A Deadly Dichotomy, Part II

by **Erick Barnett** on May 6th, 2016, 5:36 pm

42nd of Spring, 516AV
The Bronze Woods, somewhere North-East of Stormhold
Shortly after midnight

“You know what the most unforgivable sin is, Erick?”

The young squire was jogging at a brisk pace, the stygian forest passing by him silently. It was an oddly still and quiet night, made more so by the frenetic adrenaline-fueled haze his brain already was in. The soft voices of the nighttime insects playing their steady tune all around him seemed almost sardonic in contrast.

“It’s stupidity.” The older squire’s voice echoed mockingly between the trees. Erick knew that in all likelihood he was marching complacently toward his own grave. There was no reason for Lysander to keep calling back to him, mockingly, other than wanting to be followed - because if he had slunk away silently into the night, Erick would have had no chance in following him at all. They were both adorned in full plate, but the younger Erick carried shield, bow, and an entire backpack of provisions as well. The older Lysander had no such burden, was an experienced woodsman already, and seemed able to stay just out of reach. No more than a shadow, occasionally glancing at Erick from behind a distant tree only to fade away into the inky backdrop of the Bronze Woods, his taunting laughter spurring Erick on, even as his limbs seemed to grow heavier and heavier under the weight of the gear that clung to him.

“I mean, c’mon. Who actually tells someone they’re going to report them? If you hadn’t said that you might’ve lived to actually do it.”

Since this little game of Lysander’s had started, Erick hadn’t responded to his taunting. He wasn’t about to give the bastard the satisfaction. Besides, he was having enough trouble breathing as it was, jogging along the uneven forest floor and carrying enough weight for two men his size.

Erick had taken a moment to string his bow earlier in the chase. He wasn’t a very good shot and he knew it, but he was certain he had seen Lysander in the distance once or twice. He needed to stop him before they caught up with the child, whom hopefully wasn’t bleeding, and as such wouldn’t be as easy to track as the bandit had been earlier. Erick’s eyes were darting to and fro each time a nearby branched moved slightly with the wind, or he heard the sound of nearby leaves or twigs on the forest floor being disturbed, making his heart drop down into his stomach.

“You seem a little jumpy, friend.” This time, the voice made Erick pause. He can see me right now, then? He silently knocked an arrow, peering into the darkness that fell on him from all directions. “Ooh, where could he be? Which way is the voice coming from?”

It was incredibly difficult to try and keep his footfalls soft enough to make no noise. Erick was not a fleet-footed man, and the heavy steel boots that encased both his feet didn’t help matters either. He winced as almost each and every step forward elicited a soft crackle or crunch from the ground beneath him. Still he tried his best, trying to lower his feet as gently as possible , heading in the direction of the voice with his senses on alert for the even the slightest indication of movement.

by **Erick Barnett** on May 6th, 2016, 5:38 pm

“You see, really, that’s the primary difference between us. Not even intelligence, I guess. Wisdom!” The voice seemed louder, indicating that the distance between them was closing. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on Erick’s part. “You don’t get how the world works. You probably were born and raised behind the cushy walls of that little fortress the knights have built themselves, weren’t you? No wonder you’re an optimist. You just don’t know any better.”

Erick pushed himself against the trunk of a tree, very cautiously leaning around the side of it to peek toward the voice. He could see the black outline of a figure, moving at a brisk walk, about fifteen feet ahead of him. The tree canopy was just thin enough to allow in lean tendrils of Leth’s pillowy silver light, and the slightest shimmer of Lysander’s armor caught Erick’s eye, like a diamond poking out of the mud.

“I mean, I don’t want to make any assumptions about your character, right? Given that you talk about as much as a dead housecat. But you are an optimist, right?” Erick knelt by the base of the tree - he knew if nothing else, kneeling would help reduce the trembling in his limbs as he lifted the bow, beginning to pull back on the fletching, taking a deep breath and holding it. “That’s what that mark on your hand means, doesn’t it? That you’re one of those starry-eyed little children who thinks hoping hard enough will make it so?”

He brought the nock back till it nearly was at his chin and then released. The bowstring let out a flat twang as the arrow vanished into the shadow. A moment later, he heard laughter, and saw the distant figure break into a run. “Ha! I don’t think so, kid! Who taught you to shoot, anyway, a blind lady? That wasn’t even close!”

