The Kingdom of the Emerald Hills

The stars sparkled in the black sky above. The cloudy breath emanating from his mouth occasionally obscured them. He had reached Tanglewood Forest.

It was a comfortably cold night.

He found the enclave his most recent 'client' had instructed him to. The voices of men speaking could be heard. Above them all, a new voice spoke. His laughter flowed freely, unabashed to be heard in the darkness. The fire danced strongly between them.

Throwing a stone to see the mode of the meeting, Sutra sat in silence and found it was rather lax. The presence of burnt elven moss weighed in the air. He grumbled knowing they may not be in the best of mind to talk business.

'Seamus...' he whispered into the dark, loud enough to interrupt the man's rhythmic colloquialisms.
'Who..who's there? Sutra? Is that you?'
'I received your missive, what have you?'

The cloaked bard stood at the opening of the clandestine campsite. His features hidden by the backlighting of the fire. His mannerisms were not hostile and spoke of a subdued confidence.

Good, at least one of them will be sober to speak, Sutra thought to himself.

The meeting proceeded quietly with the bard speaking of great things and ambitious visions. The others randomly spoke. With the turn of the constellations, the men grew weary of the bard's vague and fantastic claims and demanded he reach a much more realistic conclusion.

He did.

Parting from the others, Sutra made ready for his role in the grand scheme of things.

-S

_________________
The general who advances without seeking fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do service for his sovereign, is the jewel of his kingdom. -Sun Wu

Putting out the small campfire, he yawned and kneeled quietly listening for any suspicious sounds.

Standing up he strapped the last blade to this side. Grasping 6 arrows in his left hand he strode off with a newer bow, almost as tall as he, into the dark forest line. Some would call it reconosaince, for him, it was simple curiosity.

The night's sky had grown darker over the past weeks. There never seemed to be peace in these lands he amusingly thought. This is one tempestuous dark emerald. He chuckled.

A light, a fire flickered in the distance, a good ten minutes walk away. Curiosity, that's what his mother called it too. Slipping down to his stomach, he managed to crawl towards the edge of the small gulge in the forest floor. A steady chant began to sound louder and clearer as he neared. The sound of chimes and drums separated the voices from the steady song. Reaching out he steadied himself on the tree trunk. He almost swore for a minute it shivered at his touch. Shaking his weary head he ignored it. Peering over the shrubbery he looked down and heard the foreign tongue much more distinctly.

Figures stood, circling an obelisk, black with silver glyphs etched on its sides. 5, no, 6 sided, it stood as tall as a hill giant. How could the royal guards have missed something like this? A rebellion. Ah yes, the rebellion. Shaking his head he rounded off towards the back, a lone figure stood in the similar black cloak that the others wore. The voices of men and women sang in harmony. The words, he began to understand them.

They had gathered. The cause of this convocation was certainly unclear. The blade sank deeply into the figures back, right at the nape of the spine. The popping of cartilage was silent enough. He couldn’t help but winch; it had indeed been a long time.

He stood forward and stood 'guard', certain the dead man would not be missed, what with the tall pointy hats and such that covered the entire head, only allowing the eyes to peer through. The velvet robes were indeed a nice touch. A solitary figure announced to the conclave.

'We are awakened and are purified now to receive the blessing of Mallabus, let us come together and thank his mercy so that he may show us the true path.'

A single man and woman stood at the kneeled at the base of the great statue. She sang in a hauntingly alluring chorus, almost reminded him of an elv...he squinted and could see the lacerated ear, her left ear bore a queer vertical angle, where her elven tip for an ear once was. He remained motionless.

The mans voice melded with hers. He seemed to want to sleep now. Sutra could feel her voice ebb it's way into his blood flow. Not good, get a grip of yourself. Her voice faded before he realized she had finished her song almost a minute ago. What in Hades is going on here he began to wonder.

It wasn't the obelisk that concerned him, cult's happened here all the time. Nor was it the traitorous elf that sang to the black stone, he needed the entertainment.

It was when the 6th glyph of 7 began to glow. The previous 5 glyphs seemed to have shattered in their place, displaying missing pieces from the stone. It was the load roar and thunderous crash that made them all reel back, some crouching in trembling fear, others bellowing great shouts of nervous glee.

