Monday, November 19, 2012

Story of William, part four


William woke with a start, his eyes snapping open and his hand reaching for a sword. All around him, he saw darkness, heard unfamiliar groans and... With a sigh, he sat up on his cot. The creaks and groans of a ship at sea were not new to him, but he hadn't slept well since the bomb. In truth, it wasn't the bomb that bothered him. Being relieved of command, that was what tormented him. He would never rise to general, not now. In his heart, he knew that he had done what had been needed, but now, he'd never follow in his father's...

“No,” he told himself. “Don't dwell on that.” He took a deep breath and walked to the porthole, sliding the cover to let some light in. Brilliant sunlight cut the darkness, revealing a cabin of deep red wood, warm and inviting in the soft glow of the morning. He turned to the chest under his bunk and drew out a fresh set of clothes and set about preparing for the day. After he had dressed, he pulled the studded leather armor hanging from a hook on the wall, then belted on his short sword and dagger.

He smiled, thinking back to the first voyage he took, heading to retake the city of Compa from the monstrous fishmen. A salty old sailor had looked at him and shook his head. 'Son, I'm sure you're tougher than steel on dry land, but here, that armor sinks and that long blade catches the lines. You'll make a right pretty corpse.” While he felt strange without his familiar, heavy plate, he pushed the concern aside and headed to the deck.

Some things he expected to see. They had left shore yesterday, heading back towards Andol. There were Jenar sailors, as confident on these decks as if they'd been born there. Some stories said they had; Jenar always claimed to be happier at sea than on land. But where you'd see them bare-chested and empty-handed in years past, now they walked with leather breastplates strapped on, and short swords or daggers thrust through sashes. Spears hung in racks along the rails, ready to repel borders. Some of the larger men even carried heavy-bitted axes that looked stained from hard use.

Things he didn't expect to see were some of the men with him doing as poorly as they were. Anton sat with his back to the mainmast, his face green and his eyes fixed firmly on the deck. William walked to the youth and knelt down. “Anton,” he said quietly, “how are you?”

“Fine, sir,” he replied. His eyes remained firmly on the deck, which was an oddity. He had regarded William as something of a hero since the rescue a few months back, but now he wouldn't even look up.

“Are you now? Why don't you look me in the eye?”

“I can't, sir,” Anton said glumly. “If I look up and see the horizon pitching around again, I'll get sick. One of the sailors told me if I got sick on the deck, I'd have to hang from the prow and clean the figurehead.”

Did he now, William thought to himself. “Then you stay here. If you need to go to the cabins, go to mine. Understood?”

The youth's jerky nod was his only answer. William left him to his misery and turned on his heel. He'd had a similar experience his first journey by ship as well. The pitching to and fro had settled out in fairly short order, but it wasn't how he was most confident.

Standing at the rail, Adovan looked out over the choppy waters. His blue eyes were hard and cold, and he still wore his long blade on his hip. But, he had listened as well and had layer of studded leather instead of his breastplate as well.

“Adovan,” William stated as he walked up. “How are you this morning.”

“Well enough, sir. Feeling nervous. I heard about the fishmen.”

William leaned on the rail and looked out at the waters. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I fought them on a few occasions. Compa, Glaris, and a few times in between when they tried to harry the fleet. I learned to get my sea legs pretty quickly.” He felt a wave of nausea roll over him as one of the beach assaults tried to pull itself from the corner of his mind he kept it in. “Very different. They don't speak our language and they smell horrendous. It's a... disconcerting mixture to a battle.”

Adovan's eyes twitched to him, then back to sea. “I see. Sir.”

William sighed. He couldn't read Adovan. The man was as cold and steely as when William had pulled him off the torture rack in that goblin camp. “Ever since Glaris, though, I haven't heard any stories of them attacking ships. I can't help but think that holding cities on land must have stretched them, and with those losses, they're not strong enough to resume raiding.”

Adovan's posture didn't change, but a slow, deep breath signaled a little tension fading from the air. “Aye sir, you'd have heard more than I.”

William pushed away from the rail. A few days out from Andol, on the sea under which the vicious fishmen dwelt, and he was focused on what would happen in Andol. He was relieved of command. He was no longer a soldier in Andol's Great Horde. He wasn't what he always wanted to be. How would they be received on return?

His head swimming, he didn't even noticed the thudding steps as Detrius marched up to him. “Hey 'dere boss!” he said in his typical rumble. “How you like 'dis weather?”

William looked up at the looming Detrius. The big troll had a jolly smile on his face, trying to be cheerful despite the gray mood following everyone around. William sighed and began to answer.

William turned aside a thrust from a shoddy goblin spear and slashed at the horrid little creature's throat. It collapsed, unable to scream, as he stepped over it and thrust into the back of another and upward, into it's ribcage. He withdrew the blade with a grunt and a kick to the creature's back and stopped a brief moment to assess his position. The battle raged in earnest around him. Detrius stayed right at William's side, his own shield not so much turning aside strikes from poorly made goblin weapons, but smashing them with incredible force, almost as impressively as the blows from his mace. Bannerman Torval had strapped the flag of the unit, a fight clutching a blade of lightning, to his back and had set about, his two axes catching blows and cleaving at arms in the way he favored in turn.

William stumbled, tasting something bitter in his mouth. “No, not again,” he whispered.

That's when he saw it. One small goblin squirmed it's way through the legs of others and bolted forward, its eyes glued on the general and clutching a wooden box to its chest. As it ran past others, they started to chant in their screeching voices.

"Bomb! Bomb! Bomb! Kill the general!"

William felt his blood run cold and forced his way forward. He felt like his legs were churning through deep mud and time was running more slowly. Next to him, he saw Detrius lift his hand and throw a minor magical spell from his hand. It landed and the box clattered to the ground, bouncing forward towards Korgan. The goblin had stopped, confused and died to the crushing blow of a blacksmith's hammer. William's eyes flicked from the box to the general, whose eyes widened.

There was one choice.

William dove, dropping his sword and shield and throwing himself onto the bomb. He pressed the box to his breastplate and curled in to try and cover as much as possible.

"Boss!" Detrius' voice bellowed out.

Boss!” Detrius' voice bellowed again. William felt something warm on his chin, but felt too weak to lift his hand to it. Detrius was blocking the sun for a reason he didn't quite grasp, and Anton and Adovan were looking at him. Adovan's long hair was hanging towards William's face. He realized he was lying on the deck.

