Illyria
06-10-2004, 08:32 PM
Soldiers milled about uneasily across the patchwork fields, their weapons dangling unused at their sides. Dozens of them, but nothing unexpected. Their numbers were formidable, yet equal to their enemies. After a final, fleeting glimpse of an armoured knight prancing about agilely, the soldier put down his looking glass. Four, as he had been called upon entering the service – soldiers had no names – pondered relaying the information to his superiors, but decided not to. It was nothing they did not expect, and his Mistress would not enjoy being reminded that the enemy host was equal in size to her own. Four hid no disbeliefs about his own purpose; his was not to reason why, only to follow his orders. And for the moment, his orders were to stay put. So he stood. He shifted about uneasily, and it occurred to him that he was as on edge as the enemies he despised who lay across the field. His hand slid off the hilt of his sword, slick with sweat, and he marched to the core of the troop. He would not disturb the Mistress, but perhaps the Master would like to know.
The rooks eyed him shiftily, and there was distrust mirrored in their eyes as surely as it was in his own eyes. The army distrusted the rooks; as they were mercenaries, scum, though none would mention it to theirs faces, least of all Four. The rooks were scum, but they were good at what they did. Killing. Fiercely loyal to only gold, it was lucky the Master and the Mistress had plenty of that. That was why the rooks held the honoured position of guardsmen to the Master, because of their elite fighting skills. The rook mumbled something unintelligible to Four and let him past, the pike lifting steadily from to allow passage.
In truth, it wasn’t only the rooks who despised the regular soldiers. Everyone looked down on them, from the Master himself, to the equestrian knights, the pious bishops, and the sly rooks. Everyone knew the true purpose of the regular soldiers; they were fodder, meat, pawns. Four still held his sword proudly though, he might be fodder, or a pawn, but he would die fighting for his Master and Mistress. They looked down, and he held his head high.
The Master wore a friendly smile as he saw Four, his personal arms man, though his thoughts were filled with anxiety. Chances were grim for any footman, and less for Four who would be in the thick of the fighting. Four mistook the look for pride as he strode into the base camp though. He paid no heed to those guardsmen bearing their pikes, they were beneath him at this moment. He cleared the distance to the Master in purposeful strides and spoke quickly and officiously. On this day, at this moment, he knew he was important.
“Master, the enemy does nothing. They wait on the other side of the field and make no move to mobilize for an attack. I just made a new observation, this news is less than five minutes old.” He waited then, for a reaction. Perhaps even praise. He was at least semi-certain no one had brought news to the Master recently, and in any case, he was a personal arms man to the Master and Mistress. He had their faith and he was reliable. He smothered a grin and waited.
The Master was amused at his look of duty. The news was old. His enemies had being doing precisely nothing for hours now and it had unnerved him. The Master had originally planned on waiting for his own reinforcements, but it seemed his enemies were doing the same. Despite the equal numbers, if they were waiting for aid, perhaps they were weak. Perhaps it was time. The Master gave Four the message to relay to the rest of the frontier troops, the rest of the pawns, to advance, then waved him away with a casual flip of the wrist. Time to see what the enemy was made of, to test the mettle of allied and opposing forces alike. At least he could count on Four to fight valiantly and die following orders. The thought made him smile.
The Sun was still beating down as Four advanced onto the battlefield. Around him, his fellow pawns spread out in an offensive pattern, ready for any movement on the opposite end of the field. As he took his position, the soldiers across him mirrored his move almost identically, but defensively. Four smiled. First advantage to him and his army – they were on the offensive. He heard the rest of the army mobilizing behind him and waited for the signal that all was ready. When it came at last – a pattern of horse hooves pounding on the ground – he and his fellows darted forth, with the Master, the knights and all others closely behind. Four frowned as he crept forward, though his army had formed exceedingly fast, the enemy was in defensive position by now as well. No holding back now.