Cursing under his breath Erick got back to a standing position and broke into a run himself. “That’s it, c’mon, you can catch me!” Lysander’s voice seemed to dance between the trees, assaulting Erick’s ears from all directions. “You almost have me! C’mon, you just need to believe hard enough! Hahaha!”

Erick pushed against his flesh harder than he’d ever done before. It burned across his body, like sharpened claws raking across the inside of his skin, along every muscle, particularly in his thighs. But still he pursued. Because despite the pain, the only thought in his mind was of Blaine - and all the things that Lysander could do to the child if he caught him first. Yet Erick could feel himself slowing against his will, the older squire’s voice beginning to grow distant again. “Uh oh! I’m getting away! Better hurry!”

The sweat stung his eyes, the air rushing into and out of his body in labored gasps. “C’mon, you can’t really be this slow, can you? What have they been training you to do all these years, huh?” Erick blocked his voice out. He tried to block the pain out; yet nothing, not even the image of the child fresh in his mind’s eye, could completely shield him from it.

“Oooh, I get it. You want me to off the kid, don’t you?” Lysander’s cold, empty laughter, distant and faint, taunted him yet again. “Then you can just focus on killing me, and the necklace is yours! Ha, one smart cookie, this one.” Images of Blaine’s broken, bloody faced flashed before his eyes. No! I won’t let you! But his pace was dwindling. He grunted and growled like a feral animal, hoping that he could force his legs to keep moving with sheer willpower.

by **Erick Barnett** on May 6th, 2016, 5:39 pm

But it wasn’t enough. His feet were dragging now, his legs too fatigued to lift them all the way. His toes caught on an exposed cluster of roots in the forest floor, and suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet him.

As his armored frame crashed into the dirt and underbrush, he let out a sharp cry, laying there motionless as the world spun around him and static flashed before his eyes. He couldn’t even feel his legs anymore. No amount of hours spent in a sparring ring wearing this metallic deathtrap could have prepared him for this. It felt like the sweat and grime coating his flesh beneath the steel skin had soaked into the padding he wore between, and more than doubled its weight. He reached up very slowly, his aching arms trembling from the effort as he started to undo the straps and fasteners that kept the outer layers of platemail attached to the chainmail he wore beneath. As the cold night air at last began to make contact with his flesh Erick gasped. The cool breeze was in such contrast to the oppressive, sweltering heat that had been building inside the armor that it felt like he had just dove into an icy cold lake. And it was the best thing Erick had ever felt.

He packed the pieces of armor away into his backpack after he had sat back up. Bringing his waterskin up to his lips, he gave it a squeeze, groaning in frustration as only the tiniest splash fell onto his lips and into his mouth, inadequate to completely parch the dryness at the back of his throat. It was just enough to make him fully aware of how thirsty he was.

Swearing under his breath he stuffed the waterskin back into his pack, standing up before picking it up with a grunt and hoisting it onto his back. Truth was that the platemail by itself didn’t really add that much weight to his pack, but his arms felt dead already, and even picking his bow back up felt like a colossal task. At least now he could feel the breeze on his skin, and he could breath evenly again, though each breath felt like it was feeding embers at the bottom of his lungs. He closed his eyes, bracing himself against the trunk of a nearby tree. The world was turning and reeling and it felt as if his brain was doing somersaults inside of his skull. He breathed slower and deeply, trying to focus on something else to level out his thoughts. Why do I always get myself into these situations?

His eyes shot open. The forest was still, now. He took an uneasy step forward, still bracing himself on the tree. “Lysander…” His voice was almost a wheeze. Erick cleared his throat, straightening his back out. “Lysander!” His voice bellowed out this time, a sharp spike against the muted background of the tranquil forest. “I know you can hear me!”

There was no reply at first. Then, in an amused tone: “I was worried you passed out there for a minute. Would’ve made this whole thing too easy.”

Too easy. Yeah, right. Like any part of this had been easy. He refused to accept that Lysander himself wasn’t in a similar state of fatigue. Even if he was better conditioned for the armor, they had been at this for a while now. Not always running or even jogging, but Lysander hadn’t been carrying any supplies. If Erick had gone through all his water already, he could only imagine how thirsty Lysander would be feeling right now.

by **Erick Barnett** on May 6th, 2016, 5:41 pm

“There’s no reason for this to go any further, Lysander. Please. We’re both going to die out here if you keep this up.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I only intend on digging two graves tonight.”

Erick scowled. He felt as if he might as well have been trying to reason with a Yukmen. Despite this, he pressed on anyways, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. “Please, just listen to me. I don’t know where you come from, what you’ve done with your life up till this point… But it doesn’t need to be that way anymore. You’re a Squire of the Syliran Order now. A part of something much bigger than yourself.”