Get him to the cabin!” Detrius shouted. “You 'dere, make way! Get outta 'da way!” He hefted William's form, supporting under one arm while Adovan supported him under the other. Anton ripped a strip off his shirt and started wiping at William's face, the white cloth coming away stained with crimson. William tried to stand on his feet, to push them away, but he felt weak as water. His head lolled and his eyes shut.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Story of William, section 3

William felt pain. His chest and abdomen burned and his arms and legs had what felt like several searing cuts in them. He knew the pain of being cut and slashed, but this was worse. He tried to take a minute to figure out where he was; was he lying on the ground in the field? What happened?

The memory flooded back over him. The bomb, the explosion, and he almost shuddered and pain shot through his body anew. It overpowered all other feeling in his body and clenched his jaws over any sound he might make. He tried to breathe slowly, regularly and wait for it to ebb away.

"Yes sir, he will live," said an unfamiliar voice. "Though I don't know how he didn't bleed to death. Or even survive that kind of idiocy."

"That's enough, Jaks," came the sharp reply. That was General Korgan's voice, deep with command.

William let his eyes slide open and blinked several times, trying to remove the gritty feeling and the feeling of things clinging to his eyelashes. He started to lift his arm, but a gentle hand pressed it back down and he felt the edge of a camp cot under his forearm. "No, milord, allow me." Leaf. William smiled slightly. Leaf blotted at Williams eyes with a damp cloth and wiped carefully.

"Oh, look," said the unfamiliar voice. Jaks, was it? "Our noble idiot is awake. Don't move. I've had to pull more shrapnel out of you and stitch you back up so many times I'm sick of looking at you. You pop those stitches and I'm done." The source of the voice wandered into Williams's field of vision. He was shorter, with a round face, dark hair and black rimmed spectacles. "It's rare you see someone mess themselves up so badly that the red magics can't heal things back up completely."

"Jaks," came the general's voice again. "Stand down." William tried to turn his head, but instead, Leaf lifted his head up and put a pillow underneath it. The first new thing that he saw was his own body. It was covered in strips of bandage, some spots dark with old blood, some bright with fresh blood and some rare spots of unspoiled white. His torso was completely covered, his arms and legs wound in irregular patterns.

"William" said the general as he stepped to where William could see him.

"Yes, sir," replied. "Reporting, sir."

"I owe you my life, William," the general said. "Your men turned the tide of the battle. You and your troll were the tipping point for securing camp. But you just dove on a bomb. What were you thinking, soldier?"

William looked at him and took a breath. "They were trying to kill you, sir. You're the one that masterminded this campaign. I couldn't allow that, sir." He looked around as much as he could. "I couldn't do that, sir."

The general looked at him and turned on his heel, marching towards a table covered with papers and maps. "I do not take my debts lightly, William. I will remember this, but the fact remains, you are in no shape to return to the field. Your injuries were so extensive that even Doctor Jaks considerable skill wasn't enough to get you back on your feet today. From what he's told me, he had to use his magics to keep you from bleeding out and then stitch you again, repeatedly. I cannot put you back in command of your unit."

William felt a lump rise in his throat. That was not what was supposed to... His father never was relieved of command. "I understand, sir." William looked around for something to hold to, something that had survived, and spied his blade leaning against one of the tables in the room. "Sir, what of my gear?"

Korgan smiled at him briefly. "I know you don't like being relieved of command. Hopefully, this will be temporary. But your gear, well, Anton?" Anton stood up from by one of the tables where William hadn't seen him. He held up William's blade, whole and gleaming, as if someone had been cleaning it. Anton then held up William's shield and breastplate. The armor had blackened scorch marks on it and so many holes where the steel curled inward. The shield was broken, the wooden back barely held together by the steel plate on the front.

"My shield," William started. "It's not..."

"No," Leaf said quietly. "Detrious said it had broken before you dove on the bomb. I suppose that's why you dropped it."

"It's good that you did," said the doctor. "The wooden splinters in that would have been much harder to remove and you probably would have gotten gravely ill. Call that a good decision."

William let his head sag back onto the pillow. He felt weak, even after such a short conversation. "What about the camp?" He knew things hadn't gone too badly, evidenced by Leaf and Anton's presence, but he had to ask.

"They are fine," the general responded. "Nothing ever got near them, but your man, Adovan, was livid over not being there for you." The general walked over and patted William's shoulder. "You did more than I could have asked of you, soldier. Rest, and we'll talk about your future soon."

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Story of William, section 2

"Oh, son," she said, needlessly adjusting his tabard, "you're the image of your father at this age." William's mother beamed at him. "And off to fight, just like he did." Her voice strained to keep its cheer at that last bit.

"Mother, I can't stand by while these things overrun cities and enslave people. Protector Garth's men even repelled an attack against Andol itself." William took a deep breath. "This is what Father has been training me for my whole life." He squeezed her hand with his own leather-gloved fist. "I'm your son, do you expect me to let any of these worthless creatures stop me?"

"No," she said, still trying to keep her smile and still adjusting at his tabard. "You're far too stubborn for that." She stopped suddenly. "Oh, dear, I forgot. Wait here. You, too, Detrious." With that, she turned and walked back towards the family coach. William turned to see Detrious picking at his own leather armor.

"Detrious, what are you doing?" William asked as the big troll kept readjusting.

"Well, I figure, if you're mother finks yours is crooked, mine's gotta be worse." And with that, Detrious went back to trying to fiddle his leathers into what should be straight and presentable. William almost said something, then smiled and shook his head. This time, it really wasn't worth the effort.

And his mother returned, carrying a bundle gently as a babe, her emerald eyes shining in the late morning sunlight. She held it out to him, a long and slender bundle. William grinned a bit as he picked at the bits of rope keeping it tied. "Oh," she said, irritated, "just let me." She deftly drew her curved belt knife and slit the wrappings, and the velvet fell away, revealing a new, gleaming blade.

William picked it up slowly. The blade was a wide broadsword blade, wrought out of amazingly fine steel that gleamed in the light of the morning. The hilt was covered in a heavy basket, backed with a lattice of heavy steel to protect the hand. He turned the blade in his fist, feeling its balance even in its length. It was a longer blade, standing up to his waist, and he was a taller than average man himself.

"This blade is..." he began.

"Yes," she said quietly. "Just like the family one. I wanted you to have as solid a blade as possible when you went out. I know you went through so much with the one you have, but..."

"Of course," he replied. He pulled the cross guard blade from his belt and flipped the hilt towards her. "Maybe one day my little brother will learn to use one beyond which end to hold. This is a good blade for that."

"Your brother," his mother smiled, "or his son, yes. But given him and his wife, I expect they'll be more inclined towards teaching their children magics." She carefully slid the blade into her own belt, where it didn't look out of place, oddly enough. "Where are you headed?"

