| Subject: Thank you matey. Next part's INSIDE>. (I got smart and typed everything out so I can post very often) |
Author:
Sekin Brightfall
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Date Posted: 03:38:32 04/23/04 Fri
In reply to:
KiokoMaemiMitsu
's message, "AAAAAAH! OH THE SUSPENSE I CAN'T STAND IT!!! **starts pulling hair out and then stops** ...Great chapter! **goes back to pulling hair out**" on 20:16:31 04/22/04 Thu
Fyrth turned and strode to Sarvin's side and Grisen followed at a run, dropping down by Sarvin's head. Her whole face was streaked with slashes and punctures, glass glittered in the wounds, and her eyes were slightly unfocused. Still, she somehow managed to twist her head to Fyrth as he dropped down on her other side. Her voice was a whisper, choked by the blood in her mouth. "I should have killed Al'Sheen'al'Tamorac, Fyrth! I should have killed him as soon as I broke free! I should have killed all of them!" Her laugh was as weak as her breathing. She didn't even wince when Grisen dug out a sizeable shard of glass from her forehead.
Fyrth only nodded. "I should have killed him too Sarvin. I should have when I had the chance."
Sarvin smiled bloodily in agreement and turned her head to Grisen who was trying to staunch some of the blood flow with a ripped piece from his tunic. His face was marked with concern and horror. "And you," Sarvin breathed, "You look like you have just swallowed a lemon whole. What's wrong with your face?"
"I'm worried damn it!"
"Worried?" she laughed, sounding stronger. "For me? Wow, next thing you know, the Stabnars will all go and have a tea party in a wood filled with shinny dragonflies!" Catching sight of Grisen's face, she sighed. "Don't worry. Fyrth will heal me…right?"
Fyrth met her gaze levelly. "You know I will try."
Sarvin nodded slightly. Her fierce eyes closed, but she managed to whisper, "That's all I ask Fyrth…Just try." She shuddered violently and then lay completely still.
"Stand back," Fyrth ordered quietly. Grisen hurried to obey then blinked. Why was he so concerned over a Stabnar? Fyrth reached out and took Sarvin's limp, gloved hand in his own. Even her hand was torn and embedded with glass but Fyrth squeezed it, harder and harder, bowing his head, but keeping his eyes open and fixed on Sarvin's face. A sheen of sweat began to bead on Fyrth's forehead and kept holding her hand as if he would not let it go.
Fyrth grunted softly as he Wove the Old Magic. Old Magic was healing magic, it used air and water and a little earth to replace blood, draw out toxins, and stitch wounds together, but it was the hardest to Weave. It snapped back, broke free, and utterly trashed his pattern. Fyrth shoved a Flow into its place, but another one popped out, then another, like seams in a too tight fabric. Fyrth re-traced his Weaving and ground them in, his mind filled with fire, swamped by ice. Almost there…He dipped a Flow of Old Magic under a tinge of Iron Magic and the pattern trembled and bulged as if under some huge pressure. Fyrth finished Weaving the Iron Magic and slammed it home.
Immediately, Sarvin went completely rigid and with a sudden chime, every single shard of glass in her, was pulled out, seemingly by invisible threads. They hung, floating in the air above her, sparkling red. Grisen stared in awe as her wounds slowly knit themselves together, the flesh meeting without a scar. When all the slashes were healed, Fyrth flung out his free hand and the glass shot off as one, to embed firmly in the trunk of a nearby tree.
"Is that it?' asked Grisen. "Did you Heal her?"
Fyrth's eyes never left Sarvin's face. "I healed her physically, but the mind cannot be healed."
Grisen moved forwards to stand alongside him. "What do you mean? What are you saying?"
"Her mind will still believe that she's mortally wounded, and sometimes, it shuts down before it can realized that she's been Healed."
A low chuckle caused Grisen to jump back before he could stop himself. Sarvin's eyes studied them and she wore a small smile. "Aye, sometimes that happens," she said softly, "to the weaker patients, but I'm not that weak." She sat up and raised her hand that Fyrth was still clasping. Raising in eyebrow in amusement, she squeezed back until he let go. Then she turned to Grisen and burst out laughing. She cuffed him on the shoulder saying, "Now it looks as if you've eaten a hundred sweet berries. What the hell are you feeling now?"
