Eastmarch.
At first he doesn’t see Maako standing in the clearing, and when it comes to him, Basir realizes that this latest venture has met with much the same fate as the last. Maako is alone battered and bloody, as he stumbles down the winding mist covered path. He makes it another ten feet before he falls, rolling down the path as he goes before coming to rest at Basir’s feet. He raises his head to study the mist laden mountain top, yet another failure, he thinks to himself, he motions for two guards to help Maako to his feet.
“Help him to my chambers.” he tells them, his gaze solemnly returning to the steep hillside. His second Mulkai, appears at his side also looking up in disbelief.
“And he alone survived once again Milord?”
He does not respond, he stares blankly at his second, before turning to leave, leaving Mulkai to the privacy of his thoughts.
Misty Mountain top.
He studies Maako, silently mulling over every word, as if looking for signs of deceit.
“Most cold and foul these mountains called Eastmarch Milord, treachery abounds on these path’s, they were laden with traps of every sort.”
“Did you not send out scouts in advance as I requested?”
“Yes Milord.. We stayed off of the paths as much as the terrain would allow, but when we sent scouts to clear the way, they were met with ill begotten fates. Murdered they were.”
“Murdered?.. By whom Maako?”
“The humans of course.. steel shafts shot through their throats and other places.. Silent as the air Milord, all we heard were their screams through the mist. We saw nothing.. Murderers Milord.. Murder most foul.”
Basir turns once again to face his second in command Mulkai.
“It is winter here Basir.. Whoever is up there knows the terrain far greater than anyone we will send to their deaths, we are sadly falling short of capable bodies, so how do you wish to proceed?”
“Every ounce of intelligence that we have tells us that the third piece of the stone is here” he pauses. “Or more importantly up there, the people up there aren’t murderers Mulkai, the are hunters, they are people that have lived here their entire lives, they rear their children here in these cold forbidding mountains. We are nothing more to them than intruders, but rest assured.. There is no turning back, no going back the way we arrived, we leave with the stone or we all die here.”
He dismisses them and returns to his table slowly opening the journal that he has been keeping, one that will no doubt be cut short by his own impending death.
“My fate is most certain, I will be returning to hell’s fiery unkempt depths very soon, most certainly not in the same way the I have arrived at this cold dark place. I will give this short life that was never really mine, for this great cause in which I truly never believed. my fate it would seem, is as sealed as of those sent before me. Most certain death awaits me here, and it is in this stark, brutal realization that I find but one regret, That I never truly lived.”
Waiting for Fate
It is in the very early morning hours when Basir, Mulkai and Maako find themselves with six more soldiers about to embark up the sides of the mountain called Eastmarch. They have decided to take it slow at first allowing themselves plenty of time to make their way around any obstacles that might present themselves, they are trying a different path than the seven other failed expeditions up the mountain side have taken. They get one hundred yards in when they face their first serious obstacle, a large fallen tree is forcing them back out onto the main path, and right into the line of fire of any possible snipers waiting in the tree tops. They are ten feet onto the path when the first of several steel arrows slices through Mulkai’s jugular vein sending blood splatter in every conceivable direction. Everyone in almost complete unison lower their bodies to the ground, at that same instant the two lead scouts blindly stumble across a trip wire bringing a long tree trunk with wooden spikes protruding from it, swinging directly into them at full force, it strikes their bodies with a low but muffled thump, its momentum carries them up into the air with it, their screams fill the misty morning air. more blood splatter.. Followed by more arrows. Two more soldiers lay ten feet from Basir, one has three shafts sticking out of him two in his throat. He doesn’t see or hear anything, he certain that he is now alone. Basir slowly crawls back behind a stump he sees that there is however two soldiers left, they are off to his right side, crouched behind a tree, the air falls strangely silent, it is mere seconds later when he detects the sounds of footfalls against crumpled leaves coming down the path towards him. Slowly, through the mist a form begins to take shape.. The two remaining soldiers step into the path.. The reflection of sunlight off of a cold steel blade splashes through the mist as it slices the torso of the first red completely in half. Only time for one shot.. The second fumbles with his gun but the steel blade has found him, removing his head, it flies slowly into the air rolling to a stop mere inches from Basir’s feet. “Most certain death awaits me here, and it is in this stark, brutal realization, that I find but one regret, that I never truly lived.” he scuffs his boot heels into the loose soil driving himself backwards against the tree, but it is when he sees the form of the tall raven haired woman step through the mist and into view that he knows its over.
Scratch. ABT Copyright © 2007.
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