[2005/08] Friend and Foe

[Ziv]

[turbine]

http://ac.turbine.com/index.php?page_id=387

High Queen Elysa Strathelar nodded, and the Tumerok emissary took his leave. After he and his retinue had filed out of the throne room, she dismissed her retainers. A dozen Royal Guards and ladies-in-waiting bowed and exited the modestly appointed hall. When they finished their exit, and the only remaining member of the court was Antius Blackmoor, she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.


"The crown weighs heavier these days," Antius spoke.


She sighed and looked at him. "Yes," she replied. "It does." Elysa stood up and walked to the small serving table against the wall. She poured herself a glass of water from the silver serving pitcher. "You know I never wanted this," she said. "And now that the Viamontians have arrived, I feel more unfit than ever before. They're going to turn this world into a battleground, and I don't know that I can lead our people to victory."


Antius placed his hands on Elysa's shoulders. She closed her eyes and leaned back against his chest. "You are strong, Elysa," he whispered in her ear. "Much stronger than you believe. You will defeat this threat. You always do." He kissed her neck and a sharp tingle ran down the length of her spine. She turned in his arms and gazed up at him, a small smile on her face. She placed a hand on the back of his head and pulled him close. Her heart pounded in her chest as he tightened his embrace and kissed her.


Her skin tingled with an unnatural energy. At first she took it to be the physical sensations of which young love-struck poets so often sing, but the purple light that appeared at the center of the room convinced her otherwise.


They broke their embrace and turned to the light. Elysa placed a hand on her chest, willing her pulse to slow.


Three shapes took form in the center of the room. Purple bubbles swirled about, humming and buzzing, slowly becoming flesh. Flesh and bone solidified, and the purple energies dissipated. Three people - Hendac, Jenavere, and a rather worn and obviously frightened Viamontian - opened their eyes and looked about the room.


Jenavere spotted Elysa, took a step forward, and knelt. Hendac placed a small amount of pressure on the Viamontian's back, forcing him to kneel as well.


"My lady," Jenavere said. "I present to you the Viamontian Carlo di Cenza."


*****


He stepped out of the cage onto the snow-covered beach. He had not seen sunlight in months. For so long, all he had known was the stench of their caves, the reek of their food, and the screams of their captives. But now they were releasing him into the world, a dire mission imprinted on his mind. He wanted to rebel from this mission. He wanted to flee to the Duke's protection, but the desire to do their bidding was too great. Whatever they had done to his mind, they had done too well.


He rubbed his arm where his flesh had been stripped. That limb was hard and twisted now, a gruesome reminder of the creatures' vile attentions.


The Ruschk shoved him forward and grunted. He took their meaning. It was time to begin his quest. These creatures did not permit themselves the luxury of rest, and they certainly did not allow it of their captives. He willed his body to turn and run, to flee across the icy wastelands and seek refuge within the Duke's stronghold - if it still existed. But his body refused to obey his commands. Instead, he simply nodded to the fur-clad barbarians, then calmly turned and walked east.


*****


Sarkin Killcrane had shadowed the cultists for months. The Order had been unusually active of late, sacking ancient tombs and looting tomes of the long-dead Haebrous. The High Queen had commanded Killcrane to haunt their footsteps and discover their goal, but as of yet he had deduced no motive to their actions. However, the nature of the tombs which they penetrated filled him with dread. There was only one reason to search through the tombs of the ancients - power. Dark, malevolent power usually. He feared the cultists had discovered some long-forgotten secret, some key to the dark forces they worshipped.


The cultists disappeared over a sand dune before him. The desert sun beat down on his back, cooking him in his armor. He stopped and took a long drink of water from the waterskin he kept tied about his belt. He surveyed the desert around him, wishing the Order had instead developed an interest in the newly discovered Halaetans rather than this blasted wasteland. He could do with a bit of that chill mountain air.


Until now, Sarkin had not stopped to ponder just why they were in the desert. He had assumed the Order members were on their way to yet another undiscovered tomb. But then Sarkin noticed a tingle in his flesh, and a dark fear crept into his heart.


They were heading south. They were heading in the direction of the Obsidian Plains. Already, he could feel the dark energy of the Bore tweaking his nerves.


No, these cultists had some other destination in mind. They were no longer in search of dusty tomes and molding libraries. The time for research was over.


Sarkin loosened his sword in his scabbard. He feared he might soon need it.


*****


Commander Kurth shoved his sword into the Tumerok's chest and watched the life fade from its eyes. The body slid off his blade and crumpled to the ground amidst the corpses of its brethren.


The Renegade assaults had grown increasingly bold of late. The walls of Fort Tethana were more of a battleground now than they ever had been before. The Renegades clung to their mad desire for this small outpost, for who knew what foolish reason. Kurth fought them back as best he could, which was no small feat given the size of his force. He had petitioned many times for reinforcements from the Queen, but she chose instead to send her soldiers in search of shadows and relics, ignoring the very real threats that continued to assault those cities she was duty-bound to protect.


Kurth returned to his remaining men. Only three had died in this raid, but of course they were back at the lifestone behind the walls. His men looked tired and worn. They were weary of fighting and dying. They were tired of this never-ending cycle of violence. He could not blame them for that. What was all this worth, in the grand scheme of it all? Death did not matter here. Every defeat was but a delayed victory, and every victory a delayed defeat. It would never end. None of this meant a damn thing.


Perhaps that was why the Queen chose to ignore his pleas for aid. Perhaps that was why she left him and his men out here in the desert to rot.


Kurth thought once again of the message he had received - the unexpected offer that had arrived the previous night. Kurth had pledged his loyalty to Elysa long ago, and he was loath to break that allegiance, but the Queen had done little to inspire his loyalty these last few years. He had been too long alone in this blasted desert.


Commander Kurth looked to the north. A glint of metal shone in the mountains above, an emissary waiting on an answer Kurth was afraid to give.


The commander lowered his head and trudged back to the fortress walls.

[Ziv]

[turbine]

http://ac.turbine.com/index.php?page_id=389

Seneschal Dalmour strode out of the Royal Hall and observed the prisoner before him. The man was shirtless, lash marks covering his back and sides. The man lay on his stomach, a massive knight pinning him to the ground with one trunk-like leg. Five other knights stood watch around the Aluvian captive.


Dalmour knelt next to the man and moved the prisoner's sweat-dampened hair from his face. The man glared at him out of the corner of his eye.


"What is your name?" Dalmour asked the man.


The man had trouble speaking due to the weight of the knight's leg on his back. But after a bit of struggle he finally spat, "Jasten."


"Jasten," Dalmour said, "My name is Dalmour. I am the King's seneschal. I understand you bear a message from your Queen."


"Y-yes," choked the prisoner.


Dalmour nodded his head. "Well, I'm sure it's riveting. But I'm afraid I haven't the time. You see, my King, he requires much of me. I have meals to prepare, reports to write, housekeepers to discipline, that sort of thing. I am afraid your Queen's message will just have to wait." Dalmour beckoned to one of the knights. "Meanwhile, I'm going to ask these men here to cut off your arms and legs, okay?"


The knight unsheathed a massive sword and stood over the prisoner. Jasten struggled to focus his eyes on the knight, but was unable to roll over far enough to look at him.


"They're going to keep you alive though, okay Jasten?" said Dalmour. "So don't fret. You won't die on their watch. They're pretty good at this sort of thing." Dalmour stood up and took three steps back from the panicked Aluvian. "But in the event you do die, tell your Queen not to bother sending us any more messages, okay? I'm afraid we're just not interested."


The knight raised his sword high above his head. Dalmour turned and re-entered the Royal Hall as the Aluvian screamed.