by 5kops
I hope they haven't moved through the pass, he thought, knowing that if he were right, the traitorous Lord Malketh would have found an excuse to stop shortly after they had lost sight of the company. The problem with his theory was that without any concrete evidence, he could not condemn an officer, nor could he accuse Lord Malketh of being the traitor.
I always foresaw the death of two squires, Areck thought, digging his spurs into the horse's flanks, coming to a full gallop as he sped past Battlement Row and into the wider passage. I just didn't know it! The difference is that in my nightmares they died at the event horizon rather than before. What if I am seeing this all wrong? What if the vision is simply telling me they would die, and that though they died in the forest, their deaths were a sign ificant sequence within the event!
The future cannot he changed. He thought of the passage a philosopher once told him. Yet, it did changel Well, that is not wholly true—the event foreseen is the death of the courier, which may yet still happen.
He assessed his thoughts until an option bloomed. If the future holds the death of the squires, and the squires hare already died, then the rision is about to come to pass. Even though the circumstances changed, the conclusion will be the same—the courier will be killed by a traitor.
Areck knew he was right. The killers were not the squires who had seen their life shortened by Areck's discussion in front of the real assassin. It was Lord Malketh who reeked of treason. Everything made sense. The man had wounds to his right side; piercing wounds made by a piercing weapon. The squires would not have attacked his off hand. They would have attempted to take out Malketh's most dangerous aspect first; plus, a longsword would not have done piercing damage. The fallen warrior must have killed them then turned the gladius on himself, which was why the wounds were all on the right side of his body.
Areck sped through the curvaceous mountain pass, each step taking him closer to what he feared would already be a tragic situation. Thoughts of death swirled in his mind.
As he rounded a sharp corner to the north, he came upon the nightmare he knew so well. In the distance he saw a crumpled form lying awkwardly in a broken position, limbs protruding at different angles. Blood poured from a gaping hole in the man's shoulder, a wound made from a gladius being pushed down toward the lungs. There was no doubt that the body was Lord Vinion; his horse lay just in front of him with its neck twisted, broken in what must have been a terrible fall.
A pair of horses stood impassively next to the fallen knight, nostrils flaring in battle-frenzy, their masters nowhere to be found.
Areck heard mocking laughter and the distinct ring of steel. He spurred his mount again and rounded the corner at full speed. As the clash of steel grew louder, he heard Arawnn's voice cry out for help.
Areck came upon the last stages of what he had seen so many times. The royal courier took a wound to the hand, his blade falling away with a clatter. Lord Malketh grinned, his numerous injuries apparently not affecting him. He walked in a confident strut towards the courier, who backed away, bleeding from multiple wounds to his legs and arms.
Areck started to whoop and holler. The noise of Areck's approach the knight to the oncoming steed. Lord Malketh recognized Areck's tactics and prepared to accept the squire's charge.
Areck knew that he was most effective upon foot regardless of the advantages that being on horseback would give him. He brushed past Malketh and kicked out, catching the knight in the chest just as the man's gladius scraped past Areck's thigh. Doing his best to control his mount, Areck reached around and unsheathed his weapon. The squire leapt from his war-horse and turned to face the duplicitous knight.
It did not take long to close the distance to where Lord Malketh awaited Areck with scorn. The knight had picked himself up after being struck, apparently unharmed. Stephen's face was red with fury, as being touched by a squire was a blow to the man's pride. Areck told himself that he would use the knight's rage to his best advantage.
Lord Malketh circled Areck, looking for an opening to strike, using quick thrusts to measure Areck's style of swordplay.
Areck was unaccustomed to fighting against such a short weapon and circled with the older man, partying each teasing blow, checking his opponent's defense. He allowed the teasing attacks to continue until he saw an opening that allowed him to stride into a counterattack with multiple strikes to the torso and head.
Although none of the blows landed, the attack drove Stephen Malketh backward. The knight no longer looked smug after the attack; instead, his eyes squinted in assessment of a real bladesman.
After another round of minor thrusts, Lord Stephen began a complex series of strikes, forcing Areck to parry successive blows to his offhand and driving the squire to his right. Areck knew that the knight was waiting for a moment when his opponent would make a mistake and expose a vital area. Areck changed strategies and opened up, letting the other man come in for the kill. Just in time, Areck feigned a parry and spun away as the gladius whirred by his head.
Lord Malketh was frustrated with his much younger opponent. He decided that it would be better to let the opposing swordsman use all of his endurance in short flurries, knowing that such frenzied swordplay sapped strength.
Areck parried and spun away from another round of attacks, this time centered on attacking his extremities. It did not take long before Lord Malketh was breathing heavily. With another flurry the knight dipped his weapon, trying to draw Areck out of his defensive posture. Areck fell for the simple ruse, bringing himself into the gladius's killing zone. Fortunately, when the knight brought his weapon around and impacted Areck, the squire moved with the slashing blow.
Though his chain mail absorbed most of the impact, Areck felt a stream of blood running down his sword arm. Grimacing, he felt the sticky fluid roll down his fingers.
