- Messages
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A village near the border between Maraan and Vel Anir.
"Well, look what we got here, lads." The voice of the guardsman rang out with harsh glee, muffled by his helmet. "The old Lieutenant Farlance himself. Back from the dead, it seems."
The four, armoured silhouttes sidled up through the blowing cloud of dust. Hugo squeezed the hilt of his shortsword, the leather of his glove crackling. One of them held an old man, dagger to his throat.
"Consider our surprise when we found Guard fortifications here," the front guardsman went on. Even through the closed helmet with a narrow slit for the eyes, Hugo recognised his raspy voice - Lourke Melscythe, a veteran of his former regiment. "A foss, sentry tower and palisades. Blimey, the peasantry certainly gets busy in these parts. What possible need could there be for such defences?"
Hugo worked his tongue on the inside of his cheek, choosing his words. There was little point in denying his work.
"The Guard won't protect them. So they have to protect themselves."
"That right? Well, fat lot it did against us." Grating laughter spawned from the four guardsmen, sauntering closer with all the time in the world. The old man was dragged to the front, where Lourke could casually point at him with his blade. "Talkative fellow this one, once you press him. Hiding a traitor deserves a traitor's fate, I say."
"Let him go. I won't run."
"No. You won't." Even through the slit in his helmet, Hugo could see Lourke's dark eyes narrow with calculation. In response, Hugo drew his second and longer blade with his left hand, letting the well-oiled steel purr slowly against its scabbard. Lourke chortled louder, encouraging the others to join in - but Hugo could hear the brittleness in his mockery. "Woah, now! Seems the old dog still carries some fangs! Very well. Let him off." Lourke's comrade kicked the old man in the rear, who stumbled to the side. With a head-tilt, Lourke sized up the tails of Hugo's officer coat, flapping in the wind. "Though you didn't even bother to drop the old uniform, did you? You got daft as a mutt too."
"Not nearly as daft as your decision today," Hugo said, his voice lowering dangerously. "If you make yourselves scarce, Lourke, I'll let you leave."
"Piss off!" Lourke shouted, swiping his gauntleted hand angrily. "As if you stand a chance. It's four against one, you daft bleeder, or did you forget to count? And we've got a Dreadlord to boot. May as well call it quits while you can!" Something malicious entered Lourke's voice, dripping with the envy and shame of the past. "You may have saved my hide once, lieutenant, so I'll give you this mercy: we'll grant you a clean death and spare you from being the Dreadlord's plaything. How's that sound?"
"Give it your best try." Hugo worked to match his nerves to the hard steel of his swords, noting their scattered positions and over-confident stances. "Though I'd do so in a proper formation if I were you."
Three swords and a halberd raised in reply.
"Kill the swine!"
Evaine
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