† Wednesday, October 1, 2008
"Elan!"
Everything slowed down to a blur. Brother Elan fell immediately, crashing down the rough stone steps like a marionette, although his hands still held the sword now embedded in his chest, pulling the shocked warrior down along with him.
"NO!"
As he lunged forward finally to grab Elan back from death, to grab back the last person who truly cared for him as a person, and not as a tool. Elan's soft grey eyes were set in determination, blazing with the final adrenaline rush that had propelled his two broken legs to take the sword, the death, meant for Jabel. he could feel hands now, rough hands holding him back, dragging him to his feet, away, away from the soft grey eyes, the unbelievably gentle calloused hands, away from the man who was more than his brother, his protector, more than his father.
"Elan!"
A final desperate scream, anything to revive, anything to bring the love back, as Jabel gets pushed further and further back into the press of men, rough hands manually forcing him into the crush and safety, until all he could see was the dark blotches of red on the armour and tunics of his men, and the glints of swords and shields battling furiously against the enemy.
The shock wrestled back control of Jabel's mind, silencing him, numbing the explosion of pain and the life that was coursing through him when Elan fell.
Silence.
"Can you stand sire?!"
Darkness.
"CAN YOU STAND?!"
Suddenly, the bleeding face of one of his men swarmed into sight.
The noise, the smells, the speed returned in one blow, forcing Jabel to his senses. He felt the cool stone behind him, and the trickling of blood along his neck. He felt the warm and slick grip of the parrying sword in his right hand, and his left hand still clutched the remnants of the small wooden shield that had saved him twice but killed Elan.
"Sire! We need you to light the fires!"
A bow and a few arrows were quickly pressed into his hands, forcing the sword and the shield out from his grip.
"Sire!"
All Jabel could see was the hand, dripping with blood, pointing towards the cauldron of oil that he had failed to light, the cauldron that would had saved Elan. Rough hands forced him to his feet again, and suddenly Jabel stood poised, drawing the now lighted arrow back across his cheek, the years of training kicking in, removing everything else besides the target. He felt the familiar twang as the bowstring swept past him. The arrow lighted the cauldron immediately, and the flames roared to life, charging down every trickle of the oil's path, instantly consuming, overwhelming everything in its path. The enemy fell, screaming and swiping at the flames on them, as Jabel's men pressed back, trying to avoid the path of the flames and the flaming enemies now running towards them. A few of his men caught fire nonetheless, the indiscriminating flame consuming and multiplying itself over and over again on men, dead and alive, on stone, on wood, on friend and on foe. Before he could feel the wave of heat hit him, Jabel was pushed into the drain beside him, and the last he felt was the rushing waters pushing him along, under the walls, and into darkness.
snippets . @ 7:23 AM