Sutra masked his face and neck from what seemed fragments of razor sharp steel. It wasn't. The 6th seal had been broken. He could feel warm blood trickle from his left forearm now; the stinging began to grow deeper. Dammit. Women let out cries of joy and pain, men screamed out in unison, chanting for the blood of the 'misguided'. The man and woman lay dead at the base of the obsidian obelisk. The shattering glyph propelled fragments with such force that the man had been struck in the chest, a large dagger sized fragment protruded from his sternum. Damn. The elven female lay grasping at her neck, blood soaking the earth where she laid. Her death throws caused him to want to help her, but the chant of how these two were blessed to be martyrs in the great birth drowned out her blood soaked gasps.

Her flailing stopped. She lay there. Sutra's anger subsided as others helped each other to their feet and other's tended to the wounded. At least they cared about each ot...The screaming began. The slaughter made his stomach turn. The healthy were not aiding the wounded; they were slitting their throats. Cristo's Mercy! They were killing the weak! A hand touched his right shoulder, instincts lead his hand to the dagger in his left hand cloaked by the robe and found it gliding to the neck of the hooded figure. Her protest made him stop. He was curious once more.

'You are injured...this is the way brother.'
'A wound that I will survive...sister.'
'But this is the way of the path, you must submit.'
'Mallabus has declared me...forgiven this time.'

She staggered back and kneeled apologizing for her stern faith, she removed the tall head covering, her dark hair pulled back revealing her gaunt yet pleasant appearance.
'I am sorry Holy Cleric, you speak his name with authority, and I did not kn..'

A second hand reached out and grabbed the hem of his robe. The raspy voice begged for mercy. He couldn’t decipher the pleading. Anger and hatred flashed in the girls eyes; she threw herself at the writhing figure and sunk her blade into their chest with studied precision. Twisting in place she pulled it out, the spray of red spattered her cloak. She turned from the dead figure and bowed even lower at his feet.

'I pray my faith has spoken through my actions Cleric!' Her nervous energy charged the air around her.

'What is your name young one?' he asked.
She smirked staring at the robe and confidently replied. 'I will not fail your test Cleric, I am faithful.'
Sutra was intrigued with this creed they had been brainwashed with.
'Very well..follow me.' He moved towards the quietest exit he had studied before getting himself in such an interesting predicament.

She stood and followed cautiously, he could tell in the way she gripped the bloody blade in her right hand. Her solemn walk betrayed her. Slipping a small vial from his left hand, he soaked a small square of cloth with the odorless liquid. They reached the shadows together away from the others.

Turning to face her, she was gone. His brow furrowed as the tip of a blade rested against his lowest right rib. Her voice flowed with treacherous hissing. 'Cleric, I promised I would not fail your tests.' She reached under his left side and tugged at the soaked cloth.

'For a Cleric, you are indeed ill-trained.'
'Well, if you think that making myself a cleaning patch for the wound is ill-prepared, then you disappoint me.'
'Healing salve? Or were you intent on drugging or even killing me Cleric?'
'Study it yourself, simple aloe with myrrh.' He whispered something more.
'What was that?'
He muttered again, her voice seemingly getting more and more impatient.

'Well allow me to make my peace then young one, you have bested me this eve.'
Kneeling he lowered his head, the cold blade sitting on the side of his neck.
'A defeated Cleric, my won't I be rewarded, too bad your only an impos...'
His roll to the left managed to clear three feet between then. She lurched forward to kill her target and to her horror found her feet tangled with thin almost invisible trapping line. The small marble sized imprint formed quickly on her left temple.

She lay motionless on the cool earth. Sutra sat up a bit embarrassed. A trap and a throwing stone, that's too much for subduing attractive company.

He quietly stalked back into the darkness, a bound and motionless figure draped across his left shoulder.

He looked forward to having company again.

-S

[cont]

_________________
The general who advances without seeking fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do service for his sovereign, is the jewel of his kingdom. -Sun Wu

He watched her with a sincere interest. He had a terrible reputation of being easily swayed by underhanded methods. Easier if they weren't his own.

She strode through the field returning home from school. The late summer colors showed in the tall yet withering unreaped stalks of corn. Her father's land remained ill attended, since he left. She had gotten over the guilt of knowing it was her fault. She wasn't studious enough. Wasn’t charming enough. He would have stayed if she could find a job tending someone's home or working in a shop in town. He would have stayed. Only if, only if she were born to him a son.

It had been a few years since his death, the land was theirs and belonged in the family, her mother tilled the smaller garden next to their delpidated shack. It produced enough okra and tomatoes for early summer staples. Their only milking cow had fallen ill to the 'teet flu'. Only curdled bits plunked into the rusty bucket. She hadn't had milk for two weeks. She sighed again as the dust twirled around her.