“For our Master and Mistress!” he cried to the rows of soldiers and charged forwards. Behind him uproars of cheering broke out and the army broke into a run as a whole, with Four at the head, wishing only to be the first into battle. With a grating sound of metal on metal, his sword cleared the hilt and he leapt into the enemy soldier in front of him. The neatly assembled ranks dissolved almost instantly into chaos. As Four broke into the enemy line, so too did his fellows and the concise columns shattered into dozens of skirmishes and pitched duels.
The patchwork fields were swarming with soldiers and Four searched them frantically for his Master and Mistress. He was to defend them. But he saw no one now, no one but those pawns around him, friendly and hostile. He was meant to defend his Master and Mistress, but he was also meant to push forth. The decision weighed heavily in his mind until he pushed forward with his fellows. He could not see his Masters and he must therefore simply attack. The pain of his quick abandonment bore on his mind, as he tried to rid himself of the guilt as he swept forth with his friends.
Four lost sight of his comrades immediately as his opponent’s sword rushed up to meet him. Shifting his stance, he parried the blow and swept his own blade low. His enemy met this strike as well however; and the next. The fourth blow swung down hard from above though, and Four was rewarded with a grunt as the dead man slumped to the ground with a lengthy gash down his torso. Four’s returning battle cry was lost in the sounds of battle and he pushed forwards. His orders. The Master wished his pawns to do naught but push forwards; they were to be human swords. Thrust on to the end and turn back for nothing. Ahead of him, he saw a pair of his comrades battling a knight futilely. Despite two to one odds, the knight’s battle axe kept the foot soldiers away from him, and his warhorse swung armoured horseshoes wildly. Ahead is forwards. Forwards is the order. Four leapt to his comrades in several long steps and deflected an axe swing that almost certainly would have been fatal. Another soldier helped Four distract the knight, while the third cut low at the horses legs. The beast screamed loudly and flailed backwards, dislodging it’s rider in the process. One of the pawns rushed in and was felled by a swing from the axe. Unhorsed, the knight was still very deadly. Four and his companion circled the wary enemy and then struck as he rose. The axe connected with Four’s blade with ungodly strength and he was thrown backwards onto his back. The knight whirled to his other assailant a fraction of a second too late and the other blade pierced his chest. Fluidly rising to his feet, Four rejoined the fight, and the wounded knight managed to absorb three more thrusts before collapsing to the blood-soaked ground.
Another enemy down, move onwards. Forwards as per orders. The sounds of battle nearby caught his head and he turned. A whirlwind of motion, his Mistress stood alone on the battlefield. Cold-eyed bishops with their ornately religious maces encircled her as well as an unkempt rook, lightning reflexes belying his haggard appearance, and a knight circling cautiously. Her staff swirled in the air as though caught by a wind, somehow managing to turn back all the swinging maces, and deflecting the tactful pike thrusts. She moved swiftly across the ground as though possessed and a bishop fell, his cold-eyes staring, head clove by a staff blow. The others closed in on her, but gained no ground, she truly was the Mistress of War. Four turned his eyes from her and back to his front. Then back to the Mistress. Then back front. His orders were to press onwards, but his Mistress needed assistance, if only the momentary reprieve that his death could give. He stood motionless there for a moment, distress illuminating his face. The knight made his decision for him, his battleaxe catching the Mistress slightly off balance and faltering her defense. Brandishing his sword like a madman, Four leapt towards her. He snaked across the battlefield nimbly as any, weaving through the throngs of soldiers towards his Mistress. He darted past several of his beleaguered comrades with hardly a glance, focused only on his Mistress now. His feet ran of their own accord now, and as he ran, Four dimly thought that even the Master would be proud. He caught sight of the Master in the distance, but hurriedly returned his sight to the Mistress. He was still a good ten metres away when the mace struck her staff. She deflected it neatly, and the next weak thrust from behind. She snarled at the cowardly attack, and swept gracefully back. But the rook now took advantage and his pike entered her side smoothly. Shock appeared on her face, and she whirled to meet him. Staff moving too quickly to follow, she knocked down the offending rook and then the second blow came. The cowardly bishop struck her firmly in the back. His eyes warmed mildly as pleasure came into them and followed with another blow. Gasping, the Mistress fell to the ground, her staff flinging several of her aggressors with it. Four watched it all with horror as he raced to her aid. His pace quickened and he bowled over the nearest bishop. Wildly swinging his sword like an axe, he ran the already wounded rook straight through. He wrenched the bloody sword free from the corpse and a tidal wave of pain swept into his head. His sword fell from twitching fingers and the hand that went to his head came away smeared crimson. The world went dark and he fell across the body of the rook.