"The next time you won't be so lucky," Lord Malketh chuckled, his sword poised for another round of attacks.
Areck concentrated and slowed his breathing. Only then did he realize that the fallen knight was moving in a pattern of attack styles. High, low, flurry, chest, arms, high, low, flurry ... the next round would be centered on his chest. Seeing his opportunity to strike, Areck allowed Stephen to get past his defenses, close enough that a single strike would be fatal.
Areck's feigned ineptitude worked. He saw the gleam in the knight's eyes as Lord Malketh moved inside Areck's critical range, gladius in a killing position.
As the blade sped down toward Areck's neck he brought his blade up, partying the death blow at the last moment then spinning too fast for the overexposed knight to match.
Areck was startled at how fast his longsword whirred past the knight's lowered defenses, and impacted his face with a dull thud. Areck saw his sword slice through skin and bone in slow motion, angling as it dug deeper in the knight's skull. He wanted to stop looking, but he couldn't turn away as dark red blood and brain sprayed outward from Stephen's shattered eye.
The sound was almost sickening . . . and the fact he had just killed someone was even worse.
Areck let go of his blade and backed away, slick with gore. He looked down to see the crumpled body of the assassin lying on the ground, blood pooling around his lifeless form. The sight made him gag. He had never killed anyone before.
Areck slumped to the ground. His shock was so profound that he barely heard the hoof beats. It seemed the others had finally come.
Boom!
A sound rocked the mountain pass.
Boom!
Areck looked at the body of Lord Malketh, distorted by massive beams of light, and at his blood-drenched hands. It was as if colorful beams of light were being pulled into a globe of energy, clear as water. Large chunks of rock crashed near Areck, becoming louder as the globe of energy grew.
Areck felt the tingling sensation before he looked down to see his limbs distort; skin peeled away to bone, only to be revitalized by youth. The pain helped to clear his mind. As the globe drew energy to it, mov
ement began to slow. Areck saw imperceptible movements, such as the cracking of rock. He could no longer feel his body.
Reality distorted.
Time stopped.
16
LORD MALKETH had explained the plan to Var in detail. It had been a simple plan, really: Var would meet him in Stormwind Keep within two nights of their last meeting. Var would then travel up into the mountain range and find a perch with a good line of sight. The assassin would wait there until the courier and his escort came into view, and he would kill the messenger while the traitorous knight took care of his brethren.
As usual, the plans did not play out as supposed. Var had waited late into the third day for Lord Malketh to arrive . . . after the rest of his company, and severely injured. The problem was that Lord Malketh was supposed to beat the company to the keep so they could go over their plans.
"Damned Bre'Dmorian hotshots." Var mumbled a curse under his breath.
He was unsure what to do. His informant had said that the fallen knight would not be able to ride. If that were true, such circumstances would make Var's job much more difficult, especially if his accomplice was replaced by another knight.
That was when Var had decided, against all stealthy habits, to send a messenger to Lord Malketh and try to figure out a plan of action.
Surprisingly, the knight had returned the notice, explaining that everything was going as planed. The fallen knight also informed Var of the dark passages leading through the mountain, and to a place where Var should be waiting—which was where he currendy sat, perched in the shadows of a long crevice, crossbow at the ready.
The thunder of hooves brought Var out of his reverie. He assessed the situation as a trio of riders cantered down the road: two knights and the messenger.
With a deep breath, Var steadied himself and raised his crossbow with a practiced hand. He picked out his target, a lightly-clad young man with light brown hair, a face free from stubble, and haunted eyes. Var held his breath and felt his hand steady.
His finger tensed against the trigger.
A beam of light reflected off metal into the assassin's eyes, making him curse and raise his weapon. He looked down just in time to see Lord Malketh drop back, unsheathe his weapon, and plunge it into his fellow knight's shoulder. It was an amazing feat considering the trio was moving at high speed.
Var winced as the dead man's horse jerked to the side and lost its footing, stumbling into the paved ground. The dreadful scream of the broken knight's mount was so great that it spooked the courier's stallion, which skidded to a halt and threw its rider several feet into the air.
This is as good of time as any to get this over with, Var thought, once again raising the crossbow. However, just as he held his breath, a dismounted Lord Malketh stepped in front of his shot.
Watching his accomplice in action, Var decided to let the knight have some fun while he found a better position.
Instead of killing Arawnn directly, Lord Stephen Malketh kicked the courier, yelling obscenities at the young man. He kicked away Arawnn's sword and commanded the young man to stand and fight.
"Of all the idiotic things," Var hissed, moving to a clear position. Once again, he dropped to a knee and leveled the crossbow. As he was about to pull the trigger, his target stumbled to the side and made it around a corner, blocking his view.
That was when Var heard another mounted warhorse charging upon the scene. To his surprise, the young man who had been reprimanded several time during the trip sped by, oblivious to his presence. Var watched as the squire looked around, heard the clash of steel, and charged around the corner. In the distance, he saw plumes of dust coming from Stormwind.
"Damn it," he muttered, doing his best to maneuver around the sharp rocks.