"First stop is to pick up troops, assign them commanders and designations. I know our family is minor nobility, but I imagine they'll be putting me in charge of some sort of heavy infantry. I don't know what they'll do with Detrious."

"I wouldn't worry about him, son." She touched the elk on his tabard, the emblem he had chosen for himself. "Don't you forget, there is work to be done after the war."

"Yes, Mother," William smiled. He hugged her, patted her dark brown hair and turned to march onto the ship as a proud Andolman going to fight. But over his shoulder, he did her one bit.

"Detrious, you stay near him. Stay near him, and keep him safe. That order is more important than any you'll be given until you see me again, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Monday, May 7, 2012

Opening section, revised

"William!" came a voice, shouting in a panic. "Lord William! We have an urgent missive! One of the mages received a message!"

William looked up from his cramped writing desk where he had been studying a map of the surrounding area. His tent was lit by the light of the sun, low in its morning rise, and by a lantern sitting in the corner of the small desk. He bent, almost reflexively, to pick up his gauntlets and bracers from the floor, careful to bend at the waist thanks to the heavy breastplate he wore every waking moment since marching south. Next to him, Leaf stirred, his eyes looking first to William and then to the young lad still sleeping on a hastily constructed pallet in one corner of the tent. "Milord?" he asked hesitantly.

"No, I don't think there's anything coming at us, Leaf," William said quietly. "Otherwise the horns would have sounded." The sentries had their orders to sound off if the reports had enemies approaching, so as to have the men roused and ready, regardless of the message reaching him or not. "I think we've been sitting here long enough. For Guide's sake, Leaf, you'd think that heavy assault infantry would be on the move and not holed up on a mountainside."

"I understand. Though, I do apologize again for not learning the magics. I could relay messages to you immediately if I had." Leaf's eyes didn't shift nervously, he didn't wring his hands, his green-tinted skin didn't even change it's pallor, he just stood there, cool and calm. This was not the first alert they'd had, and it wasn't even Leaf's first full campaign. He was older than William by twenty or more years, and had served with William's father.

"Please, Leaf, not this again. If I could learn it, I would've done it, but we have good men that do this."

"Yes, milord."

A man burst into the tent, breathing hard, with a missve in-hand and a heavily armored man behind him. Adovan loomed over the messenger, his blue eyes intent and sunken into a face just beginning to recover from gauntness. "A magic message came from the general's camp, sir! There are goblins preparing to assault!"

William heard Leaf suck in a breath through his teeth, and the cot creaked as the youth sat up. "Orders?"

"Yes, sir, we're ordered to hit the goblins as soon as possible. The general's camp is fortifying and all nearby units are being called in. We're the closest." The man's breathlessness hadn't lessened, and his eyes were wide.

"We march," William said, beginning to buckle the bracers onto his arms. Leaf stepped in and deftly swatted his hands away to do up the buckles himself. "Have Bannerman Torval and Sergeant Detrius form the men. Camphands and retainers stay. If we're successful, we'll be back by nightfall, and if we're not, they are to scatter and head back to the nearest group in the army."

"Milord," Leaf began, before William cut him off.

"No, Leaf. You and Adovan are to go with them. Get back to the family estate and tell Mother what happened. Anton will go with you. He has my approval to stay at the estate. And she will want to know what happened to me if I can't tell her myself."

"Yes, milord. But I was going to ask if you were certain you wanted Detrius to go with you."

"Leaf, I don't think any of us could stop him, do you?"

The messenger had already run back through the tentflaps, but Adovan remained behind. His face was carefully blank, but his eyes almost burned in their deep sockets. "Adovan," William said, "I know you want to strike back at the greenskins, but listen to me. You have to protect Leaf and Anton if things go badly, keep them from those prison camps. I need a man I can trust here. Are you that man?" Adovan's face fell slightly, but he nodded all the same. "Good man."

With the last buckle done up on his armor, William slipped the chainmail coif over his head, picked up his shield and slid his heavy-bladed longsword into its sheath. He ducked as he exited the tent, as he did anything in that tent but sit or lie down. As he stepped out into the cool morning air, he saw the men moving to form up and the great, hulking form of Detrius marching up and down the lines, waving his mace and bellowing.

"Get in line! Get in line! You, 'dere, you a terrible soldier! Be ready! We gettin' ready to move!" His leather armor strained over broad shoulders and tough, craggy gray skin, but men paid heed. Detrius had a talent for many things, but patience wasn't one of them. Clobbering people with his fists or smashing things with his mace, that was a different story. But even he quieted as William stepped to the head of the formation.

"Men," he called out, "we have little time. Goblins are attacking General Korgan's camp. They are fortified, but we are the nearest force. Our orders are to do what we do best, hit the enemy from the side and try to break their resolve. This is what we are for, and we will succeed!" Short as it was, the men shouted their agreement and began to march. William strode at the head of their lines with Bannerman Torval.

"Milord," Torval greeted him formally.

"Torval. There isn't much time. Do you think we can manage a forced march?"

"With the rest we've had since the last assaut, sir, I believe we could almost run the whole way."

William gave him a half-smile. "Force march will be fine. I want their strength at the fight, not getting to it."

Torval returned the smile and called out for the men to begin the forced march of long strides to cover the land. They marched down the hillside along a recently-made roadway, cut in their ascent to the camp's current position. Korgan had stated that the purpose of the heavy assault unit William led was to have men that were between heavy infantry and light that could bring enough force to strike at openings in enemy formations and move quickly enough to do so. While this wasn't a standard practice, Korgan's unorthodox approach had liberated Compa, Glaris and Eumoyn and pushed the goblins further and further back as the allied forces of human and faykin advanced. And so, William's men moved as quickly as he allowed, ranging through the untamed wilds deep in the goblin lands towards the general's camp.

The camp had been backed to a pair of high, steep mountains so as to limit approaches, and as William's men crested the ridge, he could see that it was working. Barely. The forces of the general's guard were in a tight arc, just at the edge of the camp, and being pressed upon by a writhing green mass of goblins that outnumbered them at least two to one. William's own force numbered just shy of eighty thanks to recent losses, but they were trained for this. He raised his sword high and the men behind him drew their weaponry and as he lowered the blade, the group of them broke into a charge. They didn't cheer, yell or shout as they ran. The creak of leather and clatter of armor was their cadence, blending into the noisy cacophony of the battle before them.

William ran with the frontline of his men. He couldn't fathom sending these men he was charged with into a fight without being in it himself. The men snarled as they crashed into the enemy line, their weapons falling together and a wave of goblins died. They had smashed through almost a quarter of the mass before the goblins realized that were being assaulted. Finely wrought steel blades, heavy-bitted axes and sturdily-made maces and hammers tore the goblins apart before them.