Four awoke to sounds of battle not far off. Lifting himself slowly, cautious of the pain, he retrieved his sword and took in the situation. The battle was still raging, though apparently he had been left for dead. The pain was enough of a reminder that he wasn’t. He turned and nearly fell again. The Mistress lay on the ground, her gray eyes sightless in death, staff lying broken and shattered in the mud. They had taken no chances with her, and dealt many blows before being satisfied that she was dead. Rage filled Four’s head and he clenched his sword with white knuckles. He needed to vent his pain. He surveyed the area again, and though there were no enemies ahead of him, there were some to his left. His mouth tightened and he moved reluctantly ahead. Ahead. His orders.
He ran forward then, grief giving him speed, seeking an end to the torment. He was nearly through the enemy territory when he met his first enemy. A bishop, religious mace wavering menacingly, clearly outmatched him. Four didn’t care. He needed an outlet. He looked into the eyes of the Holy man and saw only his Mistress. He bared his teeth, and ran into the fight. His sword met the mace and was turned back. As he had been turned from the Mistress. His swung it viciously again, this time coming from a different direction, but the bishop was as fast as he, and parried this blow. Then the mace took the offensive and began a lightning campaign, raining attacks upon Four’s crumbling defenses. A low slice caught Four’s ankle and he fell to damp earth. Eyes gleaming, the bishop dove forwards and the mace stopped only inches from Four’s face, by his blade. Four grinned. Nimbly jumping to his feet, Four caught the next mace blow too, and resumed the offensive. The bishop’s malevolent gaze grew concerned as he was pressed back and Four laughed loudly to the winds. His sword moved as quicksilver, though he saw only the Mistress in his eyes, saw her staff turning back her opponents. He – she – danced among the mace swings, and blade cutting with a mind of it’s own. His feet never paused, always seeking new balance, always on the attack. He stepped forwards as the mace was lowered, and lunged. The Mistress’ staff punctured the bishop’s rib cage and blood spurted from his mouth in a slow trickle, and the Holy man’s body made no sound as it hit the earth.
Four stood there a moment longer before lifting his sword. Onwards, always onwards, always following orders. Stepping across the body of his slain enemy, he realized he was at the end of the line; the trodden earth gave way to a dense forest. He stared blankly into the trees, his stomach turning to water. What now Master? I can move onwards no more. He willed the thought to his Master, and waited for a response. He didn’t expect one, but he waited anyways. He needed to do something, sounds of battle still were clamourous behind him and he knew he was needed. But his orders were to move forward. Always follow the orders.
The trees glared at him, the thick branches wavered like limbs and leaves shuffled quietly. It was a peaceful sight and it soothed him from the tension he felt. The branches still wavered, now twisting wildly in the trees. The trees parted, bending horribly to give passage through the wood. The air shimmered with unnatural colour and waves of air poured out. Four turned about hesitantly to look behind him, no one was paying any attention to him at all, and less to what was going on about him. They fought on unawares of the changes occurring. Turning back, the trees were now purple, and rooted in thin air, spinning queasily around the area of the opening. The shimmering air drew him in and he was enveloped in the dancing colours and waves of leaves.
Four stood silent waiting for his audience as the Mistress and the Master debated over a map of the region. He could make out no sound, but the Mistress was pointing vigourously over distant parts of the map while the Master shook his head and continually marked a nearer region. They had been at it for over an hour now and Four simply stood and watched as the Mistress finally seemed to win over the argument and triumphantly took the lead in the strategizing. She looked up at Four and smiled, pleased in her victory. She beckoned him over, he started, and quickly walked over.
