| Subject: *Grins* Alright! Here is the next part! I'm sorry it took so long. INSIDE> |
Author:
Sekin Brightfall
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Date Posted: 21:27:50 01/11/04 Sun
In reply to:
Swordslash
's message, "*jumps up and down impatiently* Come on, come on!!! Don't leave us in suspense." on 19:29:29 01/11/04 Sun
The skinned rabbit hung lashed to a green bough, cooking slowly over the low fire, along with two others, caught and killed the same way as the first. The fire glowed brightly against the pressing dark, sheltered from prying eyes in a low hollow of the wall, emitting random sparks as the burning wood cracked and popped. The smell of the Sarnroot leaves that Sarvin had cut and drained of their sap, pouring it onto the rabbits, seemed to burn the air more than the fire did. Grisen’s eyes watered from the liberal amount that the Stabnar had soaked into the three rabbits once they had been skinned. When he breathed in, the spicy smell scoured his throat, burning it dry and he had to exert all his self-control not to cough.
He had eaten worse things than Sarnroot sap, much worse. On patrol for the Falkhan in deep tangled woods, and bare plains of Adarna, one couldn’t be picky. It was either you eat what you find, the most abundant food was rat, or starve… No Sarnroot sap wasn’t the worst, but it still caused him a burning throat and burning eyes.
Fyrth and Sarvin seemed unaffected by the biting scent of the simmering juice. The two Stabnars sat huddled around the fire, Sarvin casually playing with the heavy bladed knife, making it vanish up her sleeve, then come surging back to her hand, then vanish again and Fyrth was just staring at the fire, his eyes aglow with the light of the flames.
Grisen had to look long and hard at Fyrth, digging past the vacant face and lifeless eyes to see a faint remnant of the man he had once been. The Blade of Light had been a determined, fierce person, equipped with a fiery sense of humor and a quick agile mind. His face had always held emotion. Pride, defiance, amusement rage… And his eyes had always shone with the passions of his desires, the light of his feelings. There was nothing of that anymore. His face was like a mask to Grisen, like one of those funeral masks with the glazed eyes that they put over faces of corpses in Olviaron…
Fyrth’s eyes suddenly lifted off the fire, locking with Grisen’s and staying there as the former Stabnar just stared at him. Grisen wanted to drop his gaze, but he maintained eye contact, fidgeting slightly. He was dimly aware of the flash of rippling light as Sarvin’s knife shot into her hand once more.
“You have more questions.” Fyrth’s voice was low and the words were a simple statement, not an obvious question. Sarvin snorted behind him, but Grisen ignored her.
“I do.”
Fyrth nodded slowly. “Two.”
“What?”
Fyrth blinked as if wondering why on earth Grisen needed clarification. “You can ask two questions for now, no more.” Sarvin suddenly stretched out, on her back, staring up at the inky canvas of the sky, painted with splashes of silver stars. The moon lit up the fringes of the clouds that obscured it, and a breeze whispered through the trees. The waters of the small stream glimmered in the celestial light.
Grisen nodded. “What is Al’Sheen’al’Tamorac?” Dama’zark’s words were thick and heavy.
Sarvin chuckled. It sounded like the rasp of a blade being drawn. “You mean who is Al’Sheen’al’Tamorac?”
Grisen shrugged. “Whatever, just answer my question.”
Fyrth reached out a hand, turning the rabbits on their makeshift spits. “Al’Sheen’al’Tamorac…”
Another chuckle from Sarvin as she lay with her arms behind her head, caused Grisen to shift uncomfortably. She began to sing another song, crossing one leg up above the knee of her other. “Bright meets dark, black meets silver-”
Grisen tried shut her out of his head. “Well?”
“Long stemmed death, life seems to quiver-”
“Al’Sheen’al’Tamorac is the Captain of the Stabnar.” Fyrth could have been talking about how cold the night was, for all the feeling in his voice. “Literally translated, it means Falcon of the Shadow.”
“Sun is blotted, hand of dread-”
“He is the one who is Hunting me,” continued Fyrth, not even pausing to look at Sarvin. “And her as well, and I suppose you too, though he has yet to learn of you.”
“Whirlwind of wrath, count the dead-”
“Me!” exclaimed Grisen. “I have no part in this! I’m not getting caught in a battle between Stabnars, even if you are…”
“Bearer of the Crown, Falcon of the Dark,” chanted Sarvin.
Fyrth glanced at Grisen. “You are already in this. I gave you the chance to run, and you denied the oppertunity… Al’Sheen’al’Tamorac is the leader of the Stabnar, because he can Weave to incredible extent. Far more than any other Stabnar, almost as well as Dama’zark himself.”
“Lord of the Shetan, Silent Death Mark.” Sarvin’s song ended in another chuckle that slowly died away.
“It is said that Al’Sheen’al’Tamorac fought Dama’zark for control of his empire. From the Tower, down to the Mountains of the Spires, for the position of the Black Lord…”
“And?” Grisen leaned forwards. He didn’t know if he was in this or not, but he was learning things he’d never even imagined, from the person he’d never thought he’d see again.
Fyrth shrugged. “And Dama’zark crushed him and imprisoned him in Tyrin’al’sin until he swore upon the strongest oath that he’d serve faithfully, a peasant in his master’s eyes.”
Grisen drew a deep breath. The more he heard about Tyrin, the closer he came to understanding what had happened to Fyrth, but also, he began to understand the sheer terror of it. “Tyrin’al’sin? What is it? What happens there?” As soon as the question left his mouth, he realized that it had been a mistake.
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