William turned aside a thrust from a shoddy goblin spear and slashed at the horrid little creature's throat. It collapsed, unable to scream, as he stepped over it and thrust into the back of another and upward, into it's ribcage. He withdrew the blade with a grunt and a kick to the creature's back and stopped a brief moment to assess his position. The battle raged in earnest around him. Detrius stayed right at William's side, his own shield not so much turning aside strikes from poorly made goblin weapons, but smashing them with incredible force, almost as impressively as the blows from his mace. Bannerman Torval had strapped the flag of the unit, a fight clutching a blade of lightning, to his back and had set about, his two axes catching blows and cleaving at arms in the way he favored in turn.

William snapped his eyes back forward as two of the disgusting creatures barreled towards him. One raised a knobby, two handed club overhead and William swung his shield in an arc to bat it aside and twisted his arm to trap it against the ground. As he did, the other goblin struck at his chest with a rusty looking sword. William let the blade hit his breastplate, exhaled on the impact through clenched teeth and swung low, catching the blade bearing goblin in the knee. He then pivoted, stabbed at the other's face and it fell away, screaming and clutching at a ruined face. With a side step, he stepped on the first goblin's neck with all the force he could muster. He felt a crack under his heavy boot and then, suddenly, they had broken through.

General Korgan's camp was an impressive array of order, even in the chaos of the fight. Men stood with spears pointed outward over the shoulders of men with large shields and heavy bladed short swords. The men before him smiled grim smiles as his vanguard punched through the goblin mass and it seemed to recede from around them. The high-pitched screeching of the goblins seemed to fade a bit, their stench lessen and the fervor of the fight began to ebb from William's blood. That's when the first explosion hit.

Men to William's right flew back, their faces bloody. Some had their armor punctured by heavy pieces of metal, others bore wounds only on exposed skin, inconsistent and varied as the men that were wounded. William saw some had sharpened bits of metal gouged into their bodies while others pulled forks and table knives from their armor, deformed by the blast. William turned to look at Detrius, who grimly returned the look.

"Shrapnel bomb, boss," he said simply.

William looked back to the line. The bomb had done it's job and opened a hole in the lines. The goblins had displayed uncommon cunning and drawn back to focus on where the bomb would land and pressed the forces immediately around the hole in the lines, fighting to keep it open. Some of the goblins pushed their way past the lines and into the camp. William turned back to Torval and grabbed him by the tunic.

"Turn the men to push those goblins off the line. I'm going in the camp. Too many people that aren't soldiers are trapped in there. Detrius, with me!"

"But sir!" Torval began.

"Now!" William shouted. He turned towards the lines of men, Detrius at his heels. "Hold, men! Hold!" he shouted as he made his way through the formation. He emerged from the other side to see something that made his Andoly heart proud. The wheelwrights, the blacksmiths, the seamstresses, the cooks, all fought at the oncoming goblins with whatever came to hand. He saw a cook hamstring a goblin with a butcher knife before a wheelwright swung a wagon tongue overhead and smashed its skull into the mud. But what caught his eye was General Korgan himself, wearing leather armor and an embroidered surcoat. He swung his signature spear, with a thick, heavy blade at one end and a weighted steel globe at the other end. The blade took one goblin across the stomach, the heavy pommel took it across the head and he stepped, thrusting the blade forward into the chest of another.

William threw himself at the hole in the line and , putting his shoulder behind his shield and crashing into the nearest green-skinned enemies. Detrius' thundering steps followed him, and the first downward swing of his mace found a goblin skull and flipped its limp body over the point of impact. William thrust low, catching a goblin in the gut and drew it back, flinging his arm outward across the eyes of another goblin. The general had masterminded this whole campaign. He must not fall. He pressed forward, trying to force the goblins away from the general.

That's when he saw it. One small goblin squirmed it's way through the legs of others and bolted forward, its eyes glued on the general and clutching a wooden box to its chest. As it ran past others, they started to chant in their screeching voices.

"Bomb! Bomb! Bomb! Kill the general!"

William felt his blood run cold and forced his way forward. He felt like his legs were churning through deep mud and time was running more slowly. Next to him, he saw Detrius lift his hand and throw a minor magical spell from his hand. It landed and the box clattered to the ground, bouncing forward towards Korgan. The goblin had stopped, confused and died to the crushing blow of a blacksmith's hammer. William's eyes flicked from the box to the general, whose eyes widened.

There was one choice.

William dove, dropping his sword and shield and throwing himself onto the bomb. He pressed the box to his breastplate and curled in to try and cover as much as possible.

"Boss!" Detrius' voice bellowed out.

Then, there was thunder and everything went black.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

First draft of first section

This is the first draft of part 1 of the Story of William (working title). I inadvertently left Detrius out, which I'll have to go back and add in, as well as clean up some description and dialogue. Anyway, I'd like to hear feedback on the style and such so far.

"William!" came a voice, shouting in a panic. "Lord William! We have an urgent missive! One of the mages received a message!"

William looked up from his cramped writing desk where he had been studying a map of the surrounding area. His tent was lit by the light of the sun, low in its morning rise, and by a lantern sitting in the corner of the small desk. He bent, almost reflexively, to pick up his gauntlets and bracers from the floor, careful to bend at the waist thanks to the heavy breastplate he wore every waking moment since marching south. Next to him, Leaf stirred, his eyes looking first to William and then to the young lad still sleeping on a hastily constructed pallet in one corner of the tent. "Milord?" he asked hesitantly.

"No, I don't think there's anything coming at us, Leaf," William said quietly. "Otherwise the horns would have sounded." The sentries had their orders to sound off if the reports had enemies approaching, so as to have the men roused and ready, regardless of the message reaching him or not. "I think we've been sitting here long enough. For Guide's sake, Leaf, you'd think that heavy assault infantry would be on the move and not holed up on a mountainside."

"I understand. Though, I do apologize again for not learning the magics. I could relay messages to you immediately if I had." Leaf didn't shift nervously, didn't wring his hands, he just stood there, cool and calm. This was not the first alert they'd had, and it wasn't even Leaf's first full campaign. He was older than William by twenty or more years, and had served with William's father.

"Please, Leaf, not this again. If I could learn it, I would've done it, but we have good men that do this."

"Yes, milord."

A man burst into the tent, breathing hard, with a missve in-hand and a heavily armored man behind him. Adovan loomed over the messenger, his blue eyes intent and sunken into a face just beginning to recover from gauntness. "A magic message came from the general's camp, sir! There are goblins preparing to assault!"

William heard Leaf suck in a breath through his teeth, and the cot creaked as the youth sat up. "Orders?"