Four blinked at the images rushing through his head and looked around; he was now at the entrance to the forest, the shimmering air all around him and trees flailing violently yet somehow missing him. The air pushed at him again, the fierce summons shoving him further into the wood.
He stood at the edge of the camp, gusts of wind blowing at the fringes of his tightly held cloak. It was early morning yet and few were awake. Four knew he had to be alert though, it was his duty. He heard someone come up behind him and he turned to bow. The only others awake at this hour were his superiors. He swept straight again from his bow and met the Mistress’ eyes. She seemed to never sleep and today was not the first day he had seen her already awake when he woke. Now, she stood next to him, and they stared out across the plains. After a moment, she nodded briefly at him and strode back to the camp leaving him alone.
Four started and looked around at the dark trees surround him, they were vibrating wildly and he could barely see the entrance where he had come in. Squinting against the wind slicing his face, he turned to go back. As flurry of leaves obscured his view, however; and a gut-wrenching pain took his attention from the path. Hands clutched his stomach and he looked for a wound that didn’t exist. The lack of logic didn’t stop the pain and it tore through him like a sword.
He rode next to the Mistress and Master up to the battlefield and he recognized immediately the region shown on the map. The rooks nearest him showed no emotion at all, and he grimaced, turning back to his superiors. He may only be a footman, but Four took pride in the fact that he had been appointed a bodyguard. The rooks resented it, they were supposed to be the only bodyguards the Master would need, but then, the rooks resented almost everything. Their safety was now in his hands. The Master smiled down at him from atop his horse and the Mistress shot him a knowing glance as she trotted ahead.
Four staggered to his knees and cried out silently. His hands writhed of their own accord about his torso in defense of the pain now shooting out in tendrils through his body. His silent scream was drowned in the mass of trees about him; their noiseless existence seemed to emphasize his only solitude. Standing to his feet resolutely, Four took another step forward, hands locked in a death grip on his stomach. His entrance was now totally lost from view and he could only go forward.
Deflecting the feeble blow, the Mistress missed the next rook’s attack and the pike stabbed viciously into her side. Four’s side. Shock appeared on her face – Four’s face – and she spun skillfully to meet her attacker. As the Mistress – Four – fended him off, the bishop struck her – him – in the back, once, then twice. She – he – fell to ground and
The images of the battle floating around his head, Four found it difficult to determine which fights had been his own and which had been his Mistress’. As the pain in his body grew, he found it harder and harder to remember whom he was. He saw himself standing there weakly, then the Mistress lying there dead on the battlefield. Her death was his fault. His. No one else’s, only his, because he had been too slow.
The battle was nearly done now, the enemy forces had lost much of their hope after a desperate gamble by Four’s Master and Mistress removed the enemy Master from the fight. The demoralized troops fought to the last, but their strength was gone. As the few remaining opponents were lead away, their black armour was stripped and replaced with thick shackles. The Mistress oversaw the procession, personally making sure that none escaped and a smiled dawned on her face.
Four frowned at the last rush of images through his head. He didn’t recognize them, but the battle was the one he had just been fighting in and his Mistress had been there. He was confused, and he realized the pain was momentarily gone. The trees stood motionless about him, their spinning ceased and the vivid colours hanging in the air began to fade. He – she – began to understand. Visions still raced through his – her - mind in mad dances of imagination until they merged. The odd collection of events, past and future, molded into one cohesive vision and Four knew at last the magics at work. He should have known earlier, but he hadn’t, for some reason.
“Of course Mistress, I will do anything.” Four solemnly swore to her in the moments before they marched on the enemy formation. She nodded, as though knowing what his response would be and anointed him with herbs from a pouch she carried. They flashed briefly as they were pressed to his temple, then faded. She straightened and put the pouch away. “My fate is yours, and yours alone. For your faithfulness and loyalty I work this spell. My life is in your hands. May your fortunes shine bright.” Then she was away, to her horse and Four was left with his own thoughts on what he had just done. He was still thinking while he rode next to his Master and Mistress, but it was not until she glanced down at him and smiled that he knew he had made the right decision.