Grisen rubbed his shoulder, wincing. Judging by the strength of her cuff, she was completely healed. "I'm relieved you idiot!"
Sarvin's eyes shone. "Relieved? For me? Wow, next thing you know, the Stabnars-"
Grisen cut her off. "Will be having a tea party in a wood filled with shiny dragonflies. Yes, I know Sarvin."
Sarvin chuckled and rose slowly to her feet, accepting Grisen's offered hand with a wink of a glittering green eye. Grisen smiled back slightly. Still using his hand to support her, Sarvin turned to Fyrth. "Nathair, we need horses."
Fyrth blinked heavily. "Why Shenkar?'
"Do you question me Nathair? We need horses now!"
Fyrth just looked at her calmly. "And where am I supposed to pull out three horses from?"
Sarvin released Grisen's hand and stood up straighter, disguising well the effort that it took. "Al'Sheen'al'Tamorac and the others might already know of our plans to head to Lord Atris' Fortress. He will not sit idle with that information!"
Fyrth smiled thinly, that little half-smile of his, that never seemed to touch his eyes or any other part of his face except his lips. "Gathering together an army of Shadowriders and Radgem to march on the Fortress will take time Shenkar…"
"I know that Fyrth! But that time is what we need to gain a head start!"
Grisen held up a hand and Fyrth's eyes flicked to him. "If Al'Sheen is gathering an army to trap us and crush Atris then we do indeed have some time." With the point of his sword, he squatted down and began to sketch a rough map.
Fyrth's eyes followed the blade and Sarvin chuckled again. "What is that?" she asked amusedly, the toe of her boot scuffing the ground next what appeared to be a twisting, weaving line. "A ribbon? A worm?"
Grisen glared up at her. "It's a road Stabnar! A road!"
"And that?" Sarvin tapped her boot on a squiggly object that appeared to be made entirely out droopy lines and spiky edges. "A spider?"
Grisen swung his sword at her legs, but she only stepped back. "No! It's Atris' Fortress!" Sarvin burst out laughing. Grisen ignored her and turned to Fyrth. "Alright, listen. This is Prock." The point of his sword touched a circle surrounded by a crude wall. "And this is where we are." The point slid to scraggly drawn trees. Sarvin bit her lip but she still shook with mirth. Fyrth only watched as if hypnotized by the blade. "This is the road," said Grisen, gesturing to the twisting line. Five circles were drawn in alongside it, either to the right or to the left. "These circles are the towns that line the main road from here to Atris. His sword touched each of them briefly as he gave off their names one by one, starting from the one closest to Prock and finishing with the two furthest from it. "Lusca, Jerren, and Deregion, then we have Atris' two towns, Narlis and Brisken."
Fyrth nodded slowly and Grisen continued. "Alright, you two were both Stabnars. Which town has the largest population of Darkborn? Like Shadowriders and Radgem?"
Sarvin's eyes narrowed in thought. "Jerren I think…A Radgem Lord holds sway there, not a Tamorac'jehadon, and he has an extensive army."
"Then we need to steal horses from Lusca," the sword point dug into the circle marking the town. "And ride past Jerren as quickly as we can without killing the animals, to the Fortress."
Fyrth's eyes remained riveted on the ground. "It's not going to work."
Sarvin rounded on him in a whirl of black. "Why not?'
Fyrth's face was blank. "All it takes is one command from Al'Sheen'al'Tamorac or Dama'zark in Tyrin'al'sin to the Radgem and they will move far faster than we can ride. The towns closest to Atris will already be ready for war when we make it there. We'll be running into a trap."
Something in Sarvin seemed to snap. Grisen couldn't believe that her eyes could go any shinier, but they blazed now with such a fierce anger that Grisen re-coiled from her. She took one slow step forwards and Grisen drew his sword slowly, unwilling to get in her way, but just as unwilling to let Fyrth get hurt. Sarvin took another slow step and then lunged.
Like a ravenous wolf, she dove on Fyrth, grabbing him by the shoulders and hurtling him into a nearby tree. Fyrth's back smashed into solid wood, but he only looked as Sarvin questioningly, no sign of pain or anger in his face. "What would you have me do Fyrth?" Sarvin snarled. "What would you have me do?" She shook him, smashing him into the tree again and Grisen stepped forwards, sword held ready.