"Yes, sir, we're ordered to hit the goblins as soon as possible. The general's camp is fortifying and all nearby units are being called in. We're the closest." The man's breathlessness hadn't lessened, and his eyes were wide.

"We march," William said, beginning to buckle the bracers onto his arms. Leaf stepped in and deftly swatted his hands away to do up the buckles himself. "Have Bannerman Torval form the men. Camphands and retainers stay. If we're successful, we'll be back by nightfall, and if we're not, they are to scatter and head back to the nearest group in the army."

"Milord," Leaf began, before William cut him off.

"No, Leaf. You and Adovan are to go with them. Get back to the family estate and tell Mother what happened. Anton will go with you. He has my approval to stay at the estate. And she will want to know what happened to me if I can't tell her myself."

"Yes, milord."

The messenger had already run back through the tentflaps, but Adovan remained behind. His face was carefully blank, but his eyes almost burned in their deep sockets. "Adovan," William said, "I know you want to strike back at the greenskins, but listen to me. You have to protect Leaf and Anton if things go badly, keep them from those prison camps. I need a man I can trust here. Are you that man?" Adovan's face fell slightly, but he nodded all the same. "Good man."

With the last buckle done up on his armor, William slipped the chainmail coif over his head, picked up his shield and slid his heavy-bladed longsword into its sheath. He ducked as he exited the tent, as he did anything in that tent but sit or lie down. The men were already forming up into marching order, speaking quietly to each other as he approached. They quieted when he stepped to the head of the formation.

"Men," he called out, "we have little time. Goblins are attacking General Korgan's camp. They are fortified, but we are the nearest force. Our orders are to do what we do best, hit the enemy from the side and try to break their resolve. This is what we are for, and we will succeed!" Short as it was, the men shouted their agreement and began to march. William strode at the head of their lines with Bannerman Torval.

"Milord," Torval greeted him formally.

"Torval. There isn't much time. Do you think we can manage a forced march?"

"With the rest we've had since the last assaut, sir, I believe we could almost run the whole way."

William gave him a half-smile. "Force march will be fine. I want their strength at the fight, not getting to it."

Torval returned the smile and called out for the men to begin the forced march of long strides to cover the land. They marched down the hillside along a recently-made roadway, cut in their ascent to the camp's current position. Korgan had stated that the purpose of the heavy assault unit William led was to have men that were between heavy infantry and light that could bring enough force to strike at openings in enemy formations and move quickly enough to do so. While this wasn't a standard practice, Korgan's unorthodox approach had liberated Compa, Glaris and Eumoyn and pushed the goblins further and further back as the allied forces of human and faykin advanced. And so, William's men moved as quickly as he allowed, ranging through the untamed wilds deep in the goblin lands towards the general's camp.

The camp had been backed to a pair of high, steep mountains so as to limit approaches, and as William's men crested the ridge, he could see that it was working. Barely. The forces of the general's guard were in a tight arc, just at the edge of the camp, and being pressed upon by a writhing green mass of goblins that outnumbered them at least two to one. William's own force numbered just shy of eighty thanks to recent losses, but they were trained for this. He raised his sword high and the men behind him drew their weaponry and as he lowered the blade, the group of them broke into a charge. They didn't cheer, yell or shout as they ran. The creak of leather and clatter of armor was their cadence, blending into the noisy cacophony of the battle before them.

William ran with the frontline of his men. He couldn't fathom sending these men he was charged with into a fight without being in it himself.

Friday, March 2, 2012

Voyages of the Peregrine

This is from a writing project I wanted to start called the Circle of Friends. I planned on doing short stories featuring friends of mine as protagonists in a fantastic manner. This is the first one I got done. Hopefully I'll pick back up on this and do more.

In my younger days, I was part of a tale worthy of being retold. It was an incredible event, one that I never thought I would see, and one that still seems surreal to me. I began as a cabin boy aboard a corsair in the days where trouble stalked the seas between the kingdoms.



The corsair, the Daring as her captain had named her, was a long, sleek sloop-of-war. She was built to cut through the water, to outrun pursuit or run down prey as was needed, and armed with heavy carronade cannons to hammer at what she did engage. It was a joy to ride the high seas on her deck, feeling her knife through the waves and ride the powerful winds that swept across her domain, the salty Wan Sea.

One day, we were setting off from port. The water barrels had been filled and loaded, the rigging restrung and supplies ferried below decks, and when we were a few miles from sea, the captain stepped to the wheel. The boatswain, knowing what this meant, gave out a loud, ringing call that drew every eye. Some men tied off lines from where they worked and others scurried down the masts and rigging to hear.


The captain was not a tall man, but instead of just below average height, with nimble and quick hands and feet and balance that made any situation on the seas no challenge at all. His long, dark hair whipped in the wind as he surveyed us, and spoke out, his voice carrying with the breeze. “Men, we begin a mission today of great import. You are all my hand-picked crew, trusthworthy to the last and capable in every way I could ask. We will be giving passage to one of the rarest treasures in the world.” That made our breath catch. As a corsair, the crown had sent us out as raiders against the enemy navies, but this was new.


“Captain!” spoke Hartha, the first mate, a heavy, swarthy man who always seemed to need a shave and a voice that resonated like cannon shot. “I would never question what you ask of us, but I do ask why this has fallen to us. We serve aboard a corsair, not a heavy, fat warship or passenger vessel! May the passage be on a ship whose sides will repel fire that may come upon it, not the beloved Daring that seeks to dance and slip around her adversaries!”


“While I myself did voice these concerns,” the captain answered smoothly, “we were sought out special for this task. The bearer of this treasure did so request a ship of speed and a crew of cunning. It is for our strengths that the Crown did seek to grant us this commission, and lo, I did accept.” He stopped, letting the words sink into our thoughts, to let our pride swell at being so valuable in our ability. “It has been said to me that no one should know of this voyage until it is over, but it has come to be possible for word to have spread before the task reached our able hands. As such, you are all tasked: look for ships attempting to match our course, to meet our speed. Everyone, keep your eyes to the horizon for ships of an enemy flag, for we will outrun before outfight this trip, as to preserve that which has been placed in our care.”


It was then that a man stepped out from the captain's cabin, one that I had never seen before. He was unlike most seafarers I had seen in my time, and I immediately thought of him as a man of the shores, and he that we would be shepherding. He was much taller than the captain and lean of stature from what I could tell. He had dark hair like the captain's, but cut short and combed away from his eyes. Though his body was wrapped in dark frock coat of double breast, I was of the idea that he was slender and lean. He stood with his left hand inside his frock coat, in a manner I could not place. I wondered idlly if he perhaps clutched at something or hid his hand away due to some form of injury. His dark eyes were severe, but I could see the intelligence glitter in them as they swept across the assembled crew from behind round spectacles. The rest of his clothing was similarly dark, setting him apart from the crew, though I was certain it kept him warm against the cooler air of the Wan Sea. His right hand rested atop a cane that matched his attire, though with a pommel of elegent silver.


