Sword of Sacrifice 2 : The Swords of Our Sons

Annette was shocked they let the ranger stay, even more shocked when a little gnome forced her and the ranger together, and simply stunned when the jester came over and made them introduce themselves.

Carabelle was the ranger's name, and was the great granddaughter of a forgotten hero. He apparently went on a quest with Tinie, the greatest gnome to ever live, and Minx insisted on telling his entire history of the gnome.

"Minx!", Sonya shouted across the camp. "Come help me with this!"

The little gnome wandered off, but Pick remained. Out of a fold in his coat he produced a bottle of booze.

"To health.", Pick toasted as he poured all three a glass.

"To think that I would ever drink with an elf as company." Carabelle scoffed. "I might as well die."

"I could do you that favor." Annette said, baring her teeth.

"Please," Carabelle said, rolling her eyes. "If it wasn't for that healer, you wouldn't be able to lift a finger."

"You ambushed me, human." Annette spat the word. "If it were a fair fight, I doubt you would be alive still."

The jester named Pick gave the two girls a nervous smile. "I'm needed elsewhere!" He stuttered and in a flash of red and black the jester made his escape. Carabelle's hawk flew after him.

"Harsh words for a little elf. However, when the sun rises, I'll take your challenge to prove to you who the real superior is."

"I'll drink to that!" Annette growled, clutching her glass.

"Way ahead of you elf," Carabelle said, chugging her booze.

The effect was immediate. Whether the Jester spiked her drink, or Annette simply couldn't hold her liquor, the latter seemed true. Carabelle was affected too.

"I'll....kick your ass right...*hic*....now.", Annette slurred as she stood up.

"Bring it...*hic* bitch!"", Carabelle said, quick her feet and fast to her fall. Annette tried to dodge, but was hit by a falling Carabelle.

"You're warm....", Annette said, laying underneath the other girl.

Carabelle giggled.
"You know ... what the really funny thingy is? ...*hic*... My great great grandmother...*hic*... was an elf."

"Soooo..." Carabelle slurred her words. "That makes us kinda the same ...*hic*... right?"

Annette wrapped her arms around Carabelle. "I guess we have somethinnng in common..."

Carabelle brushed Annette's hair.
"You're warm too..."

"Your hair is so soft....", Carabelle said, running her fingers through Anne's hair.

"So are...*hic*...your hands...", Annette replied, grabbing and holding Cara's hand to her cheek. Carabelle made the first move, pulling Anne a little closer, but Annette kissed first.

They lay there for awhile, one on top of the other, lip locked, unaware and unconcerned if anyone was watching.

Pick looked at the bottle of booze, then at the group.

"What the hell was in this bottle?", Pick asked.

Jegd half laughed and half scoffed. "It sure is hard to get people's attention nowadays," he muttered, cracking his knuckles.

"I agree." Sandy agreed in an agreeing manner. "Kill one of them. Just not the jester."

In half an instant, Jegd's palm was raised and glowing. An insane smile overtook his face.

"Now hold on a minute!", Pick said, stepping in front of the man with the glowing palm. "They're drunk, and....I want to see where this goes."

"Seconded!", Minx shouted across the camp.

Jegd fired, in an explosion of smiting light.

But at the last possible instant, Sandy quickly raised his hand, slapping Jegd's arm upward. God's Killing Lance harmlessly boomed through the air, hitting nothing but birds and clouds, both of which exploded.

"I changed my mind." Sandy decided, "Jester might be the heroic sort. We'll need hostages to ensure that he cooperates."

Jegd sighed from behind, and muttered something incomprehensible.

Leaning forward, Sandy squinted at the Jester for a few seconds, then said, "At the castle. Were you familiar with the librarian, a man by the name of Dagmar Urhilles? He also happened too be the historian. You knew him, yes?"

"Knew him well.", Pick replied, trying not to look up. "I preferred the company of the court wizard, but the librarian was rather good with stories."

Pick though for a moment. "What about him?"

This response pleased Sandy. "Where is Dagmar now?" He asked, "Do you know? Where would he be most liable to head?"

Pick couldn't bring himself to say what he truly thought, 'He's likely dead'. Pick barely survived as it was, being thrown out of an upper story floor.

"I think I heard him say he had family somewhere near here. He complained it was a full day's ride from the castle.", Pick said with confidence. "Which towns are a day away by horseback?"

Jegd yanked an old, grimy map from his satchel, and knelt by Sandy, unfolding the paper with much haste. Sandy quietly inspected it for a few minutes before declaring, "Hambark to the northeast, Zeutum to the northwest, and Southgard to the south, though we would have to ride hard to get to that one in less than a day."

"He's not dead." Jegd muttered, "Too much depends on his survival."

Sandy spat and muttered back, "I only wish the knight had been more... Helpful."

"Hambark sounds familiar, but I know its Zeutum.", Pick replied. "Should we wait for sunrise or leave at dawn?"

"Nay. We leave at once." Sandy replied, "We have little time to spare."

"And we are being followed."

Cara fell asleep in Annette's arms, and Anne soon followed. They lay, one on top of the other, fast asleep in their drunken state. The gnome thought it would be nice to lay a blanket over them for warmth, and other than that they were left alone.

