The howling of the wind filled my eardrums, blowing away the whispers which seemed to always follow me. Dimly I heard Traxex's voice call something, but I could not make out what was said. As my mutinous feet stumbled and threatened to cave in to fatigue, I realized how surreal the experience was. A muffled, rational part of me recalled that snow should be white, but in my world, winter covered her dreary domain with a blanket of darkness. The shadowy figures that occasionally revealed themselves through the blizzard, ambling forward like the zombies we had so recently dispatched assured me that my companions were still there, though the voices which whispered to me seemed bodiless and ethereal. The only voice that manifested itself clearly was that of the belligerent wind as it screamed and flailed at the pathetic band which refused to cave in to nature's fury.
For the moment, I thought to myself as I tread through snow, But it is only a matter of time before I simply lay down and die. Accept my demise, as does the stag when it realizes it cannot outrun the wolves. I am amazed at my own endurance, at this hidden reserve of strength which keeps me running from my wolves, but the wind knows better. It's seen this same spectacle thousands of times before. It knows the outcome.
A form knocked into me, snow-covered cloak covering a figure slightly shorter than me. Only a hooded exterior presented itself to me, but I knew who hid beneath that mask of anonymity. I knew the name of the terrified soul, trapped under the garments of the prey, lost in a world of hunters and hunted. Idly, I wondered what thoughts were coursing through her brain. Anger and futile despair, or had she already gone mad like I did?
I stumbled. I hate my father, I realized. It was so obvious, so clear. I could see him, sitting in his castle, laughing as he talked to his hunter friends and lectured to the family about managing his lands, his back to the fireplace. The fireplace. Fire, the brand of the guilty. Fire is for those who sit behind desks and maps, deciding whether that inch of lands is worth a thousand lives or that insignificant hilltop ten thousand noble sacrifices. Fire is for those who have never known fear, who joke about the most sacred thing of all and worship that which means nothing.
The snowfall was lessening, I realized. I could make out the contours of the cliffside, with its jagged edges promising last moments of stark terror and sudden death to those too blinded by the damned snow to realize their doom. Life should not be so unjust. If God loved me, there would be no injustice.
The wind tugged at my cloak and I felt something give way. I spun like a rag doll, too tired by the antics of this jealous force to even be surprised as I saw my scarf fly away and disappear in the darkness. My heart broke at this final torment but I was much too exhausted to give voice to my loss. Instead, I merely stared in the distance, where a part of me was flying, borne on the wings of a thief who had nothing better to do than to steal from the dead. That is what we are, the dead. The ghouls which will make their way up this very ramp in a few minutes have more life than I. I am an automaton, marching aimlessly, too stupid to give up to the inevitable.
As the snow cleared I saw what lay ahead. A split in the path as the mountain offered two possible outcomes to this parody of a chase. One path led upwards, to the other side of the mountain, beyond which lay the frozen tundra and finally the outpost from which soldiers would issue out to retrieve our corpses and send home word of our valiant last stands, while the other veered inwards, to the right and no doubt into one of the caves which dotted the landscape like termite holes a tree. The difference between death in a cave and death on a plain.
I saw the other forms converge around the leader. I followed, my steps halting and reluctant. Not even a stag then, but a deer. I will die like the deer, my corpse trampled on by the hunters who will not even deign to remember me as memorable prey.
"This is it," Traxex gasped, "we have to decide now. This path will lead us to safety, but there is not enough time. The ghouls are too fast."
I looked at the ground. Snowflakes gently drifted down, before coming to rest on the uniform cushion undisturbed by the destruction wrought by wars and politics. Colourless snow, for my entire world was painted in shades of greys and blacks. Maybe it was night, or maybe this bleak corner of hell was always dark like this. I hadn't ever deigned to notice it when I had been the one with my back to the fireplace.
"We have to do it," the voice repeated, "Now or never."
