פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ
Chapter Five: The Blasted Lands
Diest Arcanum studied the papers in his hands from atop his gelding. After scrutinizing a design for a trebuchet, he absent-mindedly reached up to his ear for a quill, but his hand bounced off his helmet. He glanced at his empty hand for a second and looked up from his study. The Band was on the move again, the line of soldiers stretching far ahead and back.
Arcanum's nose curled at a stench he had just noticed and glanced down at the ground. The snow was melting into a brownish-yellow mush that sickened the stomach. Dry hot breezes assaulted the army from the north, bringing smells of decay and rot. While Arcanum did not miss the snow at all, he wasn't looking forward to this new climate as they approached the Blasted Lands.
Arcanum shrugged and glanced back at his designs. He made a mental note for the trebuchet to be used for this fool's errand on Shayol Ghul, and rifled through the papers until he found the sketch for the Aclare. The assault on the Black Bastion didn't seem so insane when reduced to numbers and logistics. Actually, it was still insane, but not as so. He rubbed his chin and adjusted his helmet. It was becoming increasingly hot and stifling, and sweat was already starting to form on his forehead.
"Drov, look at this for a moment." Arcanum called to the engineer riding by his side. Arcanum had taken a liking to the Major, especially to his skilled hand at siege engines. Borsy rode his horse closer and Arcanum showed him the designs. Arcanum pointed at a few points, "If we make a few changes here. And here. And scale this all down..."
Borsy pulled off his helm, wiped his face of sweat, and peered at the papers, "I believe that would work. On paper at least. And it certainly looks like an interesting machine. I'll get the boys working on these. Light, it's hot."
Arcanum handed the papers to Borsy, who went on to study the Storm Lord's new toy. Arcanum glanced at the surrounding and made a grimace. Trees and foliage had begun to appear. But he'd rather they had not. The trees seemed to be rotting while they grew, bloated and bleeding black liquids. Cancerous red and green growth splattered the leaves, and the overripe fruits looked as if they were going to explode at any moment.
"You know the latest on the war situation?" Arcanum asked.
"Yeah, the Corp handles most of the pigeons, so we're generally updated, though the last one we received was about two weeks ago. Jaramide partisans still running their hit-strikes with some effect. They're reporting heavy spawn activities there, but the Safari Phalanxes should handle any move southwards. Nonoc Bashere is trying to rebuild the Immortals. And Aridhol, well, its Containment still holds." Borsy ticked off his fingers, "We aren't exactly winning, but we aren't exactly losing either."
"Well, at least I'm reassured that we're not alone." Arcanum glanced at a bloated bush at the side of the room, and felt a morbid fascination to actually touch one. Smartly, Arcanum restrained that grotesque urge. But, a soldier a few paces in front of the general didn't seem to have as much sense, and actually reached out curiously towards a red-splotched shrub.
With a shriek the soldier leaped back, thrashing his arm.
"Get it off! Get IT OFF!" He slammed into another soldier and fell to the ground, still shrieking. Arcanum watched in growing horror as the soldier's hands began to blacken and dissolve before his eyes, slowly inching up his arms. The march came to a grinding halt.
Arcanum leaped off his horse and sprinted towards the soldier, but a ring of men was forming around the thrashing soldier. Everyone watched in stunned shock, but none knew what to do. Arcanum pushed his way through, grabbing a battleaxe from a soldier. He raised the axe and slammed it down upon the shrieking soldier's upper arm with a sickening noise.
The decapitated limb twitched and spasmed and continued to dissolve. Arcanum could now catch the sight of a tiny bloated insect attached to a blackened finger. A flash of fire hit the arm, as Arcanum shied away from the flaring heat and light. A dark-haired woman rushed to the downed man's side, and placed her hands upon his shuddering chest. As Arcanum watched on, the man's stump closed to smooth skin and his trembling slowly subsided.
She slowly stood up, her emerald eyes glancing down at the ashes by her feet. She straightened her yellow shawl, and coolly announced, "A Stick. This man is lucky to be alive. Their bite digests its prey from within while they still live. He will be fine for now. Perhaps you all should take a lesson. Touch nothing. No trees. No leaves. Nothing. In fact, just stay away from any of the foliage, as if it was not common sense. There are worse things than the stick. A butcher bug spins a thread between trees so thin that the naked eye cannot detect it, and sharper than a steel blade. When a creature such as a foolish man walks into it, they decapitate themselves. That is, if the tree itself doesn't kill him first."
Airene Sedai gave another firm look to the soldiers once more and glided away. A shadow detached from the crowd, trailing after her, his shimmering Warder cloak floating behind him, changing colors to match his surrounding.
Two soldiers kneeled besides their fallen comrade and helped pull him to his feet. The man groaned, and shook his head. He glanced at the stump of his right arm and shuddered, but shakily got back to his feet.
Arcanum glanced at the bloodied axe in his hand and tossed it to the ground. He gave a distasteful grimace, and rubbed at the blood stains on his shirt cuffs. It was his favorite shirt too. The soldiers gave a wary look at the tree that the unfortunate man had touched, and returned to their formations.
As Arcanum remounted, the Band began to creep forth again, giving a wide berth to any flora. When his horse passed the remains of the arm, Arcanum glanced down at the black ashes and looked up at the looming black daggerlike mountain in the distance.
"What are we getting into?" He muttered. Despite the dank heat, he shivered. The wind kicked up the ashes, scattering them.
פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