WARNING: very gruesome
P.S., to all those who hate mush, i apologise, but i just can't help myself.
P.P.S. there's kinda almost two chapters in here cos i felt bad for not writing for so long......year 11 exams...*violent shudder*
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THE HARSH LAND NORTH:
PART 3
George opened his eyes onto blackness. There was nothing: he was living in a world of fuzz and half-coherent thoughts. He could hear fragments from the world around him, but could sense nothing more that told him where he was or who was constantly looming over him and cackling mirthlessly.
He spent what seemed like weeks in this mode of suspended animation, hearing enough to gather that he was not among friends. Slowly - ever so painfully slowly - the blackness lifted and he could see first a dull, lifeless eye, then a scratched and scarred forehead, protruding nose, pockmarked cheeks and a mocking, heartless mouth. His sense of smell returned at the same time and he was rather sorry for it, for the evil creature before him stank something awful!
"So, sleeping beauty, finally decided to join us, eh?" His voice was raspy and steel-edged, and despite the words said there was nothing playful about this man. George suspected that anybody who crossed him would not live to boast of it.
"Thought I might catch up a bit on my beauty sleep. Looks like you could do with some yourself. Try it - it does wonders for your skin." George's easy drawl sounded pleasant and friendly to all who heard it, but the Scanran thief-king knew that George Cooper was not a man to be taken on first impressions. He may be dumb, but he wasn't so stupid as to be taken in by one of the most cunning and ruthless men on the continent.
"Be a good boy and remember who's in the chains. Here's some water if you want it," said he, placing a pitcher just out of George's reach. Chuckling to himself and muttering something along the lines of "This should be fun," the evil-smelling hulk sauntered out of the room. George spat in the general direction of his guard and turned his back.
Three weeks had passed since that first awakening, and even the ever-cheerful George was starting to give up hope. His condition had worsened to such an extent that he could barely see out of one eye and not see anything at all out of the other: his face - his entire body - was one huge wound. For three weeks straight he had been beaten awake, given no food and minimal water, and hung by chains attached to his wrists at night so that he could just touch the floor with his toes. The effect was everything its engineer could have desired: George was driven near madness from the pain, both wrists were broken so even if he did escape he couldn't fight his way out, and his clothes and skin were dyed black from blood.
Footsteps sounded near his head but he couldn't push himself off the floor. He was almost thankful for the boot in his face that lifted him up - he'd been getting cramped lying crumpled as he was. Now he crouched against the wall, rolling his head around till it was in a position where he could see his tormentor.
"How are we this merry morning, me dear? Not too sore I hope, cos I've got some fun lined up for you today! C'mon - upsidasies. There's a good boy." All the while he was hefting George upright and attaching his wrist-shackles to the chain hanging from the roof. George involuntarily shuddered when he saw the quarter-staff being picked up and brought his way.
Blow after blow rained down on him so that he was in so much pain it didn't even register after a time, and although his mind was devoid of most coherent thoughts he wondered how much longer it would be before he died. With a sickening crunch the staff connected with his ribs one too many times and four snapped, piercing his left lung. George didn't notice. The floor was a huge slimy pool from his blood but nothing registered. Strings of red trailed down his face and mattered his hair but he was so consumed by the universe of agony pressing upon him that nothing of this world could imprint upon his mind any longer.
Finally the Scanran thief-king stopped his mindless whacking - when the man you're hitting stops reacting to the blows violence looses its interest. So George was left hanging both mentally and physically, and such he stayed till long into the night.
~~~~~~~~~
In her sleep Alanna walked the roads between life and death, not knowing why she had been called to this unearthly grey wasteland but knowing that something had pulled her there and was pulling still. Mile upon mile she marched quickening her pace with each step as her sense or urgency increased. After what seemed like two hours straight running something appeared on the unchanging horizon and when she reached it she saw it was a man crumpled on the ground right before the gates to the Realms of the Dead, covered in his own gore.
Wrinkling her nose at the thought of touching him she bent and turned him over, using the edge of her tunic to wipe his face and stem the bleeding. She gasped as she revealed layer upon layer of wounds and cuts and bruises, most of which were green with infection and puss. No matter how much she was shocked that one man could be wounded so much and not already be dead, she screamed in horror and denial when she realised just who this man was. When the Champion was over her initial mortification she went over her love's body inch by inch, ascertaining the extent of the damage while tears streamed from her eyes.
Wondering how she was able, she summoned her healing magic, feeling it course through George's veins and breath life back into his body. In this space between the worlds it was normally impossible for a mortal to use any magic and so Alanna concluded that her patron the Mother Goddess smiled on her this night.
