Darkness: Chapter 24 - Vindication

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The heat was suffocating, stifling. His body beaded with sweat while he writhed in his iron bonds. The shackles chafed and ate at his ankles at his wrists. All he could do was suffer, and wail in maddening torment. The bag, this thick cloth sack he had been thrown into bounced and thrashed wildly. He had guessed his captor had thrown him over some mount. They were travelling, and somewhere hot.

”Let me-... let me out of here! Let me out!” Mala’kal roared, his voice hoarse from his continual ranting and commanding. But his words were always met with silence.

I will rip his heart from his chest! Flay the hide from his back

Though it would have to be only that. He no longer had his totem, the spirits he had once ensnared where silent to him, beyond his power. Brute force would have to suffice.

Despite his anger ruling his mind, he felt the bouncing stop, then heard the satisfied grunt of an Orc. A saddle shifted, someone dismounting, probably him.

We are here, at last...

He was grabbed in his sack firmly, dragged and dropped with unkind hands, though the earth was not solid, it felt loose and mouldable.

Just you wait you bast-...

A sword edge plunged through the sack, sliding past his eyes... then dragged its way down, opening the sack and allowing light to burst in, dazing him with its intense strength and heat. He thrashed, shaking himself loose to sit on his knees, perched upon sand. He was in the desert.

What is this dog up to!?

His threw his gaze around, to find the one who had subdued him, the one who had escaped. He was stood by a great blue raptor mount, sword in one hand, a skin of water in the other. Though the arm holding the skin was in a sling, he had no doubt that his enemy only needed one working arm to end him.

All around was sand, from one horizon to the next. No landmarks in sight, only sand and blue sky. He snarled...

”why have you brought me here dog... Why!?”

The Orc tilted its head. Where once there was a short trimmed beard and s shaved head, was long a dirty crazed bush of hairs from neck to scalp, drenched in gore and filth. Clad only in simple rags he narrowed his eyes, those had not changed. Emerald, piercing, full of defiance.

”you are here, to answer one last question...”

Mala’kal sneered, flashing his fangs. The Blademaster had already beaten him for information, demanding to know of other Kor’kron, other dark shaman, what the explosives were for...

”I already told you everything, everything you wanted to know!” He barked, spitting at the other Orcs bare feet. What more could he possibly want!?

”The one who gave you the Dynamite. The one who told you to imprison me. What was his name?” The Blademaster asked, almost politely but Mala’kal could feel the ice cold venom in the words.

Vileclaw will destroy him...

”In return, before I abandon you here, I will give you a small mercy.” he continued, holding up the skin and shaking it. The sound of liquids washing about caught his ears.

Water...

“Vileclaw. His name is Vileclaw.” he answered, with no little degree of bile in his throat, contempt clear in his tone. But water was water, and here if he had any hope of surviving he’d need it.

The Blademaster scoffed, and threw the skin to his knees, sliding across the sand. Manically he grabbed it with both hands, grasping desperately to un-cork it with a pop. Throwing back his head he poured the contents into his mouth.

Sweet relief—what is this!?

He quickly found his tongue curling in revulsion, his cheeks burning with disgust and then he cough, spat and choked the liquid back out. Setting his eyes on the sand, his spittle was black, jet black, oil.

”Blah! What are you doing Orc, what kind of Mercy is this!?” He coughed, spitting the vile, wretch worthy substance out then dropping the skin so its black contents could seep into the sand.

The Blademaster snorted. Raising a hand to point behind Mala’kal. He turned, fixing his eyes on the distant horizon, to see a wall. Not a wall of stone, or iron, warriors or water, but of sand. From ground to vast heights it rose, a shivering, swirling wall from vast miles to the right to the great beyond on his left. A sand storm was building, but sitting still in place.

”Mercy from them. Dark shaman.” at last came the reply, Mala’kal let the air escape his mouth, but he could not speak, trying to take in the enormity of what was before him. A raging whirlwind spawned of earth and air. He shuddered.

”you see, in your lust for power you made enemies far more powerful than I. And without your totem, you are nothing to them. And they want revenge.” he continued, calmly but with a degree of satisfaction. Mala’kal sagged, horror struck that this thing was coming for him.

”When I leave, they will wash over you. The sand will rip the skin from your bone, blind your eyes and fill your lungs. You will die here, shredded by the elements that you once enslaved against their will.”.

No... no, no no...

The Blademaster turned, and remounted the raptor, pulling on the reigns so it circled around with a chirp and reptilian hiss.

”The oil, was for if you chose the coward’s way out and wanted to take your own life.”

“you can’t do this... you can’t! What about honour!? You’re a Blademaster! You have to show honour!” he begged, whirling on his knees as he dragged himself toward his foe on his hands on knees.

”Do not dare speak to me of honour, Mala’kal. I vowed I would kill you for what you did. But your judgement is not up to me. I sentence you to nothing, nothing but what you brought upon yourself. Reap what you sewn dark shaman...” He whipped the reigns and spurred the raptor, its two powerful legs breaking into a rapid run so it darted across the sand and along the dunes.

Bastard, coward! Bastard! Please!

”you can’t! You Can’t do this to me! You can’t!” he roared, screaming until his voice was hoarse and throat sore, the Blademaster disappearing in the distance as his silhouette turned from a shape, to a dot, then nothing.

Mala’kal turned, his eyes running up and down the length of the vast wall of hate that was arrayed before him. With a gust of wind, it surged. It began to roll forward with frightening pace, an ear deafening rumble drowned out his thoughts. He could not out-run it, he could not hide from it. Fear washed over him until the only thing he felt was terror, binding him to the spot.

No...

Then his eyes moved, without him willing them to, settling upon that skin of oil that had half drowned the sand...

This is by far one of the best stories i've read, bloody well done pal!   

- Tarak Obama