“I didn’t grow up here. I grew up in Ravok. I don’t know if you’ve ever been, but it is a city of lies. A place so corrupt that you can taste it in the air itself. And I thought that was the way the whole world was, that everyone was only in it for themselves, and if I was smart, that’d be how I’d live my life, as well. Then I was rescued from the bonds of slavery by a wing of Knights. They didn’t ask anything of me in return. They saw me safely to Stormhold. And there, I learned that it didn’t need to be that way. We have a choice, Lysander, each and every one of us, between the light and the darkness.” Erick’s voice had begun to crack, owing mostly to how dry his throat felt. He swallowed, wincing as he immediately regretted doing so. Feel’s like I’m making a petching pearl in the back of my throat…

“Really?” Lysander’s voice had lost it’s mocking edge. He sounded genuinely surprised. “Even after I tried to murder the kid, you still think I’m worth trying to save? What if there is no light inside of me to choose from, boy? What if all that’s left in my soul is inky black?”

“No.” Erick shook his head. “ I can’t believe that. I won’t. We’re all born with the capacity for great good and great evil inside of us. You just have to make a decision. Put aside everything you’ve done and seen up till this point and decide to be better than all of that. The world can only corrupt you if you let it. Everyone deserves a chance to change, Lysander, even if most people don’t get it. But you’re getting it, right here, right now.” He clenched his jaw in frustration. His voice was trembling, despite his best efforts to sound steely and commanding. He stared out into the dark woods, waiting for a reply. After a chime or two when none came, he continued. “You’ve come a to crossroads, Lysander. Please. Nobody else needs to die tonight.”

“Poor, stupid kid.” Erick at first felt his heart beginning to sink, as he assumed Lysander was now talking to Blaine - doing so loudly enough to make sure Erick heard. However, as the older squire continued he quickly realized that was not the case: [b]“How do you think a city like Ravok, a city of at least five thousand people, continues to exist in the state it does, eh? C’mon, think about it. Are each of those people given this oh so important choice every single day, hm? Wouldn’t that mean they keep on pickin’ bad over and over, and over again?”

by **Erick Barnett** on May 6th, 2016, 5:43 pm

Erick opened his mouth to retort, but he couldn’t find the words.

“And how many times do they gotta pick bad before good stops even bein’ a real choice anymore? Stop deluding yourself, boy. You aren’t like the rest of the Knights. And you can’t just choose to be like them, either. Men like you and I don’t belong within the borders of peaceful society.”

At this, the young squire snapped. “Okay then, why bother, huh?! Why did you come all the way here from whatever uncivilized corner of Mizahar you call home to join us if you think us nothing but a band of naive fools?”

“Heh, that’s a fair question. I guess I just figured it was time to brush up on my acting skills.”

Erick scowled. “So, is that your final answer?”

“Hmm. I dunno! Let’s ask Blaine, eh?”

Paralyzing, icy fingers gripped at Erick’s heart as he heard the child's voice in the distance; a scream that pierced past his ears and his mind, he felt it in his very soul, like a knife plunged deep into his heart from the inside. Tears were already beginning to sting his eyes as he took off at a sprint, moving quicker than he had done all night. “Lysander! Don’t do it!”

Another wailing scream, like a garbled plea for help, only to be suddenly cut off. His legs pumped beneath him like pistons, his chainmail shirt rattling like a runaway keychain. He couldn’t think. He could barely breath. That scream echoed in Erick’s ears even as the forest was almost totally mute around him. He knew that sound all too well, the last, terrified shriek of an innocent soul before being ripped from it’s body. He had heard it before. But he didn’t want to admit. He couldn’t.

Erick came to a slow, lumbering stop. “No… No no no no…”

Four arrows had been used to pin the boys light body to the tree. Lines of blood ran down the oak from the impact points. His eyes were gone, and he stared down at Erick with two void sockets. Just above, written in blood on the tree, were three words.

Still feeling optimistic?

As he fell to his knees Erick let out a long, agonizing scream, louder than anything his well worn lungs should have been capable of emitting at this point. It carried and held for what seemed like an eternity, before eventually tapering out as Erick let out a loud sob, covering his mouth with his hand as he stared up at the boy.

I failed. He had looked straight into Blaine’s eyes, and promised to see him home. He could still see the smile that had spread over the boys face as he had said the words. I couldn’t even save one child. He doubled over, nearly collapsing as he wept almost silently.

