Final Draft
Success and Failure
SUSSURO PACED DOWN THE HALL. Its dark forbidding walls were as cold as the winter air outside, the draping and tapestries taking little of the edge of the dregs of midwinter. His boots made no sound on the stone floors.
From the cowl of his cloak he studied the corridor. High, granite walls with thin arrow slit windows at the top. No escape. If he failed here there could be no going back. Rounding a corner he loosened the knives in his coat sleeves. He reached the door at the end of the corridor and slowed. Preparing. The mission must be accomplished; he no longer had the choice of failure.
Placing his head next to the door he heard the mutter of conversation on the other side. There had to be at least five of them. This would be of little consequence.
Slamming his heel into the door it exploded into splinters. As the wood shavings were still falling through the air, he stepped across the threshold.
In front of him dumbfounded were seven tall, broad shouldered men. Each battle scarred and grizzled. A sword slug across each guards back.
They were the elite guard. Tempered in the forge of battle and hardened in the flames of suffering. None was an easy target. All were willing to die today.
All would.
They quickly recovered from the shock and drew their swords. Falling into stance they awaited his move. Their grim determination showed on their faces and spoke of confidence in their abilities.
His knives whispered out of hidden sheathes. He charged them. He sidestepped the leaders first strike. It would be his only. Spinning to the side he grabbed the leaders chin and continued to spin. He felt the neck crack and break. The leader slumped to the floor.
Sliding under horizontal swipes from two more he stabbed backwards with both knives. They met muscle and bone. The two guards fell to the floor clutching at maimed knees.
From his position on one knee Sussuro saw the other four guards eyeing him cautiously. He stood slowly, deliberately, any sign of fear would give these men confidence; and that meant more effort. They finally saw; he was one of the few. They could not hope to defeat him. They rushed him with reckless abandon. Desperate men will never think; action is their only course. Four against one. They thought they had a chance. Ever the foolishness of men believing that brute force could overcome intellect and hidden power.
The first went to thrust his sword into Sussuro’s belly. Sussuro bought both his knives together and up, the sword cut only into open air. Sussuro’s foot met the mans chest and sent him skittering across the room. He slammed into a wall, his head cracking and his eyes going dim and lifeless.
The second and third men fell upon him from opposite directions. One stabbing for his heart, the other slashing diagonally. Rolling backward Sussuro avoided both attacks. He was now a few yards from his assailants. Whipping out his hand, he sent his knives flying. Catching one guard in the throat and the other full in the chest. Both bodies slumped to the floor. The first gurgled his last breath as his back slammed to the cold stone.
Only one remained. A wild flickering smile passed across the final guards lips. He had no chance and knew it, but there was nothing like a cornered animal for wild fighting. Even unarmed Sussuro had all the advantages. He dashed heedlessly at the guard.
The sword fell, slicing nothing. Sussuro’s elbow met the mans jaw. Blood spurted from the his mouth. Spinning Sussuro caught the guard’s face with his heel. The soldier was dead before he even touched the ground.
Retrieving his knives Sussuro finished off the two crippled guards.
Glancing around the room, corpses littered the floor. He noticed the delicately carved chairs scattered around the room, the fine tapestries on the wall. The contrast of beauty and death barely registered. This was of little consequence to Sussuro, this was a minor inconvenience. The mission still was to be completed.
It had taken only a few seconds but had felt like eons. Whenever he embraced his power he felt like this, time slowing. Afterwards he always felt worse, the rapture of being able to do that which only the few could; disappeared replaced only by a cold emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He felt the roll of seconds resume. Time slipping away once more.
His breathing quickened as he approached the door facing him. This is where it was to be decided. Life or death. Licking cracked lips, he controlled his thinking. Complete concentration would be required. He had already expended too much power on the guards. Fatigue was beginning to overtake him.
Sussuro sat on the floor. From an observers eyes it would seem he closed his eyes for a second. Sussuro’s eyes gently opened as a man awakening from a deep sleep. Standing he looked around with new vigour. He was ready. Nothing could stand in his way.
He was Sussuro Anderfar, one of the Few. He was here to purge.
He walked to the doors and put his hands on the handles. There was no longer any need for surprise. He must have been heard.
Throwing the doors wide open he felt arrows whistle about him. Spinning, ducking he plunged into the room.