“This,” the captain rang out, “is Sage Lucious Thanan. He is the keeper of the treasure we so endevour to protect. He claims that he is willing to speak with those what wish, so let not his severe presentation damper your high spirits. We know we will be successful this voyage, for any ship that can outfight the Daring cannot dream to catch her, and any that may catch her will not have the might or grit to outfight her or her men.” A cheer rose from the men, smiles alighting on even the dourest face. “So now, men, return to your posts. We will take a northern route of the sea to avoid the major routes. Be ye prepared, and let us prove the skills we are attributed.”


As the cabin boy of the proud vessel, I was charged with seeing to Sage Thanan's needs during the voyage. I would check in on him during the day, usually before meals and at midpoints during the morning and afternoon hours. I was fascinated at seeing this man at his work during the day. He sat at the desk in his cabin, one that the captain had seen to being refitted, often toiling away over texts, making notes and comparing two pieces that, to my eye, seemed identical, incomprehensible or both. Whenever I would knock and enter, his left hand would be inside his vest, which he wore underneath the frock coat when on deck. Upon seeing me, he would nod slowly, draw his hand from the vest and continue his work. One such midmorning, about a week into our journey, I entered to see what he might need and he gestured for me to approach the desk.

“Child, what do you know of the great old works of literature?” he said to me.


“Sir, I am but the cabin boy. I do not know of such learned things. I have no call or need to.”


“No call or need?” he asked me, partially astonished and partially disproving. “Boy, everyone should have some knowledge and appreciation of the great works that define our history and culture. Here, look at this piece. Have you ever heard of its like?” I gave him a sideways look and scanned down the open book he held presented towards me. I read the words as best I could, stumbling as I went, but seeing the basics of a story of a wild man near a placed called Uruk and his friendship to the king.


“No,” I said slowly. “I have never heard those names or those places.”


“But,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “you have heard similar stories.”


“Yes,” I allowed. “The wild man, found and brought to people, seeking to make his way, I have heard stories of that ilk before.”


“You see,” the sage said, a grin touching his lips, “it is important to know that these stories come from somewhere. They can change over time, depending on where they come from and who is telling them. I, myself, am working on a translation of a story in an attempt to make it something that is comfortable for everyone to read. I believe I would like your help in making my text more accessible to those that have not had the experiences I have, should your captain allow it.”


And so, at not only the captain's allowance but his behest, I spent time with the sage in his cabin, working on the selection of words, on the points I did and did not understand. Over and over again, I struggled to keep up with his learned dialect and even attempted to learn some of it myself, as I hope is becoming apparent as I tell this tale. He would alter words, sentences, even entire sections as to make them more sensible to my humble ears. Sometimes he would insist that some pieces do not change, as they were important to link the story to its origins. Names like Hrothgar and Heorot reamined unchanged, even though I had no concept of them.


In our works, the sage began to take what we had done and present it to the men in the evenings, after supper. He told the rousing story of a mighty warrior, a Geat, who went forth to do battle with a dangerous beast. I felt a sense of pride stir in my breast as he used the words that he and I had selected together, and came to gain a glimmer of understanding on what drove this man. The men cheered at the successes of the warrior in the story, bellowed when things around him failed and found themselves growing more and more fond of the man they had originally deemed as aloof and superior.


As time passed, though, several concerns were brought to mind. I, myself, wondered at the precious cargo that the man safeguarded. Was it another such tome, older than the ones he had spoken of and worthy of great value? It would seem possible, though unlikely, that such a thing would be worthy of an enemy's pursuit and our vigilance. Among the crew, I heard rumblings of concern. What would this thin man who walked with a cane be able to do should the enemy come to attempt to claim this great treasure? I knew not myself, but could not help but think that a man chosen to safeguard something so precious would not be a useless dandy.


It was two weeks beyond, where we were a mere ten days where we presumed to land, that one of the men in the crow's nest sang out of a ship. The captain sent two more up to verify the sighting, who both came back with word that there were three cutters moving to match our course. The captain's eyes flashed with defiance and determination and sent me for his blade. These ships were so much smaller than the Daring, but could move more quickly on the winds. The good captain called for the cannons to be loaded, those for and aft loaded with solid shot and those midship to be loaded with grape and chainshot. His hope was to have the solid shot to put holes in the hull and the chainshot to destroy the rigging and sails and allowing us to outpace them.

We watched as the ships moved to close with us. The man took up cutlasses and pikes, and Hartha took up his large boarding axe. I threw myself down the hallway to the cabins and to the sage's cabin. I knocked and he answered immediately. As I explained what would happen, his face darkened and he nodded slowly. He asked me to come and help him. He had me help him don his long, dark frock coat and enclose it, which at first shocked me, but then, upon hefting it, I found it to be unbearably heavy. He tucked his hand inside once again, took up his cane and followed me to the deck.


“Captain!” he called out when we emerged into the gray light of the overcast day.


“Sage,” the captain returned, approaching him from the stairs that led to the aft deck. He had tied his long hair into a tail and doffed his coat to give him the fullest range of motion possible. His skin was flushed with anticipation, as happened before any conflict at sea, and it made the scar across his neck stand out, livid and angry. “You should be belowdecks, a fight comes for us.”


“I have been told,” he responded, dryly. “I plan to stand at my cabin below, and wished to account for myself. How long do you believe it to be before the engagement begins?”


“We have an hour,” the captain said certainly. He grabbed his weapons from one of the men that ran by, his customary short, straight blade and a dirk, both of which he tucked into his sash. “Will you be able to defend yourself against the oncomers or should you need one of the men to stand with you?”


“Captain,” the sage said without a hint of offense in his voice, “I would hardly have been chosen to safeguard the Voyages of the Peregrine were I not capable.”


Upon hearing this, the captain blanched, as I felt myself do. The Voyages of the Peregrine was a book detailing the travels of the legedendary wanderer, the Peregrine, who had found hidden routes to any place in the world and provided the fearsome tactical advantage that made the Crown's territory as safe as it was. The foolhardy few that challenged the Crown found their homes destroyed by armies appearing if from nowhere. Only three copies were said to exist, one of which never left the palace and the others only deployed in times where their use would be necessary in war. It was a legend that even lowly sailors knew of and feared.


“Very well,” said the captain. “We will engage shortly.”