Why was he even out here? He had no right to be. Protecting the people of Syliras, that was the most basic function of a Knight, and yet even after years and years of training, he couldn’t even amount to that much. He had made a promise, a promise he could now never fulfill. Slowly and trembling, he lifted his head back up to look at the child, and they both stayed like that, motionless.

by **Erick Barnett** on May 6th, 2016, 5:45 pm

Chimes flew past. Or it could have been bells. Erick couldn’t tell anymore. He didn’t even know how long he had been out here. All he could focus on, all he could comprehend, was the vast emptiness in his chest, weighing down on every breath he took like a thousand pounds of steel on his chest. But he had no tears left. I can’t really still be this useless, can I? His head dropped low again as he contemplated the ground around his knees. I’m not gonna be able to stop him. He’s going to kill me. Go back to the city and tell them any lies he so chooses.

And I deserve it. The thought stabbed at him from the dark recesses of his mind, at first just a distant whisper from his subconscious, but immediately echoed across his mind. What had he managed to do with his life, objectively? He wanted to believe that he grown stronger as person through all his training. He wanted to think that all his patrolling and other work for the Order had improved the lives of the people of Syliras. But he couldn’t see any of that. All he could see what Blaine’s eyeless gaze, drilling into Erick with an accusatory stare.

“Wanna know something funny?” Lysander’s voice was close, and seemed to ring out from between the trees somewhere behind him. It was like razors against the eardrum. “I actually caught the little shyke-head bells ago. Tied him up and gagged him and just merrily dragged him along.” He chuckled. “You’re actually pretty handy with that sword of yours so I figured best to tire you out a bit before taking you on. Did it work?”

“Just... Just get it over with…”

There was a pause, and when Lysander replied, he sounded almost shocked. “What?”

Each word felt like poison in Erick’s mouth as he spoke it. “I can’t fight you anymore… I can barely move… Just make it quick.”

“Well, well, well.” Erick could tell the voice was getting closer, accompanied by footsteps, casually approaching him from behind. He felt a hand gently clasp his shoulder. “Glad you’ve finally wisened up a little, at least. Even if it was a bit too late.”

He was suddenly grabbing Erick by the face, yanking his head up to force him to stare at the child still pinned to the tree. “Look at it. See that? That’s my decision. In this world, the real world outside the walls of that cozy little castle, it’s you, or everybody else. And sorry, kiddo, but I’m gonna choose me each and every time. Because choosing everybody else? That’s exactly what got you here.”

The soft rasp of a blade being drawn from its sheath met Erick’s ears, making his hairs stand on end all up and down the back of his neck. The whole world seemed to stand still, the realization of what’s happening hitting Erick like a bucket of ice water. He was about to die. He thought quickly of all the places he had been, the people he had seen. Their faces flashed before his eyes in rapid succession. People he had fought along side of, the people he had killed. The very precious few friends he had made in his life. The last face that popped into his mind stuck there. He hadn’t seen her in some years, but he still remembered her face. Beautiful yet unyielding, like mastercraft Isurian metalwork. The strength of her gaze enough to fill one with confidence. Lady Priskill….

by **Erick Barnett** on May 6th, 2016, 5:46 pm

His caught the gleam of Lysander’s shortsword as he casually brought it up and around, not holding right on Erick’s throat but just in front of his face. “You know, it’s a shame really. Kid like you had potential.” Erick’s gaze dropped lower to his own hands. The soft light radiating from the mark on the back of his palm. Little Light…. His eyebrows furrowed as her voice echoing in his mind.

Erick shot up like a well coiled spring, slamming the top of his head into Lysander’s jaw. Mostly out of shock, Lysander let out a cry, and before could react in any other way, Erick capitalized. Light pouring out of his palm, he turned as he stood and grabbed Lysander’s head fiercely, ramming his radiant hand directly into Lysander’s open eyes.

The scream he let out was the most musical thing Erick had ever heard. He immediately dropped his shortsword, clutching as he eyes as he scrambled backwards, bumping into a tree. “Petching hai! My eyes! You whoreson!”

Almost collapsing immediately from the fatigue, heavy in his limbs like he bore steel in his veins, Erick leaned over and scooped Lysander’s shortsword off the ground. As the light radiated out from his hand, washing over him, it was if filled all the empty spaces that had opened up in his soul when he laid eyes on Blaine’s body. Despite barely being able to stand, he felt strong. Gripping tightly onto hilt of Lysander’s weapon he glanced at the mark on his hand, nodding slowly. Lady of Hope, please forgive me. I won’t give up like that. Not ever again. Half-limping, half-stumbling, he made his way over to Lysander, who still was rubbing fiercely at his eyes.