A final convulsion shook Four’s body as he remembered that decision. It seemed he had made it years ago, ages, though it was only in the graying dawn of this day. The pain grew more intense and he knew what had to be done. The magics heated on his face and the images swirled in his head like leaves caught on an autumn breeze. With a quiet rasp he drew his sword from its sheath one last time. A tendril of pain snuck into his mind and mingled with an image of his Mistress. Her face stared at him as he raised the sword and whispered to her. May she remember. He drove the sword home.
The rooks eyed him shiftily, and there was distrust mirrored in their eyes as surely as it was in his own eyes. The army distrusted the rooks; as they were mercenaries, scum, though none would mention it to theirs faces, least of all Four. The rooks were scum, but they were good at what they did. Killing. Fiercely loyal to only gold, it was lucky the Master and the Mistress had plenty of that. That was why the rooks held the honoured position of guardsmen to the Master, because of their elite fighting skills. The rook mumbled something unintelligible to Four and let him past, the pike lifting steadily from to allow passage.
In truth, it wasn’t only the rooks who despised the regular soldiers. Everyone looked down on them, from the Master himself, to the equestrian knights, the pious bishops, and the sly rooks. Everyone knew the true purpose of the regular soldiers; they were fodder, meat, pawns. Four still held his sword proudly though, he might be fodder, or a pawn, but he would die fighting for his Master and Mistress. They looked down, and he held his head high.
The Master wore a friendly smile as he saw Four, his personal arms man, though his thoughts were filled with anxiety. Chances were grim for any footman, and less for Four who would be in the thick of the fighting. Four mistook the look for pride as he strode into the base camp though. He paid no heed to those guardsmen bearing their pikes, they were beneath him at this moment. He cleared the distance to the Master in purposeful strides and spoke quickly and officiously. On this day, at this moment, he knew he was important.
“Master, the enemy does nothing. They wait on the other side of the field and make no move to mobilize for an attack. I just made a new observation, this news is less than five minutes old.” He waited then, for a reaction. Perhaps even praise. He was at least semi-certain no one had brought news to the Master recently, and in any case, he was a personal arms man to the Master and Mistress. He had their faith and he was reliable. He smothered a grin and waited.
The Master was amused at his look of duty. The news was old. His enemies had being doing precisely nothing for hours now and it had unnerved him. The Master had originally planned on waiting for his own reinforcements, but it seemed his enemies were doing the same. Despite the equal numbers, if they were waiting for aid, perhaps they were weak. Perhaps it was time. The Master gave Four the message to relay to the rest of the frontier troops, the rest of the pawns, to advance, then waved him away with a casual flip of the wrist. Time to see what the enemy was made of, to test the mettle of allied and opposing forces alike. At least he could count on Four to fight valiantly and die following orders. The thought made him smile.
The Sun was still beating down as Four advanced onto the battlefield. Around him, his fellow pawns spread out in an offensive pattern, ready for any movement on the opposite end of the field. As he took his position, the soldiers across him mirrored his move almost identically, but defensively. Four smiled. First advantage to him and his army – they were on the offensive. He heard the rest of the army mobilizing behind him and waited for the signal that all was ready. When it came at last – a pattern of horse hooves pounding on the ground – he and his fellows darted forth, with the Master, the knights and all others closely behind. Four frowned as he crept forward, though his army had formed exceedingly fast, the enemy was in defensive position by now as well. No holding back now.
“For our Master and Mistress!” he cried to the rows of soldiers and charged forwards. Behind him uproars of cheering broke out and the army broke into a run as a whole, with Four at the head, wishing only to be the first into battle. With a grating sound of metal on metal, his sword cleared the hilt and he leapt into the enemy soldier in front of him. The neatly assembled ranks dissolved almost instantly into chaos. As Four broke into the enemy line, so too did his fellows and the concise columns shattered into dozens of skirmishes and pitched duels.