Fyrth looked into her gaze and shrugged as much as he could with her gripping his shoulders. "Curse it all Fyrth! I know that it's not much of a chance, but it's the only one we have? What do you want to do? Just give up? You were the one who revolted first, or have you forgotten that insane one?"
Grisen's eyes bulged. Look at the pot calling the kettle black! "Sarvin, let him go now," Grisen said quietly. "He was just pointing out the truth!"
Sarvin backhanded Fyrth viciously full across his face, but Grisen was the only one who flinched. With a satisfied snort, Sarvin stepped back from her companion and Fyrth stepped slowly away from the tree, flexing his shoulders.
"It's settled then," Fyrth said softly neither sullenly or angrily. "We travel to Lusca, steal horses, and ride to the Fortress."
"I can hardly wait!" Sarvin grinned suddenly. "Blood coating my hands feels so relaxing." Fyrth blinked, but Sarvin roared with laughter as she saw Grisen's face.
"Sometimes," the Falkhan growled, "I think you say such things just to sicken me!"
Sarvin nodded solemnly. "Indeed I do. A Stabnar needs her fun you know."
Grisen rolled his eyes, but not too openly.
Sarvin took the lead as the three of them departed the Watersinger's dying city. Grisen couldn't help but look back over his shoulder at the dwindling wall as they forded the stream. Hidden by the trees, he could only see small areas of it, yet they filled him with a deep respect and an even deeper sadness. An ancient, powerful, beautiful race had made their home there, in the face of the growing storm. And now, the wall was all that remained. One crumbling wall, hidden in the depths of an old forest.
Water splashed up from Sarvin's heavy boots as she jogged across the stream, unhooded, clad in black, and as dangerous as a rabid wolf. Grisen trotted a few paces behind her and Fyrth followed at the rear. With surprising agility, Sarvin leapt out of the water in a flash, scaling the bank with savage prowess. Grisen followed, flowing up the bank almost as easily as she had and Fyrth just seemed to run up the incline without breaking stride or even looking down.
Once at the top, Sarvin swung to the north, lengthening her stride to a ground-eating lope, that Grisen imitated and kept pace with. The air was wonderfully crisp and cool. Squirrels shot up and down the dark brown trunks of the trees in a flash of tawny red. From a gap of foliage in the canopy, Grisen caught sight of a flash of gray feathers and a Rainhawk's hunting cry pierced the air as it dove. A ragged coated deer flicked an ear at them from deep in the shadows and sprang off in a flash of white.
They traveled almost noiselessly, letting the rustle of foliage and the chatters, grunts, and cries of beasts and birds fill the air. Sarvin's boots sprang away and descended on the think carpet of dead leaves, but she made as little sound as a phantom. Grisen traveled with all the grace of a trained Falkhan, which was to say that he made almost as little noise as she did. Fyrth's steps were so silent that several times Grisen had to twist his head back and make sure that the Stabnar was still there. Every time he was met with those dead eyes. Soon, Grisen couldn't force himself to look back at Fyrth. Those eyes were too much.
Despite their silent travel and their speed, from what he could tell, Sarvin was on edge. One gloved hand rested on her pommel and the other kept touching her right sleeve where, Grisen was willing to bet, the heavy-bladed knife was kept ready to throw. From the rare glimpses of her face, Grisen could see her lips moving and several times, he could hear her say, "Never again Bwir! Never again!"
Grisen finally fell back to lope alongside Fyrth, tired of felling his lifeless gaze on his back. Fyrth looked at him sidelong but said nothing. Grisen kept his voice to a low whisper. "Are you alright?"
Fyrth nodded slowly as Grisen's adjusted his stride to match Fyrth's longer one. "Listen, I wanted to thank you for Healing me…I don't think I've said it yet, so…thank you."
Fyrth's ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "It was nothing."
Grisen smiled as well. Silence fell once more before Grisen broke it again. "Do you remember this Atris? I don't think that I've ever met him."
Fyrth nodded. "I do. Excellent leader, but too suspicious. Too untrusting."
"I bet he'll be glad to see you," Grisen said carefully.
Fyrth's small smile fled from his stony face. "I never agreed to it."