“STOP!” bellowed across the room.
Two braziers dimly lighted it, but Sussuro could clearly see the figure seated there. Rising from the enamelled throne it strode towards him. This thing, it looked like shadow given substance. The height and shape of a man, its body a translucent black. The only part of it that truly seemed to be there were its eyes. Pits of darkness that could be draw a man in, so deep that even the night sky would seem shallow in comparison.
“What are you? Why are you here?” its voice seemed to whisper from everywhere at once
“I am just a man. I have come to rid us of your blasphemy!” Sussuro’s last word echoed around the room and slowly died. Glancing around the room he saw dead eyed archers staring from the galleries above.
“Blasphemy? Is that what you call us. We are your creators. You were our slaves. We have simply returned to take what is rightfully ours.” The shadow stepped closer, “you are just mewling infants without us. We cannot allow further degradation.” It was only a few feet from him now. Its presence made him feel weak.
The shadow reached towards Sussuro.
Panic spurred him; he turned, embraced the power and ran.
The shadow moved faster. Without even a hint of using the power it overtook him. It reached the doors before Sussuro had moved more than five steps.
“Pitiful! You cannot escape. You shall be our vessel until you whither. Your shell shall serve well.” It reached out once more. Its hand plunged into his chest. No wound or mark appeared. To any observer it would seem as though its hand were passing through water, it stood against no resistance. Sussuro’s back arched in pain
Agony beat away all sense. Darkness clouded his vision. Aeons passed, his screams pierced the room, they echoed off the walls.
Blankly staring the phalanxes of men absorbed the scene.
Finally Sussuro slumped. His mind wracked and defeated, he trembled with a final attempt at resistance. “Truth burns,” escaped his lips as he crashed to the floor.
The braziers dimmed. Darkness enveloped the room totally. Deep impenetrable blackness.
Slowly the light returned, the same dim yellow once again lit the cold stone of the chamber. Eyes peeling open the thing called Sussuro pushed itself up. “This will prove sufficient,” it muttered to itself, “the return cannot be resisted it seems.” It turned towards the doors and marched out.
The world awaited
SUSSURO PACED DOWN THE HALL. Its dark forbidding walls were as cold as the winter air outside, the draping and tapestries taking little of the edge of the dregs of midwinter. His boots made no sound on the stone floors.
From the cowl of his cloak he studied the corridor. High, granite walls with thin arrow slit windows at the top. No escape. If he failed here there could be no going back. Rounding a corner he loosened the knives in his coat sleeves. He reached the door at the end of the corridor and slowed. Preparing. The mission must be accomplished; he no longer had the choice of failure.
Placing his head next to the door he heard the mutter of conversation on the other side. There had to be at least five of them. This would be of little consequence.
Slamming his heel into the door it exploded into splinters. As the wood shavings were still falling through the air, he stepped across the threshold.
In front of him dumbfounded were seven tall, broad shouldered men. Each battle scarred and grizzled. A sword slug across each guards back.
They were the elite guard. Tempered in the forge of battle and hardened in the flames of suffering. None was an easy target. All were willing to die today.
All would.
They quickly recovered from the shock and drew their swords. Falling into stance they awaited his move. Their grim determination showed on their faces and spoke of confidence in their abilities.
His knives whispered out of hidden sheathes. He charged them. He sidestepped the leaders first strike. It would be his only. Spinning to the side he grabbed the leaders chin and continued to spin. He felt the neck crack and break. The leader slumped to the floor.
Sliding under horizontal swipes from two more he stabbed backwards with both knives. They met muscle and bone. The two guards fell to the floor clutching at maimed knees.
From his position on one knee Sussuro saw the other four guards eyeing him cautiously. He stood slowly, deliberately, any sign of fear would give these men confidence; and that meant more effort. They finally saw; he was one of the few. They could not hope to defeat him. They rushed him with reckless abandon. Desperate men will never think; action is their only course. Four against one. They thought they had a chance. Ever the foolishness of men believing that brute force could overcome intellect and hidden power.
The first went to thrust his sword into Sussuro’s belly. Sussuro bought both his knives together and up, the sword cut only into open air. Sussuro’s foot met the mans chest and sent him skittering across the room. He slammed into a wall, his head cracking and his eyes going dim and lifeless.