I looked next to me to see the black tabard of a knight. Sven with his secret fur armour underpadding, which kept him warm while at the same time cushioning the chain mail shirt he wore for battle. The plate mail breastplate had been lost in the retreat, but it was not missed. Armour was not needed in war. What was better would be a fast horse, or one of the night elven panthers, to spirit you away from the mess in the first place.
"Look at me," Traxex yelled angrily, "Look at me when I am talking! Do you all want to die?"
I shook my head at the furious dark face which peeked out of its cowl uncertainly. The rest of her body was covered in the same, wet cloak which we all carried, save Sven who had lost his. But even buried as it was underneath a fine layer of snow, the garment was the only difference between life and death out here.
"The ghouls will catch up to us soon. They are much faster than we are, and they can follow our tracks. We cannot fight them, in fact, I doubt we could even face one of them in our current situation. There is only one hope."
Deathly grave, the drow looked around the small circle. Perhaps if we kept on running and she never said what we dreaded to hear, we could escape this terrible fate.
"If we continue running, we will all die at the hand of the ghouls," she intoned, "We must have a sacrifice. Someone to erase our tracks and lead the enemy down the other path. One for five of us."
Again, the wind was the only answer. Her fists squeezed together in fury, the tracker looked around the circle, "There is no choice! We have to do this!"
The wind screamed louder, pressing us to choose quickly. Or perhaps that was also the sound of the ghoul pack, its loud shrieks of delight upon finding the meal so long denied them, the desire to inflict the same death upon others that had been administered to them.
"This is war! This is terrible but it has to happen for the rest of us to live. Someone has to step forward and accept the sacrifice. This is the moment of heroism. This is what a soldier does."
Then why don't you? You're the soldier, the tracker, the veteran. You want us to die, you step forward. What hypocrite asks others to sacrifice for him or her; what hypocrite can stand in front of those who have already lost so much, and then asks them, in a straight face, to give the only thing they have left to them.
I wanted to say it but I didn't dare. It would attract attention to me, and that would mean death. If I remained hidden, just another masked figure at a meeting of the damned, maybe another lamb would be chosen for the slaughterhouse.
Sven spoke up, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We had all been thinking like him, but none had the courage to voice it alone and confront the drow commander. In such a desperate time, it was impossible to predict the actions of a soldier under duress. She could lash out and kill. Worse, she could use words and persuade her accuser to be the hero.
"What about you, Traxex? You're the soldier and the hero. You're the one Lord Valen chose to lead us. Your sacrifice would be the one he would most..."
"I lead you, not die for you," the drow hissed, and there was venom in her voice, "I am the tracker and without me you would all be dead already. I'll lead you out of this mess, but I won't die for you. Not for your hides, not for your gods."
Drow are by nature soulless and demonic, sadistic but cowardly, and their pagan religion is no less than the worshipping of hell-so says Merishtower, an informed lecturer and widely traveled savant. But what I should tell esteemed gentleman Merishtower is that the drow I see before me, with her blood-red eyes and monstrous fangs, could pass for any other soldier faced with the imminent proximity of death. As much as I detest Traxex at this point, and wish upon her the most cruel and torturous ways of execution for refusing to deliver her heathen life to a redeeming cause, I cannot deny that my eyes no doubt reflect the same animal madness and desire to survive.
The silence stretched as even the wind fell silent, hanging over us like the shadow of a vulture, its controlling deity musing over who would lose in this most dangerous game.
Masklike garments came down as frozen faces seized this opportunity to breathe something other than their own, recycled oxygen. As frigid as this dusk was, it was a very different chill which permeated the air.
I scanned the faces of this assortment of would-be survivors. A pale reddish colour, with furrowed trails on her face where tears had run was Lina, sorceress-in-training and my one-time lover. Now, with frozen snot, ghastly eyes, and a frostbitten nose she seemed a far cry from the cheerful coquette of Castle Valen.