The patchwork fields were swarming with soldiers and Four searched them frantically for his Master and Mistress. He was to defend them. But he saw no one now, no one but those pawns around him, friendly and hostile. He was meant to defend his Master and Mistress, but he was also meant to push forth. The decision weighed heavily in his mind until he pushed forward with his fellows. He could not see his Masters and he must therefore simply attack. The pain of his quick abandonment bore on his mind, as he tried to rid himself of the guilt as he swept forth with his friends.
Four lost sight of his comrades immediately as his opponent’s sword rushed up to meet him. Shifting his stance, he parried the blow and swept his own blade low. His enemy met this strike as well however; and the next. The fourth blow swung down hard from above though, and Four was rewarded with a grunt as the dead man slumped to the ground with a lengthy gash down his torso. Four’s returning battle cry was lost in the sounds of battle and he pushed forwards. His orders. The Master wished his pawns to do naught but push forwards; they were to be human swords. Thrust on to the end and turn back for nothing. Ahead of him, he saw a pair of his comrades battling a knight futilely. Despite two to one odds, the knight’s battle axe kept the foot soldiers away from him, and his warhorse swung armoured horseshoes wildly. Ahead is forwards. Forwards is the order. Four leapt to his comrades in several long steps and deflected an axe swing that almost certainly would have been fatal. Another soldier helped Four distract the knight, while the third cut low at the horses legs. The beast screamed loudly and flailed backwards, dislodging it’s rider in the process. One of the pawns rushed in and was felled by a swing from the axe. Unhorsed, the knight was still very deadly. Four and his companion circled the wary enemy and then struck as he rose. The axe connected with Four’s blade with ungodly strength and he was thrown backwards onto his back. The knight whirled to his other assailant a fraction of a second too late and the other blade pierced his chest. Fluidly rising to his feet, Four rejoined the fight, and the wounded knight managed to absorb three more thrusts before collapsing to the blood-soaked ground.
Another enemy down, move onwards. Forwards as per orders. The sounds of battle nearby caught his head and he turned. A whirlwind of motion, his Mistress stood alone on the battlefield. Cold-eyed bishops with their ornately religious maces encircled her as well as an unkempt rook, lightning reflexes belying his haggard appearance, and a knight circling cautiously. Her staff swirled in the air as though caught by a wind, somehow managing to turn back all the swinging maces, and deflecting the tactful pike thrusts. She moved swiftly across the ground as though possessed and a bishop fell, his cold-eyes staring, head clove by a staff blow. The others closed in on her, but gained no ground, she truly was the Mistress of War. Four turned his eyes from her and back to his front. Then back to the Mistress. Then back front. His orders were to press onwards, but his Mistress needed assistance, if only the momentary reprieve that his death could give. He stood motionless there for a moment, distress illuminating his face. The knight made his decision for him, his battleaxe catching the Mistress slightly off balance and faltering her defense. Brandishing his sword like a madman, Four leapt towards her. He snaked across the battlefield nimbly as any, weaving through the throngs of soldiers towards his Mistress. He darted past several of his beleaguered comrades with hardly a glance, focused only on his Mistress now. His feet ran of their own accord now, and as he ran, Four dimly thought that even the Master would be proud. He caught sight of the Master in the distance, but hurriedly returned his sight to the Mistress. He was still a good ten metres away when the mace struck her staff. She deflected it neatly, and the next weak thrust from behind. She snarled at the cowardly attack, and swept gracefully back. But the rook now took advantage and his pike entered her side smoothly. Shock appeared on her face, and she whirled to meet him. Staff moving too quickly to follow, she knocked down the offending rook and then the second blow came. The cowardly bishop struck her firmly in the back. His eyes warmed mildly as pleasure came into them and followed with another blow. Gasping, the Mistress fell to the ground, her staff flinging several of her aggressors with it. Four watched it all with horror as he raced to her aid. His pace quickened and he bowled over the nearest bishop. Wildly swinging his sword like an axe, he ran the already wounded rook straight through. He wrenched the bloody sword free from the corpse and a tidal wave of pain swept into his head. His sword fell from twitching fingers and the hand that went to his head came away smeared crimson. The world went dark and he fell across the body of the rook.