I could waste no time myself, and made my way to the arsenal, looking for a means to defend myself when the boarding parties arrived. When I arrived there, most weapons were gone. All the axes, the cutlasses and pistols were gone. What I did find, though, was a pair of long fighting knives, so I thrust them through my own belt and rushed to the deck and sought a place to make my place. I watched to see the captain directing men to the cannons and the men armed with muskets to pick of their like on other ships.


Daring found two of the ships drawing up alongside her flanks, while the last ship made to move to the stern of the ship. The two flanking ships drew up alongside and the captain gestured to Hartha, who bellowed the order to fire. With a series of dull booms and the whine of grapeshot, the cannons rocked back against their restraints and the crews leapt into action, reloading. That's when it struck me that the two ships hadn't fired back. I cast my looks left and right and found the ships to be entirely lacking in cannons. I didn't understand why they might draw alongside until I heard a crash and looked to see the prow of the third vessel strike the back of the ship. Mariners swept over the prow and onto our rear deck.


The captain knew that the maneuver was coming, and had formed enough men up to blunt the inital attack. The cannon crews changed their directive, leaving only one in three to man their cannons as Hartha bellowed that they switch to grapeshot to prevent more boarders from coming over from the other ships. I heard the crew shouting, bellowing encouragement. “Remember the Geat! Fight like the Geat!” I gained a new respect for the sage and understanding. Old stories inspiring the men around me, which would not have happened without him, and to a lesser extent, me. I felt a thrill of pride in the clash of steel around me.


It was then that the rest of the attackers from the last ship made their push and swarmed onto our decks. The line broke and our men fought against them in scattered pockets on the deck. I stood at the mouth of the hall to the cabins, hoping to guard my back. Three men swept over the rail and landed in front of me, cutlasses clasped in their fists and moved towards me. I swept the knives, blocking the lead man when I felt fire lance up my leg where one of the other men had stabbed my thigh. I staggered and fell, scooting away from them and trying to protect myself. In a desperate move, I rolled to the side, through the doors of one of the crew cabins. What I didn't realize is that I left the way open to where Sage Lucius stood in the hallway.


I could see through the doorway where he stood, looking cold and severe in his dark clothing, left hand still tucked inside the coat and his cane resting under his right. “Gentlemen,” he said quietly, “now is the opportunity for you to preserve your lives.” The men laughed and started forward. The sage sighed and twisted his right wrist and flicked the cane back, past his body, where part of it flew away, and left in his hand was a length of slender, gleaming steel. The man that had faced me paused but a moment. The other two attempted to move to attack, but his body blocked them, the hallway being too narrow for one man to pass another standing directly forward. The sage smoothly uncoiled towards them, the blade darting and took the man in the front in his right eye. His body went stock still, and crumpled to the deck, while the sage withdrew calmly, flicked the blade and splattered the man's blood on the deck before him. The other two men looked at their downed comrade, then up at him slowly. The two bellowed and tried to make their way forward. Again, the narrowness of the hallway worked in the sage's favor. They shoved, grunted and growled, trying to get past one another. With almost a smirk, Thanan let them work their way forward, then lunged again and thrust twice, taking both of them in the throat. He withdrew again, flicked the blood from his blade upon the floor in front of the two dying men and stood, relaxed and calm.


The attackers knew who they were looking for. Again and again, I would hear them shout that they had found him, and again and again, they would attempt to reach him. The bodies began to mount in the hall as he struck again and again. One man, nimble enough to actually make the challenge, leapt over the bodies to face the sage directly, but in the blood that was now soaking the floor in front of the calm Thanan, he slipped and ended up on his back, where an almost contemptuous thrust took him in the heart. Another man, great and hulking, shoved past the bodies lying in the hallway, and his heavy feet were unaffected by the blood, but the boarding axe clutched in his fist had no room to swing at his adversary, and the sage tsk'ed several times with a shake of his head and finished him with three quick strikes, hitting the arteries in both sides of the neck and taking out his throat.


I watched this in perplexed horror and amazement. The sage had picked his ground well, knowing what sort of attack he would face. Neither cutlass or axe could swing or move quickly enough against his thin rapier. Men with pikes had no room to use them in the body-strewn hallway, and often, the heads of these weapons were snapped off from their hafts. The pool of blood the sage created in flicking droplets from his blade served as another line of defense, but finally, I saw someone move to exploit the choice in terrain. A man appeared, looking down the hallway at the dead men and at the sage, who stood, confident and patient. This new assailant turned and took from the hands of another a musket with a bayonet on the end. He brandished it menacingly towards the sage, taunting him with the answer to the field where he made his stand. Instead of even seeming concerned, Lucius Thanan drew his left hand from inside his coat in a smooth motion, showing a flintlock pistol. The face of the man with the musket went slack and he scrambled to point the musket when the pistol ball took him in the face. Calmly, Thanan dropped the pistol, reached back into his coat and drew another pistol. However, the din of battle had faded and the next face to peer around the corner and, incidentally, down the barrel of the pistol was Hartha. Blood ran down his swarthy face and dripped from his axe, but he smiled.


“Come, Sage!” he shouted. “The day is ours!” Thanan nodded and turned, picked up the cover to his cane and slid it back onto his sword, then put both pistols back in his coat. He turned, looked at me and gave me a small, assured smile.


“How are you, boy? Is the wound serious?” His voice was steady, but I could hear the unyielding steel behind it. With smooth steps, he very carefully made his way to me and drew a kerchief from his pocket. I only then noticed the burning in my leg. I grabbed my shirt and ripped at the sleeve, bundling it to my leg while the sage tied it in place. As he moved, I heard several sharp, metallic sounds as his coat shifted. He looked at me, again with a small smile and put his hand back into his coat.

In the days that followed, I did not see the sage on deck. I was kept there so that the men could look in on me, check on my wound and so I could get the fresh air and sun they claimed I would need to recover properly. It was only on the day that land was finally spotted that he finally emerged. I sat at the mouth of the hallway where he had made his stand, and saw him step out, a small, narrow booklet in hand. He closed it and, with his left hand, tucked it into his coat again, and looked up to see me watching. He smiled again and walked past, his cane clicking against the deck.


“Captain!” he shouted as he stepped into the sunlight. “I need to suggest a course change. There is a hidden cove where our rendevous will take place.”


“Again, Lucius?” the captain said, one hand on his hip and the other tucked into an improptu sling where he had taken a wound to his arm. “This happened a few years ago when we had to make the trip, but that time, it was a cave.”


“I go where I am supposed to, captain.” Again, I was surprised. The two... knew each other, and had for years. This sage that I had thought over and over again I had figured out was definitely more than I could have ever thought.