In the presence of the lord of the manor, she had worn an azure dress, suggestive yet regal, extravagant without being opulent and underlining natural beauty without replacing it. I had met her for the first time at the dinner table there, and her natural coyness and wit had instantly made us fast friends. She found me charming, my position of power and natural friendship with Lord Valen a supplement to my innocent nature and idealistic views. Later, at night, she showed me the magic she was learning, the small spells of illusion and the greater ones of elemental manipulation and I returned by discussing with her the history of my family and the complex strategy my father and Lord Valen were working together to develop in order to defeat the Scourge.
She had been the envy of the castle during her stay, far eclipsing the few other women in residence in this isolated border outpost. Flirtatious but not promiscuous, and intelligent without attracting attention to herself, she brushed off dozens of suitors daily.
Of course, that had been before the war actually started. Sven had been with me, my closest friend and childhood companion, even though he was socially of a lesser rank than me. The bastard son of a very famous knight, Sven had been practically adopted into my family, and I in many ways considered him a brother. Of course, he had all the temper of tourney knights, and womanized, brawled, and cursed as much as those of the lower classes do. But even for all these faults, he was steadfast in his friendship, honest in his words, and deadly with his lance
Then the war had come and destroyed that paradise. Lord Valen employed a good deal of orcs, both as mercenaries to defend his estate and as labourers to keep up the maintenance of his keep. When the betrayal came, it was as unexpected as it was ludicrous. Never had the lords, with their superior intelligence and expensive educations, considered how much was trusted to the hands of the more unreliable races. It should not have been a surprise that the honorless orcs, who are our natural enemies, would betray us to the Scourge, yet it was.
And we payed the price in full. I remember little of the night, save of seeing a keep on fire and thousands of villagers pouring out into the forest. I was woken in the midst of night by a court retainer, who hurried me into a hidden courtyard, from where I and a small group of refugees would make our escape. A drow tracker, Lord Valen's finest, would lead us to safety, and for protection we would have a half-dozen knights and the magic of Master Arthos and his young apprentice, a pale-faced but grimly smiling Lina.
Any chivalric concept of sword-wielding heroes defeating masses of undead disappeared quickly that night. Master Arthos caught an arrow in the throat, fired by one of our own in panic and ignorant of our identities. A group of orcs found us and the battle was bloody. The fiends, with the flames of the inferno they had just started at their back, looked more like demons than humanoids, and the drug-induced fervor they fought with left no room for honorable swordsmanship. My shield was broken by an axe blow, and I remember falling back, gibbering stupidly as the arm of a knight fell on me, rendering me paralyzed with terror and madness. We managed to defeat them, though I demonstrated my weakness again when I could not bring myself to slit a wounded orc's throat. The demon spit in my face as blood ran down where Sven had punctured his eye.
We broke into the forest a meager party of seven, and lost two more knights when they heard the howling of ghouls and decided they were better off leaving us behind. Regardless of Sven's screams of rage and Traxex's dire curses the two made off in the night with most of our food and supplies.
The last of our party of five was Gondar, who was not a knight but a retainer, a courteous name for a peasant forcibly recruited to serve during war-time. He had worked both as Valen's messenger and had before campaigned against local bandits, though he had no other experience in war. Both naturally taciturn in the presence of his betters and nothing but a peasant, he was easy to forget.
"Well," Traxex's voice interrupted savagely, bringing me back to the decision of life and death which was at hand "In the Underdark, when sacrifices are necessary, it is both economic and advantageous to give the weakest in offering. This is very new for you, but it is, however cold, the pragmatic choice in this affair, and there can be no denying that it is more intelligent to leave those with a greater chance of survival to use that chance than waste it on someone who might die anyways."
"No!" came Lina's strangled cry.
"Lina," Traxex spoke sympathetically, in the same tone of a mother telling a child he had a disease which the priests could not cure, "You are going to die. You are already half dead from the cold and even were we to get you to an outpost right now, your fragile body would not allow you to recover. I have seen your kind before, starved sailors who, when they are finally given fruit and meat to eat, are unable to digest them because their stomachs have shriveled up inside and their mouths forgotten how to swallow."