Four awoke to sounds of battle not far off. Lifting himself slowly, cautious of the pain, he retrieved his sword and took in the situation. The battle was still raging, though apparently he had been left for dead. The pain was enough of a reminder that he wasn’t. He turned and nearly fell again. The Mistress lay on the ground, her gray eyes sightless in death, staff lying broken and shattered in the mud. They had taken no chances with her, and dealt many blows before being satisfied that she was dead. Rage filled Four’s head and he clenched his sword with white knuckles. He needed to vent his pain. He surveyed the area again, and though there were no enemies ahead of him, there were some to his left. His mouth tightened and he moved reluctantly ahead. Ahead. His orders.
He ran forward then, grief giving him speed, seeking an end to the torment. He was nearly through the enemy territory when he met his first enemy. A bishop, religious mace wavering menacingly, clearly outmatched him. Four didn’t care. He needed an outlet. He looked into the eyes of the Holy man and saw only his Mistress. He bared his teeth, and ran into the fight. His sword met the mace and was turned back. As he had been turned from the Mistress. His swung it viciously again, this time coming from a different direction, but the bishop was as fast as he, and parried this blow. Then the mace took the offensive and began a lightning campaign, raining attacks upon Four’s crumbling defenses. A low slice caught Four’s ankle and he fell to damp earth. Eyes gleaming, the bishop dove forwards and the mace stopped only inches from Four’s face, by his blade. Four grinned. Nimbly jumping to his feet, Four caught the next mace blow too, and resumed the offensive. The bishop’s malevolent gaze grew concerned as he was pressed back and Four laughed loudly to the winds. His sword moved as quicksilver, though he saw only the Mistress in his eyes, saw her staff turning back her opponents. He – she – danced among the mace swings, and blade cutting with a mind of it’s own. His feet never paused, always seeking new balance, always on the attack. He stepped forwards as the mace was lowered, and lunged. The Mistress’ staff punctured the bishop’s rib cage and blood spurted from his mouth in a slow trickle, and the Holy man’s body made no sound as it hit the earth.
Four stood there a moment longer before lifting his sword. Onwards, always onwards, always following orders. Stepping across the body of his slain enemy, he realized he was at the end of the line; the trodden earth gave way to a dense forest. He stared blankly into the trees, his stomach turning to water. What now Master? I can move onwards no more. He willed the thought to his Master, and waited for a response. He didn’t expect one, but he waited anyways. He needed to do something, sounds of battle still were clamourous behind him and he knew he was needed. But his orders were to move forward. Always follow the orders.
The trees glared at him, the thick branches wavered like limbs and leaves shuffled quietly. It was a peaceful sight and it soothed him from the tension he felt. The branches still wavered, now twisting wildly in the trees. The trees parted, bending horribly to give passage through the wood. The air shimmered with unnatural colour and waves of air poured out. Four turned about hesitantly to look behind him, no one was paying any attention to him at all, and less to what was going on about him. They fought on unawares of the changes occurring. Turning back, the trees were now purple, and rooted in thin air, spinning queasily around the area of the opening. The shimmering air drew him in and he was enveloped in the dancing colours and waves of leaves.
Four stood silent waiting for his audience as the Mistress and the Master debated over a map of the region. He could make out no sound, but the Mistress was pointing vigourously over distant parts of the map while the Master shook his head and continually marked a nearer region. They had been at it for over an hour now and Four simply stood and watched as the Mistress finally seemed to win over the argument and triumphantly took the lead in the strategizing. She looked up at Four and smiled, pleased in her victory. She beckoned him over, he started, and quickly walked over.
Four blinked at the images rushing through his head and looked around; he was now at the entrance to the forest, the shimmering air all around him and trees flailing violently yet somehow missing him. The air pushed at him again, the fierce summons shoving him further into the wood.
He stood at the edge of the camp, gusts of wind blowing at the fringes of his tightly held cloak. It was early morning yet and few were awake. Four knew he had to be alert though, it was his duty. He heard someone come up behind him and he turned to bow. The only others awake at this hour were his superiors. He swept straight again from his bow and met the Mistress’ eyes. She seemed to never sleep and today was not the first day he had seen her already awake when he woke. Now, she stood next to him, and they stared out across the plains. After a moment, she nodded briefly at him and strode back to the camp leaving him alone.