Hours passed before either figure moved again. Alanna opened her eyes, groaned, and collapsed on the misty ground having overtaxed herself even with the extra strength the Goddess had given her. George merely rolled over and went to sleep - his first proper sleep for over four weeks.
When Alanna awoke she found two hazel eyes contemplating her and a large callused hand stroking her cheek. They lay there staring at each other for long minutes, both thinking how close they had come to losing the other. They would have stayed that way forever had not they both felt the tug pulling them back into their true bodies, and so embracing one last time they slowly faded from view as the dream world melted around them.
~~~~~~~~~
In his cell once more George stretched out his toes till he could take some measure of weight off his still-sore wrists. Just as his body had been healed in the place between the worlds, so too was he cured of all his wounds in this one. He didn't stay too long resting as he was, knowing full well that the Scanran barbarian would come soon to beat him more. "Well, my friend will just have a little surprise when next he comes, won't he?" For although the Scanran knew that while George's wrists were broken there was no chance of his escaping, even he could not comprehend the skill of the one time Tortallan Rouge.
Silently he walked the halls, his Sight preventing him from walking into enemy hands, his skill taking him to the surface without a hitch. Not even a ghost of a shadow marked the passing of this master of deception and thievery; no guards awoke as he took his belongings from his room at the inn; no royal dogs were disturbed while he scaled walls and traversed palace hallways. Not even the woman who knew him more than anybody in the world, the one who could sense when he was hurt, knew of his presence. Of course she did wake up, and almost stab him with her belt knife, when he hopped into bed with her.
"That's a fine way to greet your husband! I ought to bring you under the King's Justice, wench!"
"Wench!?" She screamed in mock-indignation, "And since when have you ever been one for the law, oh wondrous ex-Thief King?"
George grinned wickedly and replied, "Well take a look at my uniform my Lioness, and you tell me!" He was referring to the fact that as always when he entered the Scanran castle it was in the guise of a captain of the King's Own, and this time was no exception. Suddenly his gaze turned serious "Oh sweetling, you don't know how good it is too see you. But you and the Duke do know the Scanrans mean war, don't you?"
"Of course we do. We knew that even before we set out, but we had to come for appearance's sake. I am glad you've come here though, the talks are going so badly that we'll be gone within the threeday, maybe even sooner."
The Tortallan delegation left two days later by ship. The King's Champion and the Baron of Pirate's Swoop once again went separately by horseback, this time with no mishaps. Once all his commanders and important officials were in Corus Jonathan held a Council of War where battle plans and supply routs were discussed. Two days before Midsummer the Call to Muster was sent out, and a day after the celebrations finished the initial force rode northwards out the city gates. This force was 2000 strong consisting of all able-bodied knights and their squires, all 5 legions (500 men) from the King's Own, 5 legions of the Regular Army, 500 of the Queen's Riders and 100 men from fiefs Trebond and Olau and the surrounding villages. 200 men from each of fiefs Naxen and Golden Lake plus an extra hundred gathered from villages on the way would swell the numbers to 2500, and meet the force from Corus at the foot of the Grimhold Mountains.
Safely ensconced at the foot of the mountains two weeks later the chief commanders were gathered in the King's tent discussing what to do next.
"This war will be like none ever fought before," commented Jon. "There will be no battle lines and no set formations. This will be a battle of wits and small units, and I have a feeling that the terrain will prove to be just as deadly as our enemies."
"Sire, how can we fight in the mountains? There's snow still on top of some of 'em and it's the middle of summer!" The stocky commander of Tortall's Army was no coward, but the prospect of fighting bloodthirsty Scanrans amidst precarious outcrops and unimaginably deep ravines was enough to turn any man's heart.
"Yes, Lord Denwood, this will be arguably the most difficult assignment of your life; the most difficult of anyone's life in this tent. Now we must concentrate for the Scanrans have doubtless been waiting for such an opportunity as this and as such will know far more than us about fighting under these conditions. Sir Raoul, please continue."
*****
Creeping through the underbrush Alanna signalled her unit to halt and got down herself to spy on the group of Scanrans before her. The men were on horseback riding through hidden mountain passes and gullies, headed straight for the main Tortallan camp. Even though these men did have horses Alanna was not afraid of her unit losing them, for the ground was so rough as to only admit a very slow trot at best.
It had been decided that all save five hundred of the Tortallan forces would be broken into groups of 10 to raid and pick off Scanran units, just as the Scanrans hoped to do to the Tortallans. Every unit had at least one person who could call for help magically if needed, and every soldier carried enough supplies to last five days. At the end of every fiveday the unit went back to base camp to re-supply and rest for a day, then travelled back into the hated mountains.
