Act I Scene II - The Paths are Paved with Daggers
One... Two... Three... PULL!
Lucas heaved, his muscles straining, as he lifted himself up from the gravel embankment and flung himself onto the plateau. For a long moment he just lay there, catching his breath. He was a third of the way up the mountain and already he was beginning to feel the strain. His lungs ached from breathing the thin, ice-cold mountain air. His hands were scratched and bleeding, cut in a hundred places by scree-gravel as he had desperately scrabbled for purchase on the mounds of fallen stone below. And yet... He was here.
As he stood and took stock of the area, he was surprised to find that the plateau was larger than he imagined it would be. What he thought had been only a ledge to camp on was in fact a higher pass through the mountain range. It curved through a tight glacial ravine before heading off northward, away from his destination. The plateau itself was big enough that it could probably camp a small party, and it certainly looked like it had. The remains of a bonfire lay in a pit dug near the center, and tattered canvas tents flapped from pegs where they had been left behind.
The footsteps in the snow looked fresh.
Despite his misgivings, the golden-haired boy began to set up camp. Whether he was alone here or not, he needed to rest and eat, and that couldn't wait.
It was an hour before he had the first sense that he wasn't alone. As he finished off the last of his freshly-warmed meal of salmon and rice, resting by the crackling embers of a rekindled bonfire, he heard a clatter from above. With a series of loud cracks that echoed across the mountainside, a stone rebounded and fell to earth from where it had been disturbed on the upper cliffside. As his eyes tracked the pebble's path, Lucas could see the last vestige of a shadow pass behind the lip of the precipice.
Someone was watching him.
Slowly he stood, grasping the strap of his longsword's scabbard and lifting it up into his hands. The leather was warm from the fire, and as he cast his eyes anxiously into the darkness he could feel the rough rasp of the twine-bound hilt as it chafed against his aching palm. "Come, show yourself!" He cried into the night, but received no answer.
Until he heard the footsteps coming closer.
A figure stood at the edge of the flames, still shrouded in the night's shadow. Above its head towered a pair of horns, curled upwards like a demon. It growled. A male voice, cut with sardonic mirth, ushered forth from that dark body. "Essharan..." The sibilant sound of the s rolled from a forked tongue, and a scale-gloved hand reached into the firelight holding the tip of a spear. "Yer coin's gonna buy me pleasures in this new place."
Lucas stepped back. The fear that shot through his mind brought a surge of adrenaline to the boy. He should run. He should head down the mountain as fast as he could, and never look back. Cold fingers gripped his heart, and he could feel the pounding of blood in his ears as he stood, frozen still.
Do not walk with fear, boy.
Duniya's voice echoed in his mind.
It will eat you.
The Drakanite shot forward, dancing over the flames with great agility. He wasn't a Mage, but he moved like a warrior. He thrust with the spear so quickly that it was all Lucas could to do ward it off. Wielding the blade in his hands he parried once, the blow from the spear catching the scabbard and wrenching it free. It would have pulled him off-balance if the catch hadn't snapped from the force, freeing the blade and sending both men stumbling back.
Lucas circled the flames, trying to catch a glimpse of the Drakanite as he danced in and out of the firelight, testing the boy's defenses. Shhhring! The harsh cry of metal-on-metal rang out as he parried another blow only barely. The spear jumped and sliced across his trailing arm, causing blood to ooze through the tear in his coat. It felt thin, but the shock of the wound hurt more than the ache of the day's climb. He could die here. This bandit would kill him, and he would never see the stars. He would never see pride on the face of that girl whose eyes gleamed in the firelight.
As the man skirted the glow of the embers, vanishing back into the dark of the night, the jaws closed in. He was in the dragon's mouth, its teeth fast upon his heart. But then he heard another voice. That girl's voice. Proud and glowing with courage for her own achievements. I don't regret doing it. She said, and he saw in his mind's eye her smiling face, and those serpentine eyes peering into his. I just did not want to let my fear control me.
It will eat you.
The Drakanite charged, and Lucas stepped forward.
A gout of blood splattered against the fresh snow. The wide end of the spearhead glinted in the firelight, and then its shine dulled as a thin stream of blood pooled and dripped, beating a slow rhythm against the dry, frozen earth.
The Drakanite looked at the boy with wide eyes, his mouth slack from shock. "You... Didn't..." His spear had nearly driven through the young man, gashing open his side as it passed between his belly and his arm. And now it was caught there, the wooden haft trapped tightly in the crook of his arm while the boy's blade was thrust forward as far as he could reach. By taking the blow he had stepped into the Drakanite's guard, trading a harsh wound for the chance to strike. Now the tip of his longsword pushed out grotesquely from the bandit's back, rammed through the Drakanite's body like a tent-stake driven into soft earth.
From below him the boy grinned, a his eyes alight with a pride that burned hotter than the bonfire's embers. "If you're not willing to commit to something greater to achieve what you desire..." He said, his breath frosting the cold mountain air. "Then you are already lost." Those words that Duniya had spoken to him rang with meaning now. He let go of his blade, and the longspear clattered down as the Drakanite bandit fell dead on the ground. Standing over the corpse of the man, Lucas felt stronger than he ever had before. His blood was hot, and even the frigid night left no chill in his bones.
Tearing strips from the dead man's clothes, he wrapped a bandage for his side and arms, binding the wounds tightly so they wouldn't split open again. He took more to bind wraps for each hand, and rubbed them in warm ashes to heat his hands and rough the cloth for grip.
There was no time to waste.