"To what?"
"Do you realize what you and Shenkar'ar'Demun are asking me to do? Do you even realize it?"
Grisen's soft whisper was firm. "Fyrth, your "death" was terrible news for all the Falkhan. Even worse was the realization that we were disbanded. People kept saying, "He'll come back! He's not dead! He would never give in! Hope remains!" And then…first the days then the weeks and then the years passed and we knew then that you were gone. We knew that you'd never come back. And in that time, I lost my friends, my job, my wife, and my daughter." Remembered pain made his voice tremble, but he was almost glad. "And even my hope! I lost that too! And that your back, I have it again! I won't let you get taken again! Never!"
Fyrth didn't even glance at him. "What's done is done. I tried resistance and that failed. I'm just following Shenkar now. I will not return to who I was. You can't understand that can you?"
Grisen growled angrily. "Well if you don't tell me what happened to you, then how can I?"
Fyrth turned his head to study him fully. The faint smile returned. "I've endured worse than a stubborn idiot trying to convince me of something, Grisen. Much worse. Nag all you want, but I'm not going to budge an inch." Looking at him, with his heart sinking, Grisen didn't doubt his words at all.
At around midday, after steadily traveling through the forest in a relatively straight path, Sarvin swung outward, leading the rebels towards the road. Slowly, the trees thinned and shoots of brown wheat protruded from the ground to mingle with the fading ash, elm, and oak. Finally, the trees fell back and the wheat took over in a large brown field that led right up to the roadside.
Sarvin slowed to a walk, shading her eyes with a hand as she peered up and down the road. Prock was visible, but only as a squat, forbidding lump, and not a creature larger than the wheeling Rainhawk could be seen.
Snorting in frustration, Sarvin turned from the road as Grisen paced up to her, Fyrth not far behind. Grisen also straightened to gaze along the winding path, but he saw nothing as well, from the way he shook his head and re-directed his gaze.
Aside from a stronger breeze that ruffled the wheat and caused it to whisper, and the shriek of the airborne hawk, all was quiet. The sun had climbed to its peak, basking the land, and causing the air to dance and shimmer. Sarvin could almost believe that they were the only people for miles. Almost.
Grisen's voice was soft. "Should we get out of sight of the road?"
Sarvin shook her head with a slight sneer. "Why? Do you see anything in sight?"
Fyrth ran a hand through his tousled hair, concentrating hard. "No Weaving," he said quietly, "or at least no Weaving near us…"
Sarvin reached out in her mind and ran an invisible hand over the invisible Flows. Fyrth was right. They were as calm as an undisturbed pond. A sure sign that no one was Weaving and roiling them up. But, quiet Flows didn't always mean that no one at all was Weaving. The ability to sense Weaving was limited to a very small radius. Set one foot outside that radius, away from another Weaver, and they couldn't sense you. It was one ability that had as many disadvantages as advantages.
Sarvin's gaze flicked back to the circling Rainhawk high above them. With a bluish-gray back and a white flecked underside, the creature truly was a magnificent sight. Head swiveling from side to side between massive wings, it searched the fields for any prey. Sarvin smiled. She intended to be like that hawk, keeping away from her prey's eyes until the final swoop, but first she wanted to know where her victim was. She wouldn't make a good hunter if she couldn't find her prey and Al'Sheen'al'Tamorac was no mouse.
Turning to Fyrth, she asked quietly, "Where do you think the Falcon is?"
Fyrth was also looking up at the hawk and he kept his eyes there. "He'll stay in Prock, I think…massing the town up for war. It's the others that he'll send off that we have to worry about."
"Bwir!" Sarvin growled. "I'll make him pay Fyrth! I'll make him pay! Shards of glass?" she barked a laugh. "I'll do ten times worse!"
Fyrth merely nodded.
Turning on her heel, Sarvin strode back into the woods. Grisen turned with her and walked at her side. Fyrth remained watching the hawk.
"Should I hunt for food?" Grisen asked carefully.
Sarvin shook her head to clear it of vengeful thoughts and then bared her teeth scornfully. "With what Grisen? A sword? You'd more likely stab yourself than a rabbit." Grisen shrugged. "Stay here and light a fire. No smoke at all Grisen! I'll do the hunting."
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