Eternal Winter

Foggy Hope: Part V

My footsteps forward were hurried and unbalanced, and I fell against the closest countertop—the stark and sterile whiteness of them burning against my skin. I turned my back to the rest of the room. I kept my eyes off the sink—a glimpse had been enough to show me where rows and rows of tiny and long, straight and crooked, gleaming and clean, metal instruments laid drying. My face was facing straight down, blinders on all sides except here, right here, there was nothing...there was little here...

There was a journal here. It was bound tightly and stuffed full of pages and pages of notes, all in the same sets of handwriting. I slammed it shut, the ink pot quivering violently at its corner, and saw Fatigue Log scrawled across the front.

Sammy was at my elbow, pulling me away, where Michaela could take my place. With a shaking hand, I barely managed to cover my eyes against the harsh, cold light of the room. A rustle of fabric came from somewhere behind me. Moments later, Julian's deep voice reverberated in the too quiet room, "Could these be...the Birch guard? I thought they were nothing but a rumor."

I slowly opened my eyes, pointedly making sure to be looking in his direction. I first saw Julian, a dark splash against the backdrop of white on white, then the off-white cloak, marked sporadically with black slashes, that he pinched between his hands, and finally I took in the figure just beyond him, tucked into the shadows of the doorway with only the glint of a blade shining as it arced down towards my friend.

My voice felt thick in my throat. My scream would come too slowly, it would be too late—no, no, not him, not Julian, not Julian, NOT—

"JULIAN!"

A streak of light through the air. The sharp clang of metal on another followed by the tinny clatter as Sammy's dagger fell to the floor. In a flash, Julian's own blade was drawn and parrying. His foot slid back as the full weight of the arcing sword landed against his own. The figure pushed forward further still and towered over Julian, whose legs had begun to tremble. Under the harsh glow of the lighting, the man's face was all angles and shadow, enhancing the twisted grin slashed across his mouth.

"And here I was," his voice drawled, heavy and slick through his teeth. "Wondering why all my soldiers had gone."

A grunt came from Julian as he shifted under the weight—I could already see the beads of sweat collecting at his hairline. A moment later, he shoved hard against the man. Julian's sword flung wide, pushing the man's up and away, allowing Julian the room to move back and collect himself. His breathing came fast.

I held my staff out before me, the strength of it beating into me, when Julian slid between the man and me. My grip faltered and the staff lowered minutely. "Julian," I hissed. "This is no time—!"

"This is my battle, as yours is her," he growled, his voice deep in his throat.

"What...?" but I did not need to ask the question. Not as the light reflected against the carved handle of the man's sword—carved identically to Julian's.

"Your time away has done little for your temper, Deputy," the man—Julian's commander—commented. His grin dimpled to one side. In the wide stare of his eyes—his wholly black eyes—he looked down at Julian, not once passing beyond him.

Without breaking his own gaze, Julian spoke back to us, "Where a captain is, their master is surely nearby."

"We will not simply leave you here!" Michaela's voice proclaimed, hoarse as she spoke.

Julian's shoulders stiffened. His voice was quiet, "You will." He set his shoulders and stepped in towards his commander. He swung his sword, easily repelled by his commander. The clash in time with his shout, "Go!"