"You can't murder me out here!" the sorceress' voice carried undercurrents of folly and a threat to resort to desperate violence in defence of her life, "You heartless bitch, who made you God to decide who dies and lives? If anything you're the one who should be left here, along with the rest of your treacherous race!"
The drow was quite unfazed, though her voice lost its maternal tone, "What have you done for us, pampered human child? Even the knights here have drawn their swords in our defence, but you stay behind and bat your eyelashes at the enemy. Out here you are worth nothing, your life forfeit for the simple reason that you are not worth the food we expend to keep you alive. The parlour tricks you know are useless in battle, and you cannot contribute in any other way except to slow us down and feed us to the ghouls. Even Davion has killed an orc, but you have done nothing to deserve your place here. Absolutely nothing. It is our right to reject you, as you are not one of us to begin with. You are only here by the grace of some poor human fool you charmed with your trampish ways but here, it's the survival of the fittest, and I'm afraid that you are not fit to live. No politics or seduction here, I'm afraid, just your worth, and you are worth nothing. So at least, do it with some semblance of grace and you can die a hero instead of a coward. In the end though, I will see you walk down that second passage."
"No! I...I'm not a hero but I do not deserve to be killed like an animal by those monsters. Please, I, I don't care what you say about me but I'm not going to stay behind. I just want to go home," she sobbed.
Traxex looked around impassively, "Then you Davion. You're the knight, and this is what knights do. Your courage will be forever remembered and your sacrifice will live on in the history of your family as your greatest moment."
"Please, Davion," Lina pleaded, "Strong Davion, you're so strong, so brave. You're the only one who can save us, who can take on the ghouls alone."
No, no, father! Lina, I'm not strong and I'm not brave. I'm just a boy, sent here by my father to make me be a knight. But I'm not a knight, I'm just a normal person and I just want to come home and forget all of this like the nightmare it is.
Numbly, the tears of shame trickling down my face I shook my head, closing my eyes as the hateful faces witnessed my disgrace and cowardice.
"Gondar," said Traxex disgustedly, "Are you not willing to do this ultimate deed of sacrifice and good? You are old and weary, and nothing but a peasant, what is an earlier death if not a liberation from the toil you now endure?"
Gondar backed away, his wrinkled hands held up in front of him like a protective charm, "You don't think much of me because I'm a peasant, but I'm a person, just like any of you, and I never wanted to come to this war, but they made me, even though I've got a family, and a job, and a village with friends that love me. I have three sons, and their mother's dead, and I'm the only one they've got to depend on, but you don't care, no, all you care about is your hides, but I'm begging you!"
The figure crashed to its knees, "I'm begging you, think before you does something like send an innocent man to die for something he never asked for, think about the children, who'll starve if I don't get back. I never deserted, even when I could have, because I'm loyal, but this, this is too much to ask."
"Just an ordinary man," Gondar shook his head, "Just want to go home."
A screech filled the air and more followed.. Like a pack of hounds the sounds intensified until it seemed as though a thousand ghouls must be on the other side of the mountain, baying and screaming in eagerness as they closed on their prey.
"There's no time left," said Traxex "We're going to subject this to a vote. Every person has one name, and that name is the person you're voting for to stay behind. I'll start." Very pointedly, Traxex stared ahead, not looking at anyone, "Lina."
There was a soft gasp and Traxex continued, "Davion, your vote."
What? I can't vote on this, this, murder.There's no-one here I'd want to see dead, not after all we've been through together already, not knowing all the sacrifices we've all made.
I looked away, eyes burning in shame, "Gondar."
I did not look back. I did not see Sven's face as he echoed my words, or Lina's as she repeated the deathblow, sobbing.
Impassive, Traxex turned to the Dranei, "You have been chosen. Don't run, or I'll shoot you myself. The only choice left to you is to die like a soldier, standing with your back straight to the wall. Like a hero."
Gondar whisked out his knife and held it up to his throat.
His voice shook, "Oh no, you're not getting me. Take a step closer and I'll slit my own throat I will and then where will you be? No-one to lead off the ghouls, nothing but a dead corpse to slow them down for all of two seconds."
