "Not after all that you two said about sticking together! You can't!" Fyrth's eyes drilled into his with a hardness that seemed to break through the dull sheen. "Alright," Grisen muttered, "Maybe you could."
"It would take Al'Sheen'al'Tamorac and the other more powerful ones like Bwir or Vanirye to subdue her. Are you suggesting that you and I just walk into Prock, defeat those three, and rescue Sarvin?"
Grisen's anger ignited, "You idiot! You can't just leave her! You would never have done this in the past! You-"
Fyrth's pretense of casualness dissolved like mist in the face of a vicious wind. He surged up and uncrossed is arms with a speed that seemed not to be possible from his slack body. He took a couple of steps towards Grisen and the Falkhan backed away. A snarl bared Fyrth's teeth, but his eyes were still empty. "Haven't you gotten this through your thick head Rolark! I'm not the leader of the Falkhan anymore! I am only Fyrth! Only Fyrth! Do you understand me?"
Grisen shoved the sword into Fyrth's vision, the gleaming insignia of the sun and blades seeming to be reflected in his eyes. "I understand you "Fyrth" but you don't understand me! Just because you want to forget what happened, doesn't mean the rest of the whole wide world does! You did too much; you tried to hard for anyone to just forget! So say whatever you want, call yourself whatever you fancy, but know that that changes nothing! Nothing at-"
"Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!
For the Blade of Light!
For the Blade of Light!"
Fyrth's head swiveled to the sound and Grisen stared. A figure, whose face was one mangled mass of blood and whose black clothes wee slashed and dripping, staggered into the camp. Collapsing down onto her knees, the figure fell over onto her back and lay completely still. Only the red-gold hair could convince Grisen that the torn and bleeding figure was indeed Sarvin.
She did not move at all.
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