The camp was astir. People were running left and right, collecting their belongings and stuffing them into oversized cloth wrappings. Pick, having nothing to carry, wandered around camp watching this all happen. Then he had an idea.

Pick poured a nice, cold bucket of spring water on the two girls, with the intent to shock them awake. What happened next was a series of quick movements and the jester ended up with an arrow in his foot.

"Hold still.", Minx said, touching the tip of the arrow. Pain shot through Pick's leg, burning as it went.

Sandy growled and shouted, "We're too late!" Instantly, Jegd fell upon the encroaching masses, still hidden by the dank forest. Explosion after explosion erupted from his palm, kicking earth from earth, igniting foliage, and welding armor to flesh

There were screams, but they didn't sound for long.

For a moment, Jegd paused his unholy assault. "Anything human in there is most assuredly dead." He mumbled, clenching his fist at the blasted segment of wilderness.

"Let's go!" Sandy hissed, "Before anything that isn't reclaims its wits!"

And like that, they were off. Sandy seized the jester by the collar and dragged him along at high speed, making for the northwest at all possible haste.

And then it happened. More arrows came screeching from behind, confirming Sandy's fears. Wheeling around, he managed to catch one in his fist, but Jegd wasn't so lucky. The boy's eyes bulged for a moment, then clouded as he fell forward.

There was a lone shaft protruding from his back. It had pierced his heart.

Sandy honestly grieved for half a moment, before remembering the mission. Jegd had known his fate from the beginning.

"C'mon!" he shouted at the jester he still clutched, and began running again, leaving the two girls and the midget to their fates as the arrows hissed all around.

And then they crashed through the treeline, and into a clearing.

They were met with the sight of gleaming, enameled mail. The wearers were brandishing all manner of weapons. "You are defeated." One of them said, stepping from the crowd.

Indeed, they were.

Sandy scowled and threw his sword to the ground.

Annette shook off her drunkenness, fell to the ground, got back up and was steadied by the Jester. He gripped her shoulder tightly, perhaps to ignore the arrow in his foot.

"Shoot.", he said as a strange feeling surged down her arm. He handed Anne her bow and arrows, and she shot the nearest soldier down.

"Flare!", Anne shouted, her arrow catching fire as it flew. She barely had time to say it, as Pick was stacking haste on her. The arrow tore through multiple enemies before shattered on armor.

"What sorcery...", Minx whispered, noting that Anne only had a dozen arrows left.

"Any resistance," a velvet voice purred, "will only get you killed."

Blinding illumination. The very essence of lightning.

Excruciating pain. The reality of defeat.

In a gutted slough, Sandy and the rest were forced to the ground, unable to move. It was then that he noticed the large glowing lines all around him.

"A circle... No, a decagram. We're caught in a Lancing Field." He thought, quickly despairing of all hope. He struggled against the impossible force that kept him wrenched to the ground, but was stopped by a surge of electricity that very nearly blew his heart to pieces.

"Like I said," the velvet voice continued, "You are defeated."

Using the last of his strength, Sandy jerked his head upward to find the source of the voice.

"So familiar..." He thought as he fought desperately against an old magic... As old as the world itself.

Inevitably, the Lancing Field proved to be stronger than both his willpower and his neck. Everything went black as his face violently slapped into the earth.

Laughter...

Always laughing.

Pick fell straight down for no particular reason. The arrow in his foot snapped in two, pooling blood around him.

Annette was thrown to the ground, Carabelle fell on top of her. She felt a strange feeling rush through her, a mixture of hate and drunkeness, and mixed feelings about the kiss earlier.

Her bow lay just out of reach, finger lengths away, but she was too tired to struggle against whatever bound her down.

Chapter Two of Two

"The difference between a wise man and a fool is that the wise man realizes he is a fool."

- Kuga Ban'Hochii

Chapter Two = Waking Down

Sandy snapped into consciousness in a solid white room. Inexplicably, he was chained to the floor by an invisible force. "Where are we...?" he mumbled to himself, cursing his stupidity. Why did he have to be so slow? Why did Jegd have to die? Fuck...

"Good. You're awake." A velvet voice purred. Sandy winced. Where had he heard that voice before?

With the telltale snapping of fingers, the invisible weight lifted from Cassandre's chest, and he was on his feet in a flash. He looked up just in time to see a grey line flying through the air at him. Reaching out just in time to snath it, he realized that it was his sword.

"Draw it." The voice said from behind. Sandy spun around, his blade flashing free of its scabbard.

Sandy's jaw dropped. He almost didn't notice Poliloko and the others on the ground nearby, beginning to stir.

"Welcome to the Room of Waking." Barthathos purred, not looking a day over thirty.

He drew his sword. That famous old blade that moved worlds.

"As its name suggests, I'm here to wake you."

"What do you mean?!" Sandy shouted, "How are you still alive?!"

And just like that, Barthathos lept at them without answering, his blade poised in position to deliver cruel death. The battle for their souls had begun.

Pick drew his ghost blade out of the air, and held it in his hands, looking at the figure of myth and terror.

"I'm not a fighter, I never was, and I'm done with it.", Pick said, throwing the sword to the ground. Barthathos stopped for a moment to look at it, but only for a moment.

Then the sword stirred, lifted up, and thrust itself into Barthathos. The apparition that threw the sword faded away, and Pick appeared at the sword's hilt.