Four started and looked around at the dark trees surround him, they were vibrating wildly and he could barely see the entrance where he had come in. Squinting against the wind slicing his face, he turned to go back. As flurry of leaves obscured his view, however; and a gut-wrenching pain took his attention from the path. Hands clutched his stomach and he looked for a wound that didn’t exist. The lack of logic didn’t stop the pain and it tore through him like a sword.
He rode next to the Mistress and Master up to the battlefield and he recognized immediately the region shown on the map. The rooks nearest him showed no emotion at all, and he grimaced, turning back to his superiors. He may only be a footman, but Four took pride in the fact that he had been appointed a bodyguard. The rooks resented it, they were supposed to be the only bodyguards the Master would need, but then, the rooks resented almost everything. Their safety was now in his hands. The Master smiled down at him from atop his horse and the Mistress shot him a knowing glance as she trotted ahead.
Four staggered to his knees and cried out silently. His hands writhed of their own accord about his torso in defense of the pain now shooting out in tendrils through his body. His silent scream was drowned in the mass of trees about him; their noiseless existence seemed to emphasize his only solitude. Standing to his feet resolutely, Four took another step forward, hands locked in a death grip on his stomach. His entrance was now totally lost from view and he could only go forward.
Deflecting the feeble blow, the Mistress missed the next rook’s attack and the pike stabbed viciously into her side. Four’s side. Shock appeared on her face – Four’s face – and she spun skillfully to meet her attacker. As the Mistress – Four – fended him off, the bishop struck her – him – in the back, once, then twice. She – he – fell to ground and
The images of the battle floating around his head, Four found it difficult to determine which fights had been his own and which had been his Mistress’. As the pain in his body grew, he found it harder and harder to remember whom he was. He saw himself standing there weakly, then the Mistress lying there dead on the battlefield. Her death was his fault. His. No one else’s, only his, because he had been too slow.
The battle was nearly done now, the enemy forces had lost much of their hope after a desperate gamble by Four’s Master and Mistress removed the enemy Master from the fight. The demoralized troops fought to the last, but their strength was gone. As the few remaining opponents were lead away, their black armour was stripped and replaced with thick shackles. The Mistress oversaw the procession, personally making sure that none escaped and a smiled dawned on her face.
Four frowned at the last rush of images through his head. He didn’t recognize them, but the battle was the one he had just been fighting in and his Mistress had been there. He was confused, and he realized the pain was momentarily gone. The trees stood motionless about him, their spinning ceased and the vivid colours hanging in the air began to fade. He – she – began to understand. Visions still raced through his – her - mind in mad dances of imagination until they merged. The odd collection of events, past and future, molded into one cohesive vision and Four knew at last the magics at work. He should have known earlier, but he hadn’t, for some reason.
“Of course Mistress, I will do anything.” Four solemnly swore to her in the moments before they marched on the enemy formation. She nodded, as though knowing what his response would be and anointed him with herbs from a pouch she carried. They flashed briefly as they were pressed to his temple, then faded. She straightened and put the pouch away. “My fate is yours, and yours alone. For your faithfulness and loyalty I work this spell. My life is in your hands. May your fortunes shine bright.” Then she was away, to her horse and Four was left with his own thoughts on what he had just done. He was still thinking while he rode next to his Master and Mistress, but it was not until she glanced down at him and smiled that he knew he had made the right decision.
A final convulsion shook Four’s body as he remembered that decision. It seemed he had made it years ago, ages, though it was only in the graying dawn of this day. The pain grew more intense and he knew what had to be done. The magics heated on his face and the images swirled in his head like leaves caught on an autumn breeze. With a quiet rasp he drew his sword from its sheath one last time. A tendril of pain snuck into his mind and mingled with an image of his Mistress. Her face stared at him as he raised the sword and whispered to her. May she remember. He drove the sword home.