The second and third men fell upon him from opposite directions. One stabbing for his heart, the other slashing diagonally. Rolling backward Sussuro avoided both attacks. He was now a few yards from his assailants. Whipping out his hand, he sent his knives flying. Catching one guard in the throat and the other full in the chest. Both bodies slumped to the floor. The first gurgled his last breath as his back slammed to the cold stone.
Only one remained. A wild flickering smile passed across the final guards lips. He had no chance and knew it, but there was nothing like a cornered animal for wild fighting. Even unarmed Sussuro had all the advantages. He dashed heedlessly at the guard.
The sword fell, slicing nothing. Sussuro’s elbow met the mans jaw. Blood spurted from the his mouth. Spinning Sussuro caught the guard’s face with his heel. The soldier was dead before he even touched the ground.
Retrieving his knives Sussuro finished off the two crippled guards.
Glancing around the room, corpses littered the floor. He noticed the delicately carved chairs scattered around the room, the fine tapestries on the wall. The contrast of beauty and death barely registered. This was of little consequence to Sussuro, this was a minor inconvenience. The mission still was to be completed.
It had taken only a few seconds but had felt like eons. Whenever he embraced his power he felt like this, time slowing. Afterwards he always felt worse, the rapture of being able to do that which only the few could; disappeared replaced only by a cold emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He felt the roll of seconds resume. Time slipping away once more.
His breathing quickened as he approached the door facing him. This is where it was to be decided. Life or death. Licking cracked lips, he controlled his thinking. Complete concentration would be required. He had already expended too much power on the guards. Fatigue was beginning to overtake him.
Sussuro sat on the floor. From an observers eyes it would seem he closed his eyes for a second. Sussuro’s eyes gently opened as a man awakening from a deep sleep. Standing he looked around with new vigour. He was ready. Nothing could stand in his way.
He was Sussuro Anderfar, one of the Few. He was here to purge.
He walked to the doors and put his hands on the handles. There was no longer any need for surprise. He must have been heard.
Throwing the doors wide open he felt arrows whistle about him. Spinning, ducking he plunged into the room.
“STOP!” bellowed across the room.
Two braziers dimly lighted it, but Sussuro could clearly see the figure seated there. Rising from the enamelled throne it strode towards him. This thing, it looked like shadow given substance. The height and shape of a man, its body a translucent black. The only part of it that truly seemed to be there were its eyes. Pits of darkness that could be draw a man in, so deep that even the night sky would seem shallow in comparison.
“What are you? Why are you here?” its voice seemed to whisper from everywhere at once
“I am just a man. I have come to rid us of your blasphemy!” Sussuro’s last word echoed around the room and slowly died. Glancing around the room he saw dead eyed archers staring from the galleries above.
“Blasphemy? Is that what you call us. We are your creators. You were our slaves. We have simply returned to take what is rightfully ours.” The shadow stepped closer, “you are just mewling infants without us. We cannot allow further degradation.” It was only a few feet from him now. Its presence made him feel weak.
The shadow reached towards Sussuro.
Panic spurred him; he turned, embraced the power and ran.
The shadow moved faster. Without even a hint of using the power it overtook him. It reached the doors before Sussuro had moved more than five steps.
“Pitiful! You cannot escape. You shall be our vessel until you whither. Your shell shall serve well.” It reached out once more. Its hand plunged into his chest. No wound or mark appeared. To any observer it would seem as though its hand were passing through water, it stood against no resistance. Sussuro’s back arched in pain
Agony beat away all sense. Darkness clouded his vision. Aeons passed, his screams pierced the room, they echoed off the walls.
Blankly staring the phalanxes of men absorbed the scene.
Finally Sussuro slumped. His mind wracked and defeated, he trembled with a final attempt at resistance. “Truth burns,” escaped his lips as he crashed to the floor.
The braziers dimmed. Darkness enveloped the room totally. Deep impenetrable blackness.
Slowly the light returned, the same dim yellow once again lit the cold stone of the chamber. Eyes peeling open the thing called Sussuro pushed itself up. “This will prove sufficient,” it muttered to itself, “the return cannot be resisted it seems.” It turned towards the doors and marched out.
The world awaited