The dirt tasted bitter and disturbing in her mouth. The voice was as revolting as the stench that emanated from the foul mouth.

'What have we here...you smell like pretty flowers...'

She twisted as her parchments escaped her nervous grasp. Her mind raced with panic. She wanted to scream but the rough hand covered her mouth and nose. She wished she could suffocate. She wished for the nightmare to end.

She lay; her right arm throbbed from the monstrous grip of the man who rushed off deeper into the isolated field. She wished her brother or sisters would find her. No, no, don't let them find me, they could get hurt. Her tears streamed down making the dirty hands slick with sweat and tears. She tried with all her might to get away. It was no use.

He flung her to the ground. Towering over her, his dirty flesh, streaked with sweat, reeked. His breath smelled of sailor’s spirits. He was vile in the lowest form. She feigned fear, remaining in a crumbled state at his confident feet, replacing it with a new found rage.

'Your not but about eleven...twelve years passed aren't you?' his voiced dripped with sadistic pleasure.

'Well then...you’re going to learn...what it's like to be...a woman...'

His clumsy fingers grasped at his knotted pant strings. She sat up and hugged his left leg. She begged, she promised not to tell anyone.

'Just let me go home!' she sobbed bitterly. A hard slap across her right cheek flung her back to the earth. She fought hard against fainting. Don’t you dare, stay awake! Stay awake!

'Your going to be a good little girl...and your going to...' the knot came undone in his rigid and trembling fingers.

Her scream caught him off guard, she was quicker than he expected from such a young one, her hand found his daggers hilt. His reaction was in vain.

Falling to his knees, the clouds seemed to slow down. He could hear loud drumming. His body felt cold. An occasional shiver. Looking down his hand grasped at the fresh wound. An almost straight incision from his left hip to the right betrayed him. The sound of entrails thumping to the ground was silent. To his horror, he realized what was going on.

'grrrrggghhh....'

The blade slid smoothly with precision, the determined hand made a final push. She stood behind him trembling with panicked fear. Damn you. Her life had come to an end. Her childhood had been stripped away from her that day. She had remained untouched, but his blood stained her hands now.

The buried knife protruded from the right side of his neck. He fell on his side, his eyes fixated on her. How his eyes burned into her core.

She ran. She ran without stopping. She realized she still runs to this day.

-----------------------------

She stirred from her one nightmare. She tried to sit up. She found herself bound. She promised herself she'd never let herself be hurt, ever. Damn it, you sure screwed up on this one didn't you Duija? She angrily reprimanded herself.

Her hands were tied to her ankles behind her back. She lay at the base of a tree, under a bush on her left side. She scanned the darkness for her captor. She knew better than to have followed the 'cleric' into the woods like that. Away from the others and all.

'So...' the man's voice spoke out. 'We’re going to try this one...more...time.'

She remembered know.

'I’m going to ask you a question, and your...going to answer it.'

Laying her head on the ground she nodded.

'Yeah. Whatever.'

His unhurried chuckle at her response sent a shiver down her spine.

S

[con't]

_________________
The general who advances without seeking fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do service for his sovereign, is the jewel of his kingdom. -Sun Wu

His head drooped down to his chin. Her cough stirred him from much needed sleep.

She sat, leaned up against the rock, watching him.

She had spoken much. His methods of persuasion where not legendary or experimental.

Tossing the dagger at her feet, he stood motionless for a moment. Her confused tear stained eyes remained abhorrently focused on him. She was not afraid. Angry. She was angry.

'Duija, you are not hurt. You remain intact. I have feed you. There is nothing more I have to offer.'

His words rang with a deep and honest tone.

Slightly bowing he turned and walked away.

------------------------

The struggling man kneeled in the mud. It wasn't hard finding the ‘faithful’; it was the branded mark on their left hand that gave it away. A skull and dragon. Not very original at all really.

Sutra had to get the message across to those who would listen. There were seven who were made aware of what was to come. And they did nothing.

His hand tightened vice-like on the man's shoulder. Temper, temper, he thought to himself. Better save it for when it counts.

'Now then cleric... I need your help.'

The vast forest canopy quickly swallowed the screams.

S

[con't in Battle in the Woods]

_________________
The general who advances without seeking fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do service for his sovereign, is the jewel of his kingdom. -Sun Wu