“You know, Lysander…” Erick’s voice was no longer trembling. There was steel in his voice, like there hadn’t been all night. “You weren’t totally wrong, what you said earlier. I’m not like most of the other members of the order. At their core, I’d say most of them are good people.”

He paused, using his free hand to shove Lysander against the tree as he brought the shortsword back in preparation for a stab. “But me? I’m going to have to really struggle to not enjoy this next part.”

Lysander grabbed Erick by each shoulder, planting a knee squarely into the younger knights groin. As the shortsword fell reflexively from his grasp, Erick momentarily regretted having stripped the outer layer of his armor as both men grunted, Lysander slamming his entire bodyweight into Erick to bring them both to the ground.”Cheeky little vagik!”

Situated on top of Erick, Lysander began to rain heavy blows upon him. Erick’s arms curled up around his head as he did his best to defend himself, his vision becoming somewhat hazy as he felt the older squire’s knuckles digging into his face and skull, the forest echoing with the flat, packing noises as he strike connected.

“And now… “ Lysander was panting and blinking rapidly, very likely still seeing stars from before. Still keeping his weight on Erick, he leaned over, extending his right arm as he reached for his shortsword. “Now you’re gonna die.”

by **Erick Barnett** on May 6th, 2016, 5:48 pm

The world was a whirring haze still, and blood from cuts in his face had begun to trickle down into his eyes. Yet despite all this, as his gaze tilted and spun, something poking out of Lysander’s boot caught his attention. Keeps a knife… In his boot?

Lysander got a hold of the sword, and pun around, bringing the blade up to take aim at Erick’s throat. Erick plunged the dagger straight up and into Lysander’s mouth from beneath.

The older squire let out a bloody garbled mess of sounds, as if trying to speak, his eyes wide with horror, before Erick pulled the knife and and dragged the blade quickly across Lysander’s throat.

With a grunt, Erick managed to shove Lysander off him, dragging himself along the ground to the tree Blaine had been nailed too, and he leaned against it, using it as a brace as he dragged himself back to his feet.

I’m sorry, Blaine. He began to pull the arrows out of the boy, but by the time he had pulled two out, the weight became too much for the remaining arrows, and they snapped, causing the body to tumble to the forest floor. Erick knelt by him, resting a hand on him. I promise, I’m going to get you returned to your family still. But I’ll need to bury you here first, else the carrion will make a feast for you. But I promise, someone will be back for you.

He began to weakly dig at the dirt next to the boys body, his breath becoming immediately strained as he struggled in vain against the cold ground. Okay… Arms too weak to dig… Great…

He stood, the effort sending sharp stabbing pains cascading up and down his body. Adjusting the straps of his pack, he reached back to check to make sure his shield was still secure, mostly because it wasn’t actually his shield, and he didn’t intend to lose borrowed gear. He limped over to where he had dropped his bow and picked it back up, groaning with the effort.

He glanced back to Blaine and Lysander’s bodies. Someone will be back… I just need to get to the road…

He stared at the forest around him. Almost totally darkness now. Leth had vanished behind the treeline again, and in the distance Erick could hear the ominous predatory howl of one of the many denizens of the Bronze Woods. The fact was that he wasn’t really sure where he was anymore. He had been paying attention to where him and Lysander had been going when they had been pursuing the bandit, but once Lysander had begun chasing the child, Erick had panicked and flew after him without a thought. Well… Guess I just should pick a direction. He knew the closest road was likely still south of him, though he wasn’t sure which way was south. But, he knew if he stayed here, he was going to die.

Guess I’ll head this way. I can always hope it’s the right one. And he began to half-walk, half-limb back through the woods, towards what he hoped would be the road. The forest was a dark blur, his head feeling like it had been filled with air. Each sudden movement or turn seemed to set the world to spin, and it felt as if all the sand in Eyktol had been dumped into the back of his throat.

C’mon body. Don’t fail me now. He tried to keep himself focused on just keeping moving, one foot in front of the other. He didn’t know where he was going, but as long as he kept going, he’d wind up somewhere.

by **Izuyanai** on September 11th, 2016, 9:20 pm

Grades :

Solo A Deadly Dichotomy, Part II