Coming soon
Posted: Mon May 09, 2011 8:29 pm
For a time none of them say anything, because there is nothing to say. Wind sweeps across the basin, throwing up dust around them. The dust is already beginning to settle over what happened.
Behind them lies a trail of the dead, marking the path they took through the desert. Great piles heap up where the fighting was worst. Ahead, in the encampment, there are discs of scorched earth, arrayed in formation, and the scattering of ashen remains. A crater, wide as the height of two men and deep as three, smokes languidly. Inside of it, the sand is fused into glass. The dust seems to dampen the stench of sun-beaten decay, but not the smell of burning.
Five men stand at the edge of the basin, saying nothing. They are survivors. They let him handle it, and now he is dead. Four of them admit to themselves that it is better that way. The fifth, grim and impenetrable, would have preferred that he still lived, though only because of the knowledge he had held.
Oderic is the first to speak. “So...what do we do now?â€
“Those wall to the north are ancient and crumbling,†says Four Flint Motion Sun.
“We will doubtless find nothing there.â€
“The most obvious course,†says Ten Soaring White Eagle, “Is to return to the place where we split from the Legion, and follow their tracks.â€
“Or cut straight for Tharsis,†Four Flint says.
“What, across the desert?†Andvari says. The dwarf spits into the sand. “I’m exhausted.â€
“The cavern, there,†Seanchaidh says. “I sense power. I can taste it.â€
The other four eye him. Four Flint becomes very still. “We should return to the Emperor,†Ten Soaring says.
“There is a World Knot as well,†says Seanchaidh.
“Aye?†says Oderic. “You can taste that too?â€
The Warlock’s only response is to stride west, around the edge of the encampment toward the cavern mouth. Andvari follows, then Four Flint, then Ten Soaring. Oderic stands for a moment longer, looking at the wreckage marking the deaths of two of the most powerful sorcerors ever to walk the earth. Smoke and dust drift over him.
“What a mess we’ve made,†he says quietly.
Behind them lies a trail of the dead, marking the path they took through the desert. Great piles heap up where the fighting was worst. Ahead, in the encampment, there are discs of scorched earth, arrayed in formation, and the scattering of ashen remains. A crater, wide as the height of two men and deep as three, smokes languidly. Inside of it, the sand is fused into glass. The dust seems to dampen the stench of sun-beaten decay, but not the smell of burning.
Five men stand at the edge of the basin, saying nothing. They are survivors. They let him handle it, and now he is dead. Four of them admit to themselves that it is better that way. The fifth, grim and impenetrable, would have preferred that he still lived, though only because of the knowledge he had held.
Oderic is the first to speak. “So...what do we do now?â€
“Those wall to the north are ancient and crumbling,†says Four Flint Motion Sun.
“We will doubtless find nothing there.â€
“The most obvious course,†says Ten Soaring White Eagle, “Is to return to the place where we split from the Legion, and follow their tracks.â€
“Or cut straight for Tharsis,†Four Flint says.
“What, across the desert?†Andvari says. The dwarf spits into the sand. “I’m exhausted.â€
“The cavern, there,†Seanchaidh says. “I sense power. I can taste it.â€
The other four eye him. Four Flint becomes very still. “We should return to the Emperor,†Ten Soaring says.
“There is a World Knot as well,†says Seanchaidh.
“Aye?†says Oderic. “You can taste that too?â€
The Warlock’s only response is to stride west, around the edge of the encampment toward the cavern mouth. Andvari follows, then Four Flint, then Ten Soaring. Oderic stands for a moment longer, looking at the wreckage marking the deaths of two of the most powerful sorcerors ever to walk the earth. Smoke and dust drift over him.
“What a mess we’ve made,†he says quietly.
