| Subject: Here's a longer part of the tale. My camping trip was very very fun. Liked it a lot. :) INSIDE> |
Author:
Sekin Brightfall
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Date Posted: 19:06:03 12/31/03 Wed
In reply to:
Swordslash
's message, "This is really interesting! I want to know who Fyrth is! More please!!!!!!!" on 15:03:00 12/31/03 Wed
Fyrth shook his head slightly, and Sarvin’s eyes snapped back to him with renewed ferocity. “He will remember!” Remember? Something familiar…something…
Fyrth barked a laugh, but his face was devoid of any amusement. “Not even I can remember, Sarvin…Everything has changed.”
Grisen ground his teeth together and turned to Sarvin. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Sarvin shook her head. “I cannot unless Fyrth wants to reveal it. And he does not it seems.” Her voice made a taut bowstring seem relaxed.
“What is your name?” asked Fyrth, looking at Grisen.
“Grisen. Grisen Rolark.” Fyrth’s eyes took on a faraway look, as if he was trying to remember something forgotten. Suddenly, they seemed to blaze like Sarvin’s, the dull look gone in flood of emotions that danced in them. And then, they dulled over once more as Fyrth lifted them to stare into Grisen’s face.
“Grisen Rolark, Captain of the Golden Daggers under the Blade of Light?” Grisen could only nod.
“How did you know?” he asked hoarsely.
“We were Stabnars!” Sarvin hissed, her gaze on Fyrth. “Now you must tell him!”
Suddenly, the realization that Fyrth and Sarvin were actually Stabnars and actually had taken part in the suppressing of the Falkhan, hit Grisen. He surged forwards in a cascade of dirt and stopped in front of Fyrth, staring at his face with wild hope and eagerness. Fyrth looked back silently, as expressionless as the wall behind him. “You were a Stabnar! You must know what happened to the Blade of Light! You must! He couldn’t have died! Tell me!”
Fyrth hooded his eyes and spoke in a whisper. “You’re wrong Grisen. He did die.”
Sarvin growled like a vicious dog and grabbed Fyrth’s shoulder in a tight, painful grip. Fyrth didn’t flinch or even blink. “You said Grisen had a right to know these things Fyrth! You owe him that at least! He was your soldier, your Captain!”
Fyrth dropped his eyes to stare at his feet, his face still blank. Grisen stared open-mouthed at both of them as he dropped back onto his haunches, his eyes traveling from Fyrth to Sarvin and then back to Fyrth again. He laughed weakly. “You’re kidding right! A Stabnar couldn’t be…He wouldn’t have given in and become a Stabnar!” Fyrth just stared at his boots and Sarvin only shook her head in what might have been anger or disgust. Grisen scrambled to his feet, staring down at them, eyes narrowed. “The Blade of Light was the greatest rebel to stand up to Dama’zark! Armies flocked to his call and he swore never to surrender, never to give in! He swore-”
Grisen cut off as Fyrth began to chant eerily, still gazing at the ground.
“Draw your swords,
The run the charge,
Draw your swords,
Death visits at large.
Draw your swords,
Wash them in red.
Draw your swords,
Reap the dead.
Draw your swords,
Pledge to the Fight,
Draw your swords,
For the Blade of Light!
For the Blade of Light!”
Grisen could only stare. Sarvin’s chuckle was like a death rattle. “How could he know the War Chant of the Falkhan, if he isn’t who he claims to be?”
Fyrth raised his eyes to gaze dully into Sarvin’s face. “I’m not claiming to be anyone.”
Grisen laughed haltingly, his eyes shinning. “It is you M’lord! It is! That is exactly what you said when one of your Captains said that you were claiming to be one of the greatest heroes! Oh, forgive me for not recognizing you M’lord! Forgive me!” Grisen sank down onto one knee, plunging his blade into the earth and then clasping his hands over the pommel and resting his forehead on the backs of them. The bow of the Falkhan.
Fyrth’s dagger struck the sword halfway up its visible length with a ping like a sliver bell, before thudding to the ground. Fyrth lowered the hand he had used to fling it, his face still eerily blank of any feeling, even when Grisen raised his head to look at him. “I am no one,” Fyrth growled, his voice suddenly strained. “I am only Fyrth!” The gleam in Sarvin’s eyes seemed to diminish slightly in sorrow. Before Grisen could reply, she rose and grabbed Grisen’s arm, pulling him up with her as well.
“Stay here and rest Fyrth,” said Sarvin a little less harshly than normal. “Rolark and I are going to patrol.” Fyrth merely nodded and extended his long legs, closing his eyes. Sarvin pulled Grisen after her into the wood, like a mistress with a stubborn dog. Grisen tried to wrench his arm free, but Sarvin’s gloved fingers only tightened painfully.
When they were out of earshot of Fyrth, Sarvin released his arm forcefully, but there wasn’t even a trace of anger in her face. She turned from him and began to pace through the trees, a black cloaked specter, and Grisen followed her, catching up to walk alongside.
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