By the time Var had moved far enough to see the action, both Bre'Dmorians were in heated combat. He tried not to concentrate on the battle raging below, instead looking for the wounded courier. Var saw the young man lying prone, his body mostly protected by a large outcropping of rock. He decided that it was too risky to waste a shot without exposing himself.
Var moved into another position. From this vantage point he saw that the courier was unconscious and that the man's face was deeply gashed— blood poured from the messenger's mouth. Var assumed that if the courier was not killed by a crossbow bolt to the heart, there was a good chance the blood pouring into the man's lungs would drown him long before he regained consciousness, but Var was not a man to take chances.
He was just about to kneel when he saw the younger man, a squire, land a fatal blow on his accomplice. Not willing to take any more chances and with speed born of killing, Var closed his eyes and again leveled his crossbow. This time, his finger twitched in perfect timing with a deadly shot and a bolt sped on its way, aimed at the downed man's chest.
Then he heard the rumbling from the very foundation of the rock.
B oom.
The mountains reverberated. The rock began to shift under his feet. Pieces of mountain broke away and toppled to the ground.
Boom.
Var staggered as the thunderous noise grew louder. To his amazement, the crossbow bolt spun unceremoniously in the air, but no longer moved forward. He tried to brace himself against a thick piece of stone as the mountain itself undulated. The chaotic movements made Var drop his crossbow to the ground and seek cover. However, before Var reached a more stable spot, a chunk of rock cascaded through the air and struck his thigh with a splintering sound.
Var cried out as intense pain shot through his leg. He was sure that the crunch of meant he had snapped his thighbone. With his leg now useless, there wasn't much he could do. He knew the only way to protect himself was to hide with his hands over his head and hope for the best.
Then he caught movement. Var looked down to see the courier lying on his side, still unmoving, surrounded by large fallen rocks strewn around—in what he considered a small miracle. No one had touched the man. He then noticed the corpse of Lord Malketh, face neatly split in two, looked to be disintegrating, as if his corporeal form was being blown away like dust. The same thing was happening to Var's crossbow bolt.
The sight of the dead did not affect Var; to an assassin, there was nothing odd about the dead. However, the fact that reality—whatever its definition—was distorting made the assassin shiver.
A globe of light coalesced between the fallen courier and the squire and started to change the things closest to it. The young man was the first to distort, his limbs becoming almost translucent. Then both road and the mountains warped, then the sky.
"It is a miracle," Var babbled, unable to turn away.
The glowing ball twisted and pulsed. Each pulse further distorted time and reality. It stopped a bird in mid-air. The next pulse stopped the bird again, turning it into a falcon. The next peeled its flesh and left nothing but ash. And then it was there again, this time a fish. Then it was gone.
The essence of the globe seemed to grow more powerful. Var watched in horror as a wave dissipated just before reaching him. He gritted his teeth and tried to move, noticing that the squire still existed in the middle of such utter chaos. Var saw nightmarish creatures. He saw the burning of thou-ERICFOGLE
sands of people, of cities. He saw time unraveling, yet it did not affect the squire in the middle of it all.
The next wave hit him in the face and he froze, though his mind never lost consciousness. Var's thoughts receded into the depths of madness. He could not move as his life sped by: choices he had made, choices he had never considered. Each vision had a different outcome. He was about to fade gratefully into nothingness when another wave ripped past him.
A lifetime had passed, yet nothing had changed.
Another wave raced towards Var and he screamed. The pain of eternity was more than he could bear. It felt as if his very essence was being destroyed.
Another wave.
Another. Again and again the globe pulsed, until Var could not take it anymore.
He could not see—the whites of his eyes had turned red as blood. He could no longer speak—his tongue had swelled and his teeth were gone. His iron will was the only thing that told him he still existed, that he belonged in this existence.
The last wave had almost ripped him from reality and cast him into nothingness. The next wave would surely destroy him. He closed his eyes and waited to cease being. He had long ago accepted his mortality, but not like this. He was afraid; there were so many things he had yet to do.
Boom.
There was nothing left to do but lay and wait.
****
Areck stood in horror as time unraveled. He could not understand, but it looked like the very fabric of reality was unraveling around him, changing everything except him and Arawnn.
The globe continued to pulse. Areck could not hear anything but the boom that shook the heavens. He watched in horror as a portion of the mountain collapsed and fell towards the unconscious friend he had tried to protect. Areck could do nothing to save his friend; in fact, he could not move more than a single step in any direction.
Another shockwave pulsed outward, this one changing the body of Lord Malketh into a duck. Another went out which changed the man back, then blew him away. Areck looked on helplessly as each wave that pulsed out changed the dynamics of his world.
However, unlike everything else, the wave did not change Arawnn's corporeal form in drastic measure. Instead each wave offered Arawnn's unconscious form life . . . and new possibilities.
Another pulse sped outward, driving everything else into more and more variations of itself.
Areck noticed that the stone of the mountain no longer fell at full speed but was stopped by the pulsing waves passing through it. He could not be certain, but each time the falling rock was hit by the distortion it seemed to grow less substantial. As it neared Arawnn, it no longer looked like a landslide.