Tales of Cobardon

Chapter XI

Sabrina

She knew no fear, for she traveled in power of a 45,000 strong host, to the tower and her assured victory.

She glanced at the Prince of Lopalanzec and saw pain writ across Hapem's face as he tried to act valiant but there was always a sad undertone to his countenance. The mother in her kindled for a brief moment, before she doused it with the cruelties of this world she had had to face.

She put a jocular pretense and approached Hapem, ever-grim. She said, "Isn't the weather fine today." She described, in great detail, the warm and comforting tinge of orange surrounded by a cool azure and the milky clouds that broke the ever-judging sun's hard case. "It's great isn't it?" Hapem replied with a mustered, innocent voice, "It was also the day you killed my family." Hapem managed to add a side tone that both: invoke pity, and sneered her like an animal does. The words stung but more did it remind her that this was no lost cub but a wise, cunning and vicious man in a boy's body. She declared bluntly, "I will leave you to your enjoyment" and hurried before Hapem could conjure another insult, which were always at the tip of his tongue.

She felt immense condolence for the boy, but he was like a wounded animal that had drawn his shields up and would sneer off anyone who tried to approach.

An hour had passed. The insult by Hapem had wounded her deeply and had festered like her pain. The words kept coming back to her.

A man stood straight ahead, with his back against the tent. Was also the day you killed my family. Her head ached. She outstretched her right hand knife to grab a knife ... was also ... on a platter to her left... the day you killed my family, killed my, also, the day, the day, also the day, you killed my family, my family, was also, I, the day, killed my family. Before her hand reached the platter she spun around in fury, a knife sliding out of her full-sleeves, also the day, gripped the metal hilt of it and let it fly around, you killed my family. The knife sped towards the man. It was also the day you killed my family. The dagger tore through the tent just an inch beside the men's side. It was also the day you killed my family. Her left hand grabbed all knifes on the platter.

It was also the day you killed my family. Aaaahhh! She screamed as the knives went flying. Not one touched the men, puncturing the tent throughout the man's body outline: one went above his head, another around his hands, and another between his thighs, etc. !

She hated Hapem! He was a torturer, a mind-flayer! The one to be feared most!

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Micura

He was surrounded by four walls and beside him stood an grim-faced wizard. The room had no exit and no entry. It was all in his dream.

They both faced a solid wall. Micura scratched his head, wondering how he was going to pass this test/preparation. He took a step and with his palm felt the surface of the wall - it was rock-solid. It wasn't an illusion, 'only in your head' as the alchemist had taught him during an older preparation.

The Nameless grinned and facing Micura suggested, "Why don't you run into it?" "What!" Micura exclaimed, "That is foolery!" The mage walked towards the wall and passed through it. The Nameless turned and the wall disappeared, leaving Micura and the sorcerer face to face. Micura frowned and shouted, "You control the dream. That's not fair!" The alchemist smiled at it. He acted nonchalant as he remembered the wizard's first training, the wizard had said, "Do not expect anything to be fair." Back then Micura had been frustrated to his limit, he was not an innocent child to be told that, he had learned it the hard way. Now realization dawned on him - in the years of peaceful retirement maybe he had forgotten the hardships faced.

The speech of The Nameless interrupted his train of thoughts. "... if you can not march through the wall, then ..." he pointed an open hand in one direction where crawled a baby "... kill it." Kill it, it, Micura thought with a storm brewing in his head. How could the wizard talk with such inhumane detachment, but then again the alchemist was not a human, having a reptilian head. Immortality turns their hearts to stone, Micura grimly determined.

"How his killing a child an alternative to crossing a wall!" he boomed with no attempt to hide his contempt. A frequent, irritated look returned to the sorcerer. It was the look he had given every time he had to explain something, it was the look we give when we can not believe at someone's lack of intelligence. This angered Micura further, he was no dumb, innocent boy.

The alchemist monotonously explained, "As you said running into the wall is foolery, it indeed is foolery. Sometimes there is no sane way to escape a situation without stooping below your honour and honour is an expensive luxury to keep these days. Stooping below the honour is symbolised by killing ..." "Okay, okay. I get it." How could someone make such bizarre analogies? "Oh! You understand it!" the sorcerer said with mocking surprise.

Micura smiled, thinking - well at least the cold, supernatural thing has some sense of humour.

The dream was not in his hands, how could he escape this. As if the alchemist read his thoughts he said, "It is your dream, just not in your hands."

A sudden expression of unease flooded the wizard. Not in your hands either, Micura thought with a smug smile.

Strong winds originated from where the sorcerer had been. In the wizard's place was a growing, soot-black cloud. The ground, the air, the child, the walls - all were darkening. Soon, they all faded into total gloom.

An entity stood in front of him. He felt his recognised it, straps of sheer darkness flapping in the windless air. Micura's expression widened with horror! His sword!

An amused voice echoed in the air: "It seems my Blade of Darkness falls into yet another mortal's hand."

The God of Darkness - Oskcopa!

He felt his conscience hurt. It left as he calmed himself thinking, Darkness is not bad, Light is not Good. They are both just greedy, immortals born of the same mother. Twins in truth!

Micura yelled, not showing an ounce of fear in his voice, "So it is you, who haunted Orwen's dream." "No more than gifts of mine, to keep him in check." the voice boomed again.

"Tell me what you want and be gone" screamed Micura, yet his voice seemed hollow compared to Oskcopa's. "Very well. A war is coming and many gods meddle, you shall be my tool."

This hit him like a mountain on move. A tool of god. That many times meant nothing but death. It was futile to resist the will of gods. Micura said, meekly this time, "Agreed."

"Then it is done." Oskcopa's voice boomed again. Confidence surged back to him and he stated with menace, "It is done but I shan't see you ever again. No more gifts of yours are wanted."

"One can only hope!" the god said with mockery.

His house's motto was besmirched.

Micura smirked contently, "This god shall die for it."