Grey Eyes
“Move!” The soldier prodded the
greying man in the back with his buckler, shoving him toward the edge of the
cliff. The two thousand foot drop known
as Shadow Gorge lurked only a few feet away now.
“You’re making a big mistake.” The prisoner muttered as he took another
step.
“What’s that? Killing a ra’sha like you has no consequence,
mistake or not.” The soldier spat on the
older man’s head and cracked the flat of his sword across the prisoner’s back,
slightly lacerating his bared skin. The
prisoner simply looked back, his light grey eyes—the color of polished
steel—smiling. A sinister grin broke
across his mouth as the soldier pushed him to the edge of the ravine. The young soldier grabbed the manacles behind
the prisoner’s back and shoved him outward toward the edge so that his toes
were hanging past the ledge.
“In the name of King Aexar the
Great, this man is punished by trial of the Shadow for theft of the King’s
property and murder of the King’s troops.
He is hereby declared…” The man
yelled out to the forty soldiers that had accompanied him. “… A shade.”
And with that he kicked the man in the back and sent him tumbling off
the cliff. Turning around, he saluted
with his fireblade, holding it up in the air over him, signifying the end of
the execution. The reddish orange gem in
the middle of his sword glimmered in the sunlight casting a ray of red and
orange light across the ground. He held
the blade for a moment and then sheathed it and began to walk toward the organized
lines of men under his command.
As he took his first step, a blast
of wind knocked him forward and he nearly fell on his face. Startled, he quickly turned to see what it
was as the sound of drawn weapons and startled gasps filled the air behind him. There on the edge of the cliff was the
prisoner. His manacles were shattered
and from his forearms and shins an eerie white glow shimmered from beneath the
skin.
“HE’S A FUSLING!” The soldier yelled as his soldiers readied
for combat. He readied his fireblade and
tapped the red gem in the center, igniting his blade in an inferno of deadly
flames. No one else in his squad had a
gemblade, in fact for a lieutenant like himself, owning a gemblade was both
rare and impressive. But one gemblade
was not much when faced with a fusling. Moreover the lieutenant had never even heard
of a quad fusling. It was unnerving, but
the lieutenant could not fail here, he had one of the best trained squads with
him. Together they had won countless
skirmishes and battles against the Tyraks to the west earning them an honored
place in the King’s guard.
“Squad A: left flank! Squad B and C: wedge formation from the
right!” The lieutenant yelled to his
men. The grey eyed prisoner jumped as
the first squad attacked from the left.
At the pinnacle of the twelve foot high jump, the prisoner spun around
and kicked out with his left leg. As he
did, the gem in his left leg glowed brightly and a focused blast of air took
the form of a blade and hit one of the attacking soldiers in the shoulder,
severing his arm from his torso. The
soldier screamed and dropped his blade, clutching the spewing wound as he fell
to the ground. As the prisoner landed he
rolled into a handstand and spun around creating a deadly ring of wind blades
that expanded outward. Three more men
from squad A died, their spears unable to deflect the blades of air, but squad
B and C had their shield men out in front, deflecting most of the attack.
The lieutenant rushed in from the
side, tapping his fireblade even more.
He stepped in and stabbed his sword toward the prisoner’s neck as the
prisoner rolled back into a standing position.
Flames leaped from the sword and rushed forward engulfing the grey eyed
man as he stood up and crossed his arms in front of him.
A giant gust of wind blasted the
inferno away as the man threw his arms outward.
Moving like water, the man ducked under two sword swings and punched the
lieutenant in the head, leaving him crumpled on the ground in a flash of lucid
white light.
For ten more minutes the soldiers
tried to kill the grey eyed fusling, dropping one by one, until only he
remained. Severed arms, legs and heads
littered the cliff as the man shook off some of the blood from his arms and
chest. His only piece of clothing—his burlap
loincloth—was now dark red with the blood of the King’s soldiers.
“Ra’sha my ass,” The man muttered,
“But I don’t mind being a shade. It
makes my job a hell of a lot easier.”
For just a moment, a hint of anger could be seen in his eyes, but it
passed quickly, leaving the serene, calm face of a middle aged man who has
resigned himself to fate. The glow that
lit his arms and legs faded as he stopped tapping his reservoir.
“Oh this will be nice.” The grey eyed man said as he picked up the
lieutenants fireblade. “Haven’t had a
quality weapon like this in years!” He
perused the pockets of each dead squad taking what gold, food and items he
could carry. Most of it was soaked in
blood and much of the food was useless, but he was able to procure a large bag
to carry his spoils and a few good pieces of clothing to wear.
It was a crisp autumn day and the
grey eyed man took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh fall air. “Ah, today is going to be a great day! I just know it!” And with that he set off south away from the
Shadow Gorge, toward the heart of the great city, Dar’Nakra. After all, he had a king to kill.
No comments:
Post a Comment