As They Fall [First Draft] ~ Currently Editing ~

Twenty - Five

A/N: We're at chapter 25 can you believe it?? I know I can't! This is probably one of the most action packed ones to date, so I would love any and all feedback you can provide. Thank you for reading As They Fall! <3

We waited for what felt like an eternity before Lord Marsh emerged from his tent and strode off in the direction of the wooden hut, his breaths coming out in short puffs of white fog, in time with his impatient gait. The moment he was out of sight we stepped out of the shadows and beelined for the cage, treading through the snow with precise and silent steps. There were two fresh guards standing watch near Lord Marsh's tent, engrossed in the game of dice they were playing on top of a large barrel. Merek darted forward, crouching behind a large, empty wagon, then whistled. At once, one of the guards spun around and scanned his surroundings.

"Did you hear that?" he asked his older companion, who was busy sipping from a flask.

"D'no what yer talk'n 'bout," he slurred in reply.

"I'll go look, stay here," sighed the young soldier, approaching the wagon warily. Merek had climbed up onto the driver's seat, his legs bunched in anticipation. When the soldier rounded the corner, he sprung, landing behind him with a muffled thud, his forearm pressed to his mouth, while his good hand held a dagger to his throat. The soldier let out a muffled cry but stopped when Merek dug the blade into his exposed skin.

"Call the other one," he hissed, his lips almost grazing the soldier's ear, "If you cry for help I'll kill both of you. Understood?" The soldier nodded weakly, his eyes wide with fear. Merek removed his forearm slowly and the young man took a ragged breath, before he said,

"Molin, come look at this!" Molin let out a grunt and lumbered over to the cart. Without a moment's hesitation Merek slit the young guards throat, his crimson blood staining the snow in a spray of steaming droplets. I grimaced at the sight. I had a morbid fascination with the way Merek could kill so effortlessly. I had killed twelve men in my entire life, and all of them had left a sour taste of guilt in my mouth, no matter how cruel they had been. Before Molin could cry out at the sight of his young companion, Merek dispatched him with a swift strike and tossed both of their bodies into the back of the wagon. He kicked snow over the patches of blood, before nodding to us and continuing toward the cage.

When we reached my uncle, my knees felt weak with relief to see his worn, but breathing figure. Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes and I wiped them away hastily before reaching into the cage to gently touch his shoulder. He groaned and opened his eyes, blinking tiredly in the dim light.

"Amelia? Is that you?" he croaked, his lips dry and cracked with thirst.

"Yes, uncle," I whispered, clutching his hand through the bars, relishing in the comfort his soft, familiar hands brought.

"It can't be. I must be dreaming again." He closed his eyes and dropped his head onto his chest.

"You're not dreaming uncle." I squeezed his hand tighter, willing him to look at me once more.

"Not a dream? Have you come to take me to the afterlife?" As we spoke, his warm, brown eyes were filled with child-like wonder, seeing everything and nothing at the same time. My heart fell as I saw what remained of my strong, intelligent uncle, nothing more than a broken shell, his mind fragmented and anguished, just as the matriarchs was.

"No, uncle. I've come to rescue you, just as you rescued me all those years ago." My tears were flowing freely now, as I stroked his face, tracing the lines etched into his skin by the passage of time. A small flicker of recognition stirred in his eyes and he raised his hand to my own, holding it tight against his face.