Tonight, he would reach the pinnacle.
Lucas heaved, his muscles straining, as he lifted himself up from the gravel embankment and flung himself onto the plateau. For a long moment he just lay there, catching his breath. He was a third of the way up the mountain and already he was beginning to feel the strain. His lungs ached from breathing the thin, ice-cold mountain air. His hands were scratched and bleeding, cut in a hundred places by scree-gravel as he had desperately scrabbled for purchase on the mounds of fallen stone below. And yet... He was here.
As he stood and took stock of the area, he was surprised to find that the plateau was larger than he imagined it would be. What he thought had been only a ledge to camp on was in fact a higher pass through the mountain range. It curved through a tight glacial ravine before heading off northward, away from his destination. The plateau itself was big enough that it could probably camp a small party, and it certainly looked like it had. The remains of a bonfire lay in a pit dug near the center, and tattered canvas tents flapped from pegs where they had been left behind.
The footsteps in the snow looked fresh.
Despite his misgivings, the golden-haired boy began to set up camp. Whether he was alone here or not, he needed to rest and eat, and that couldn't wait.
It was an hour before he had the first sense that he wasn't alone. As he finished off the last of his freshly-warmed meal of salmon and rice, resting by the crackling embers of a rekindled bonfire, he heard a clatter from above. With a series of loud cracks that echoed across the mountainside, a stone rebounded and fell to earth from where it had been disturbed on the upper cliffside. As his eyes tracked the pebble's path, Lucas could see the last vestige of a shadow pass behind the lip of the precipice.
Someone was watching him.
Slowly he stood, grasping the strap of his longsword's scabbard and lifting it up into his hands. The leather was warm from the fire, and as he cast his eyes anxiously into the darkness he could feel the rough rasp of the twine-bound hilt as it chafed against his aching palm. "Come, show yourself!" He cried into the night, but received no answer.
Until he heard the footsteps coming closer.
A figure stood at the edge of the flames, still shrouded in the night's shadow. Above its head towered a pair of horns, curled upwards like a demon. It growled. A male voice, cut with sardonic mirth, ushered forth from that dark body. "Essharan..." The sibilant sound of the s rolled from a forked tongue, and a scale-gloved hand reached into the firelight holding the tip of a spear. "Yer coin's gonna buy me pleasures in this new place."
Lucas stepped back. The fear that shot through his mind brought a surge of adrenaline to the boy. He should run. He should head down the mountain as fast as he could, and never look back. Cold fingers gripped his heart, and he could feel the pounding of blood in his ears as he stood, frozen still.
Do not walk with fear, boy.
Duniya's voice echoed in his mind.
It will eat you.
The Drakanite shot forward, dancing over the flames with great agility. He wasn't a Mage, but he moved like a warrior. He thrust with the spear so quickly that it was all Lucas could to do ward it off. Wielding the blade in his hands he parried once, the blow from the spear catching the scabbard and wrenching it free. It would have pulled him off-balance if the catch hadn't snapped from the force, freeing the blade and sending both men stumbling back.
Lucas circled the flames, trying to catch a glimpse of the Drakanite as he danced in and out of the firelight, testing the boy's defenses. Shhhring! The harsh cry of metal-on-metal rang out as he parried another blow only barely. The spear jumped and sliced across his trailing arm, causing blood to ooze through the tear in his coat. It felt thin, but the shock of the wound hurt more than the ache of the day's climb. He could die here. This bandit would kill him, and he would never see the stars. He would never see pride on the face of that girl whose eyes gleamed in the firelight.
As the man skirted the glow of the embers, vanishing back into the dark of the night, the jaws closed in. He was in the dragon's mouth, its teeth fast upon his heart. But then he heard another voice. That girl's voice. Proud and glowing with courage for her own achievements. I don't regret doing it. She said, and he saw in his mind's eye her smiling face, and those serpentine eyes peering into his. I just did not want to let my fear control me.
It will eat you.
The Drakanite charged, and Lucas stepped forward.
A gout of blood splattered against the fresh snow. The wide end of the spearhead glinted in the firelight, and then its shine dulled as a thin stream of blood pooled and dripped, beating a slow rhythm against the dry, frozen earth.
The Drakanite looked at the boy with wide eyes, his mouth slack from shock. "You... Didn't..." His spear had nearly driven through the young man, gashing open his side as it passed between his belly and his arm. And now it was caught there, the wooden haft trapped tightly in the crook of his arm while the boy's blade was thrust forward as far as he could reach. By taking the blow he had stepped into the Drakanite's guard, trading a harsh wound for the chance to strike. Now the tip of his longsword pushed out grotesquely from the bandit's back, rammed through the Drakanite's body like a tent-stake driven into soft earth.
From below him the boy grinned, a his eyes alight with a pride that burned hotter than the bonfire's embers. "If you're not willing to commit to something greater to achieve what you desire..." He said, his breath frosting the cold mountain air. "Then you are already lost." Those words that Duniya had spoken to him rang with meaning now. He let go of his blade, and the longspear clattered down as the Drakanite bandit fell dead on the ground. Standing over the corpse of the man, Lucas felt stronger than he ever had before. His blood was hot, and even the frigid night left no chill in his bones.
Tearing strips from the dead man's clothes, he wrapped a bandage for his side and arms, binding the wounds tightly so they wouldn't split open again. He took more to bind wraps for each hand, and rubbed them in warm ashes to heat his hands and rough the cloth for grip.
There was no time to waste.
Tonight, he would reach the pinnacle.