| Subject: I'm glad you still like it Jade. And thanks to the Italics Ender for returning the font to normal. ;) The next part of my story is INSIDE. |
Author:
Sekin Brightfall
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Date Posted: 05:11:09 12/19/03 Fri
In reply to:
Italics Ender
's message, "" on 12:31:10 12/15/03 Mon
Suddenly, the ground leaped upwards as if being scooped up by an invisible hand. Grisen yelled in alarm as he crashed to the floor, and then was shot into the air again by the heaving earth. The ground writhed and shook in torment. The fallen leaves and loam were sent shooting up into the air like stones from a sling. Trees groaned in agony and roots snapped as they left the ground. With earsplitting crashes, several of the nearby trees toppled to the ground. And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.
Breathing raggedly, Grisen dug his sword point into the earth and used it as lever to help him to his feet. A giant oak tree, snapped clean through its base, lay several feet off, the jagged ends of the trunk looking like twisted fangs. And the body of the Radgem hung a few feet off the ground, skewered through its middle by a sharp branch. What the hell was that? Grisen thought frantically. What happened?
Ripples of movement still shook the earth, causing it to twitch and jolt violently. Grisen didn’t know what to do. Fear had him by the throat. Radgem were out there somewhere, and the makers of those horrible whistles. And the horsemen, they were out there too. Where was Fyrth? Where They after him? What had caused the ground to heave like that?
Stabnar. The thought slid into his mind like a blade into its scabbard, with a hiss of menace, a taste of danger. He violently pushed the thought away but the fear it had caused him to taste wouldn’t recede. Dark Soldiers. Stabnar. He clenched his teeth forcefully and gripped his sword tighter despite his bloody hands. But, the idea made sense. Stabnars rode horses and were said to be able to… He cut off that thought there, severing it completely. Shadowriders were as bad as Radgem, but Stabnars were something else…Something worse. But Fyrth had saved him, had healed him miraculously when his only other option was to curl up and die. Stabnars or not, he couldn’t turn his back on his rescuer. Wrenching his sword clean out of the ground, Grisen padded back the way he had come, his eyes burning with the light of resolution.
Fyrth slowly drew his dagger from his belt with a whisper of steel on leather and just as slowly tightened his grip on it. His face was no longer white, but it still was blank and his eyes seemed even duller than before. Idly, one foot kicked a stone in the dirt, but his unearthly gaze was riveted on the man in front of him, not on the pebble below him.
“That brought back old memories didn’t it Fyrth?” Fyrth blinked heavily and the Captain of the Riders laughed in his face. “Except last time, you were imprisoned in Tyrin’al’sin and were completely helpless, completely ignorant. You thought you knew everything about Dama’zark didn’t you Serpent of the Night? You thought that you were the “Blade” at his throat when you were only the gadfly buzzing around his head, stinging in vain.” The Radgem shifted eagerly in a black cloaked ripple of movement at the edges of the circle, but they were careful not to pass beyond the sixteen black horsemen that fringed the pair inside.
Fyrth didn’t reply. The Captain’s crown turned even the golden evening light to a tainted, dull yellow, almost as sickly a color as the blade of a Tamorac’jehadon. The light danced through the crown’s width, glowing horribly and Fyrth’s eyes followed the flickering patterns.
“You are exactly that Fyrth.” Fyrth raised an eyebrow, his eyes unfocused and riveted on the crown. The Captain’s voice was no longer hideously amused, it grated harshly, filled with rage. Unnoticed by either Fyrth, the Captain, or even the Radgem, a cloaked rider shifted uneasily in the saddle and gripped the reins on its mount tighter, staring fixedly at Fyrth.
“You are a gadfly Fyrth! A gadfly! Buzzing around infuriatingly, trying to sting the wolves around you! But now, this gadfly is about to be squashed!” The bright blade was drawn with a malicious rasp and the Captain advanced. Fyrth made no move to lunge or even back up. The Radgem advanced as well, hemming Fyrth in an even tighter ring of black. Strange double-bladed axes gleamed in deathly white fists and long blades shone like needles.
The mounted rider increased its uncertain shifting as the horse tossed its head wildly, feeling its rider’s unease. Fyrth had eyes only for the man in front of him who was advancing one step at a time. He never even turned to look at the enclosing Radgem who were all walking forwards, a deadly gleam in their animal eyes. Suddenly, Fyrth shuddered violently and a hideous smile curved the Captain’s lips and bared his teeth. “Gadfly, it looks like even your sting loses its strength!” With that, he sprang forwards, and the Radgem went with him.
The cloaked rider suddenly tensed and glittering, bird-bright eyes in the depths of the hood closed. The ground suddenly erupted under the Captain’s feet, heaving and buckling. With hideous snarls of surprise, the Radgem went down onto the shaking earth, several smashing against groaning trees and then going as limp as dolls. Only the writhing earth caused their bodies to raise into the air, they would never move again by their own free will.
The Captain didn’t fall. Somehow, he managed to keep his feet under him, like some monstrous cat, but he halted his advancement, turning his head to look around him. The Radgem were desperately trying to re-gain their feet, but they were being constantly smashed back to the earth as the ground gave way beneath them.
The riders and their mounts were as unfazed as their Captain was. The cloaked forms were carefully maneuvering their horses in-between toppling trees, but the animals seemed not to be affected by the leaping earth. The Captain turned to stare at Fyrth who was grabbing a nearby tree for support and then he turned to stare back amongst his riders. “Sarvin?” he growled in disbelief. “Sarvin!”
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