"Why you honorless dog," Traxex hissed, "You will burn in hell for this!"
Gondar stepped backwards away from the drow, "I...I'm not going to stay behind for those monsters. They don't kill you see, they've got them necromancers with them and those raise you. See what I mean, they raise you. And then they play with you, and they've got to vent their frustration on something. It's worse than hell, a thousand times worse, because them necromancers and them liches, they're mighty clever. They do things to you you can't even dream of!"
"Shut up." Traxex whispered.
"...And the ghouls, they'll rip you apart with their claws. Then they start eating your insides and you're not even dead yet, and when you die, they raise you again and..."
"SHUT UP!" Traxex screamed.
No-one moved, and the baying of the ghouls seemed louder than ever.
"You're going to go," Traxex's voice shook, "Because you've been voted and there's no other option. You're going to go because..."
"I'll go."
Four faces swiveled to stare at the speaker. Tiny, miserable, and full of tears on her face, Lina had never seemed so beautiful.
"I'll go," she repeated in her soft voice, and she turned and began to walk off, towards the ghouls.
Don't do it Lina! Don't do it! You don't have to do this!
That's what a knight would have said. That's what I burned to say, and I know Sven did too, because he loved her as well. But we didn't. Because we were selfish and because we were terrified that she would obey us.
"Very well then," for the first time, there was emotion in Traxex's voice as she stared at the small figure of Lina bend down to take a sapling branch, "Go and may the gods watch over you child."
"Gods bless you," answered Gondar's sob of relief.
The drow turned and gestured and we followed as she walked off. No other words were spoken, no calls from Lina, no shout of discovery as a necromancer arrived to notice the lone obstacle to its advance.
We walked for hours. The sound of the ghouls cleared away, but there was no heroic sound of magical battle or even the cry of a monster as it feasted on our beloved Lina. There was only the oppressive wind, and Traxex's voice echoing in my head with her final goodbye to Lina.
I should kill you father, for what you've done to me. Find honor? I think I've lost far more than that in this hellish graveyard.
There was a strangled grunt and the sound of steel penetrating flesh and I whirled around.
Sven stood over the body of Traxex, his spear driven straight through her body. There was a glint of madness in his eyes.
As the drow's head gurgled and fell, limp, to the ground, Sven pulled out his spear. He turned to the others defiantly.
"She killed her! She killed her!" There was something in his voice I had never heard before, "This bitch killed her don't you see! She killed her!"
I turned away from Sven's pleading and looked at Gondar. Cautiously, he nodded back at me. As one, we drew our swords.
"Davion, get back! Davion, I had to kill her! Don't move any closer!"
Spaced wide apart so Sven could only reach one of us, Gondar and I inched forward, our swords poised in front of us threateningly.
"Davion, if you get any closer I'll scream. And the ghouls will find us and we'll all die. I'm serious, I'll..."
I lunged forward right as Sven pivoted, my sword grazing the side of his chainmail. Expertly, I swiveled as I swept past him, stabbing with my sword straight into his back, feeling the little ringlets of steel part before my thrust and then the feeling of sheathing as the sword entered the body and passed through soft flesh and tissue.
A half second later the deed was done and I pulled my sword out. With a soft gasp Sven fell, his head falling forward as red liquid spilled out of his torso.
Still breathing hard, I sidestepped Sven's corpse to see a kneeling Gondar, who did not notice me. As blood trickled out of his mouth I could hear a faint "no, no!" issuing from his lips. Then he coughed violently and his eyes closed, and the front of his body hit the snow with a soft "umph". Sven's spear remained embedded in his side.
Alone, I descended down into the barren tundras, my only companions my hatred for my father and the faces of dead people.
Lina. Traxex. Sven. Gondar.
I hate you father.
Lina. Traxex. Sven. Gondar.
Stumbling, I began wading across the endless landscape of uniform white.
Lina. Traxex. Sven. Gondar.
The tears froze as soon as they fell from my eyes.