That trip predated the successful efforts of the Crown in the War of the Wan Sea. That is the story I have to tell this night, the story I was a part of that changed the face of the world. Whenever you hear the stories of meeting one of the Sages, do not ever underestimate their capabilities.

A very short story offering

I'll grant a few things. Number one, sometimes, I come up with some weird stuff. Number two, my writing has been spotty at best the last few years. Number three, this story isn't going to make sense to a lot of folks, but I'm hoping that people that would enjoy it will. Anyway, enjoy.

Quite Vicious


It's been a long trip. I've gone from Shandar to Glaris to Andol before finally ending up here, in Omersk, hot on the trail of a thief.

Most thieves aren't worth that kind of effort, but this one most definitely is. So, here I am, outside of Omersk, waiting in the woods for this guy.

You have to understand, it's not what he took. It was a few little bits of pretty that might be worth a grand total of a coin on the open market. He won't be getting that much for the illicit sale of the goods, not piled together, and it's not like it matters. I have them all back and sent to where they came from already. No, it's that he stole from someone he shouldn't have, and so, here I am.

It's not common that you'd see someone like me on a ship, and there's a good reason for that. It turns my skin an even darker shade of green, and you have to realize, seasick elf jokes aren't funny, even if you're not on a boat. If you are, guess what? They're even less funny, but I know what my job is, and I do my job. Even if it does get me the ridicule of some Jenar along the way. I'm okay with that, I'm getting paid enough for it.

It's been a long trek. This snake, and yes, I do mean that as a derogatory Vrae term, has been on the run and using his abilities to screw with the minds of most people he meets. He's running around not because he knows I'm after him. His pattern of behavior is all wrong for that. He seems to be running because he thinks he can get a better deal elsewhere. And sometimes, that's because I put that rumor out there. He's lucked into a few situations where I couldn't move on him, and needed to get him moving. I've been at this a while, you see.

I can put my hand on something and see what's happened to it or around it. That's the second best trick I have in my bag, and he almost gave me the slip once. Once I read the past, as I call it, I heard what I needed and caught back up. You'd think an elf would be easier to spot, especially if he's followed you back and forth across the Rune Sea, but I did say the pattern didn't fit, didn't I? See, my best trick is that I can divine on something I need to know, but I don't like to use that much. From experience, I've learned I get one shot every full moon to get a good reading, so I keep that ace up my sleeve.

Tonight, though, he's going to sell a prized sword off. It's runed and an heirloom, and the idiot can't even swing it, which means he took something that is literally of no use to him and not exactly hard to identify. I swear, thieves used to have standards, or at least brains. Not this one. But, the fact that it's an heirloom made this personal, so I have my orders.

I can see him coming up the path, walking along like he doesn't have a care in the world. The moonlight is reflecting off his scales, making him rather easy to see. He's not even trying to disguise what he's doing; see, he believes that since he can screw with someone's head, he has nothing to worry about. He's wrong.

I can't believe this. He actually has the sword strapped to his back, a giant advertisement to anyone who knows better: "There's something strange going on!" I'd have my hand over my face right now if I could. He's just strutting along, thinking he's going to be knee-deep in rings tonight, nevermind how much he's spent chasing down people that will supposedly pay more for something.

The meeting is in a clearing that's not far off the path in the woods, but extremely well-hidden. There's brush and vines that have climbed the trees and created this curtain around the clearing that would almost seem intentional. I mean, you can't start a fire in there unless you know some trick of how to make it not smoke, not if you're trying to hide, but it's a good spot. He's meeting a human named Tarl, a guy that wants a runed sword, but doesn't want to pay for the runing. That's the reason runed swords don't sell well: They're too easy to recognize. Then again, Tarl lives on a completely different landmass, so it'd just be the worst luck for someone to see him with it. But then, it's not like he's going to get the chance. I've spent too much time and money getting to this point.

Here he comes, this dumb Vrae, making his way down the path. I know he isn't looking down, because he's making too much noise rustling around, kicking brush that isn't on the path. Now, he reached the vines and instead of trying to slip through, he's kicking his way in. Stealth is obviously not a strong suit, but then, I've known that for weeks.

See, here's where the surprise comes in.

Tarl was supposed to meet him there. Tarl was supposed to already be here, and he was. Past tense. See, I had a little conversation with Tarl. Tarl wants nothing to do with what's going on, but the Vrae doesn't know that. So, the snake makes his way to the clearing and stands at the edge of the moonlight shining down from above. I would think that he's trying to remain somewhat hidden, but my low opinion of him leads me to believe he's wanting to make a dramatic entrance. I smile to myself and move closer, slipping right up behind him.

He looks around, confused. That's exactly what I want. He looks back and forth and scratches at his head. I learned something else about him while following him. While he loves his mind empathy, to a degree that would be unhealthy were it another person, it's all he has. No other paths, no magic and no fighting skills to speak of. You'd be amazed what you can learn from people, especially people with such a low opinion of you. Not having any of those skills means I am free to be direct.

I step from the tree behind him and my fingers lengthen and harden into sharp claws. With a long step, I thrust and I can feel my strike snake between his ribs, right into the lungs, so he can't scream. His head snaps back, his mouth widens and he tries, but he quite simply doesn't have the air to do it. I let my hands shrink back to their normal size and he collapses to his knees, still trying to scream. I pull a cloth from my sleeve and pluck the sword from his back and tuck it through my belt, careful not to get blood on it. The gesture causes him to turn, his eyes confused.

"Lord Naleesh Tremailshin sends his regards, thief. He sent me to get back everything you've stolen." I smile at him, feeling that content relaxation at the end of a long chase. "You really should have known better than to steal from Shandral nobility. They can be quite vicious."

"They... they..." he manages to whisper out. I'd be impressed if it were to make any difference. "I have friends... they'll know you did it."

"Unlikely, you pathetic worm," I said, my smile growing. "You see, if you had bothered to learn more about empathy, you'd know what a spirit empath could do." I reach down behind a log and pull out a bottle of clear liquid. "Besides, I was instructed to be thorough." With that, I give him a hard kick, knocking him into the ring of stones in the center of the clearing. Not everyone that uses this spot is trying to hide, and skipping the trouble of making a firepit was awfully convenient. His eyes look up at me, horrified and confused as his life blood leaks out his back. I let him watch as I pull the cork off the bottle and scatter the contents all over him. With a flick of my wrist, I pull one of those marvelous little sticks the Cyndral came up with and it sparks alive into flame. When I drop it, the liquid ignites immediately and rushes all over him.

That done, I turn to go. I don't know the trick to make a fire not smoke, but me being who I am, I don't have to leave the place to make sure that part gets done. As I fade back into the trees, I stop and look back over my shoulder at my former quarry.

"As I said, quite vicious."