On this particular mission Alanna, accompanied by George, four Queen's Riders and four Regulars, was to follow the Scanran unit and hopefully discover from them the location of their base camp. If that failed she was to face and fight them then try the same on another unit. Scouts and scrying were not much help, for the entire section of the mountains that belonged to Scanra was magically blank and the only way to avoid being lead off a cliff by the protection spells was to whisper the Word that acted as key. This was easier said than done, for as well as being militarily one of the strongest countries on the continent Scanra had a reputation for producing extraordinarily powerful mages that knew war-magic other nations didn't even dream about. The only reason Jonathan's forces were not blown from the mountain range altogether was that with the help of the Dominion Jewel he was able to retain some measure of protection for them. This protection only reached as far as Tortall's boarder with Scanra however, and so only those units with the strongest mages could survive traversing over Scanran soil.
After her signal George and a Rider dropped from their trees and took down two officers while the rest of the unit surrounded the enemy and began to fight. The Scanrans fought fiercely but perished before the superior forces. That was until backup arrived, just as Alanna and her men were finishing the battle. This time the Scanrans had twelve to their eight, although luckily they were not mounted. The unit squared their shoulders and set themselves against the charge, only breaking formation after it had failed. Individuals paired off and fought, George and Alanna sticking together to fight a group of six.
Dust and twigs flew everywhere as screams resounded through the small valley and blood and bodies littered the ground. The Baron took one fighter with a throwing knife while fending off another with his sword; at his back the Champion intermingled lighting-fast sword strikes with crippling shang kicks. Blocking a fierce strike at her head Alanna swept the man's sword up and over and sent it flying into the bushes, following with a deadly slash across his chest. One fighter tried to take off her head with his axe while she was occupied with another swordsman but in movements too fast to see she took out her assailant and loped off the axeman's arm, finishing the step with a flying side kick that sent a third man into the trees. George was rather busy himself, having already disposed of two fighters and trying to finish off the third while also attempting to draw another enemy from some fallen comrades. His wife got the message and came to help, leaving him to thrust his sword between the plates of his foe's armour.
All in all sixteen Scanrans were killed, one captured for questioning. Two Tortallans lay dead and all members of the unit had sustained some injury or other, but nothing that Alanna's healing magic couldn't fix. Hunkering down by their prisoner George was preparing to question the soldier when he turned black at the edges and died. On investigation poison was shown to be the cause of death, a tiny vial of the stuff found attached to a bracelet on his wrist. All the Scanrans seemed to have similar devices, but for what reason none could tell.
"My guess would be they're for situations just like this, so that none can question the soldiers." George's surmise shocked everyone, and an ashen-faced Rider said:
"What!? You mean they purposefully inject themselves with poison - purposely make their bodies turn black and become dust?" Thinking that, the young man turned a bright shade of green and emptied his lunch into the bushes. Alanna grimaced and said to the others, "Jon must know of this and we've completed our assignment. Let's head home."
***
King Jonathan was sitting outside his tent contemplating the stars when the lone female knight in Tortall crept up and sat beside him. "What're you thinking of?" It took a while for her question to sink in, and even longer for him to answer.
"Everything," he sighed. "Just, everything. How the crops are going down south, the troubles of the Bhazir, how we're ever going to finish this war, Thayet..." His voice trailed off and he turned his head aside, but Alanna wasn't deceived.
"Ah. Don't worry Jon - she'll be all right! She's strong and healthy, and Duke Baird's there to care for her. Nothing will-" With a wave of his hand Jon silenced her ramblings.
"She just gave birth to a son. Baird contacted me in the fire." To this news the Lady Knight jumped up with squeals of joy and pranced about the place kissing and hugging and laughing at her friend. Calming down enough to stand still she grabbed him up in a huge bear hug and with tears in her eyes asked, "What will you name him?"
With eyes equally moist her King answered, "Roald."
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well there you go, some more mush for you. i spose i should explain that this is an epic, and as such there's gunna be every type of genre imaginable all mixed up together in it. and also i plan to have it go on for ages and ages, only of course it won't all be on this one war, there's gunna be heaps of side stories and stuff too, and i'm thinking of somehow tying in how Onua and Numair met up with the gang as well........ well, we'll see. and i won't be able to write for ages either cos i got exams *shudder* and heaps o' skool stuff to do, but i'll try. oh, and a little shameless plug, if u go into my profile there'll be a poem called 'The Butterfly' - please read and review, cos i got a writers award for it and i wanna know what u guys think........ok, enough bragging.............uh well i've run outa pointless things to say, so i think i'll just shut it and let you review the damn story already................please! =^__~=