| Subject: Alright, next part o' the tale inside! |
Author:
Sekin Brightfall
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Date Posted: 06:35:00 10/15/03 Wed
In reply to:
Sekin the Long winded
's message, "*Smiles* Thanks mate! I know I'm long winded, tis a fault o' mine, but I'm so glad someone likes it!! I'll post more soon. Thanks" on 02:36:56 10/15/03 Wed
Fyrth’s reply was to whip his cloak back behind him, as if preparing at any minute to leap on the man’s throat and rip it out. The crowned figure laughed once again, as if Fyrth’s anger was a sight he liked to see and the men on the surrounding horses shifted a bit at that laughter, that cold whispering laugh that sent a shiver up and down their spines. “Don’t even think about it Fyrth. I know you and what you are capable of, and believe me, you aren’t capable of standing up against my sword.”
The silence fell once again, like a blanket draping itself over them, dulling their feelings, and blending them into the heat and the shimmering waves of dust. The sun burned on, an intense, searing witness to the strange scene below. Fyrth didn’t reply his face blank, empty of any emotion, and unreadable to an enemy, a disguise that carefully masked his true emotions.
“You had potential Fyrth. You were catching the Dama’zark’s eye. He would have promoted you soon, very soon, and then you threw it all away.” The crowned figure wiped his face clean of any emotions as well and stared keenly at Fyrth, though the disgust in his voice was plain.
Fyrth’s glazed eyes met his and stared into them, unblinking, fixed. The man returned the stare, clenching his long bright blade tightly. The figures on the horses kept their eyes fixed firmly in the distance. This wasn’t their business, they were just servants, feared servants indeed, but servants nonetheless, just shadows of their Lord’s power. They were here to make sure that their master’s intended quarry didn’t escape, nothing more, nothing less.
The light from the tortured metal of the crown cast a sickly yellow glow on the face of the tall, black garbed man as he stared down at Fyrth like a hawk watching it’s prey before the crucial moment; the lunge when it traps it in its talons and kills it with one swift blow. For a long moment, nobody moved. Fyrth and his enemy stared at each other, the riders and their horses showing as much life as statues; only the horses’ breathing could have convinced anyone that they were alive.
What Fyrth did next was something that no one would have even thought of doing. It was unthinkable, it would lead to certain death at the end of terrible pain; it was unimaginable even in the minds of some of the boldest rebels. Fyrth spat on the boots of the dark, brooding man in front of him.
At once, the man’s mask of carefully controlled emotion was ripped away like fragile tendrils of mist in the face of a powerful, ravaging wind. Anger surged forward to light up his face, to writhe and curl around his tight jaw and dance in the deep wells of his eyes. A horrible anger, brutal in its simplicity, and terrible in his face. It was as if suddenly, the lines on his face became more pronounced, more bitter; his lip curled upwards in a snarl. The blood rose behind his face like a terrible dark monster and his fingers curled even tighter around his sword hilt.
He brought up the blade and advanced slowly, one booted foot at a time, his entire body shaking with wrath that was reflected all too clearly in his face and his eyes. The dark horsemen stirred uneasily in their saddles at their Captain’s anger but otherwise showed no sign of life, gazing ahead with fixed attention, as if they were carved out of stone.
Fyrth’s glazed eyes gleamed slightly, though it was hard for anyone to tell if that was due to the light of the sun reflecting in those distant twin orbs, or if in fact, a small amount of emotion, had bled through to his dull, lifeless eyes. His fingers tightened slowly around the hilt of his dagger, though so slowly that no one noticed. As the Captain of the Riders continued to walk slowly forward through the leaping heat waves with imposing menace, his sword shimmering, his eyes locked on Fyrth’s empty ones, Fyrth’s fingers closed completely on his dagger.
Then, the Captain lunged. His speed was such that he appeared as a blur of black, like a phantom flashing past. He appeared as a shadow in the light from the sun’s watchful eye, weaker in the golden glow, but still there. Like a stream of molten black steel, he surged forward, his bright sword contrasting greatly with his dark cloak. Like a sliver of a cut star, the blade glittered furiously as it thrust toward Fyrth, dazzlingly bright even in the middle of the day.
And then, suddenly, the shining sword and its dark master came to a sudden halt, as quickly as they had lunged. Halfway up the length of the beautiful sword, was Fyrth’s dagger, locked blade on blade, edge gritting against edge. Fyrth himself was braced slightly against the strain, his face blank and his eyes once again glazed. Nobody had seen him bring up his dagger to parry the blow, and the Dark Captain stared at him in surprise for a couple of seconds, both of them straining against the weight of the other, their booted feet digging into the dirt on the ground.
The surprise on the Captain’s face suddenly dissolved into a cold, calculating rage. His powerful shoulders bunched under the dark cloak as he wrenched his sword upwards, forcing Fyrth to step back as his blade was knocked aside by the powerful thrust. Fyrth regained his balance calmly as if he wasn’t fighting a fierce battle against the Captain of the Riders and before the Captain could bring his sword back down, Fyrth moved in.
He too was like a blur of black; a dark serpent striking at his prey before it had a chance to recover. With the blade once again held loosely in his right hand, Fyrth swung at his opponent’s ribs aiming for the crucial spot, the break between the first and second rib, close to the heart.
But, the Captain saw him coming and stepped back a pace, leaving Fyrth’s blade to whistle through thin air. The Captain laughed quietly, staring at Fyrth as he brought himself up short and stopped, showing no sign of anger or frustration, his face unnaturally vacant of any emotion. “I knew that the Chase had a permanent effect on your mind Fyrth, but I never realized that your brain was this wasted. You seriously think you can beat me, don’t you?”
Fyrth blinked slowly, but didn’t speak. The laughter intensified, like a gale howling through bare trees. “Fyrth, try to use your tortured mind just a little. You won’t beat me. You can’t beat me. Even the craziest, most demented and ruined man could see that.” He studied Fyrth’s blank face for a moment. It was as if Fyrth hadn’t heard a single thing that had been said to him, as if he was in another world entirely. The chuckle that came next caused the black horses to pin back their ears and roll their eyes madly. “Ah well; you must be the one exception.”
Fyrth raised an eyebrow slightly, as if puzzled or bemused. The Captain lunged forward again, the blade in his hand shining like a river of bright steel, and Fyrth sidestepped so quickly, he was out of the way before the sword had even come whistling downwards. Just by glancing at his lifeless face, one would never have believed that he could move so quickly, that there was actually speed hidden in that relaxed body. But there was.
Oh yes, and just a precaution...
This work/story is mine! Do not copy or reproduce it or any part of it in any way without my consent. Thanks.
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