View Full Version : Marcan's answer - Old unfinished piece I've found

14-08-2005, 20:49
This is an old piece of story I never finished. Still I found it a bit of a waste not to show it somewhere, even though it never got finished. It does have a bit of an ending, so it's not too bad as a short story.

Marcan walked past the heap of bodies being made ready for the after-battle feast-fire. He clutched his left arms, their mutations aching more than ever. The marauders nearby looked at him in awe, they had never seen anyone like him wounded like that, most of them had never even seen anyone of his magnitude. Marcan walked up to the top of the low hill, where the most powerful of the zars had gathered just to meet him. He turned around, looking at the battlefield. It looked peaceful, with copses of burnt trees dotting the arid sandy wastes. Marauders wandered around the small warp rifts, bowing in admiration, or hiding of fright everytime a jet of flames shot from them.This really meant something for them. In the past battle, they had fought like fanatics, trying to show off their fighting skills even more when he and his small band got near. "Who do they think I am anyway?" Flashed through his mind. "It's not as if I'm the great changer himself." He looked at a brave chieftain, who burnt himself on the flames while tried walking through the passage to the warp. Marcan amused himself when he empowered the flames so they consumed the poor marauder, sacrificing him to his master using the first trick he ever learnt. He smiled an imnvosible smile, and turned back to the hill, he had a promise to keep, he knew the question they would ask, as he did the answer, but he had to go there. When he reached the top, the zars stood up, and hurried to set places around the fire, to welcome Marcan, who was kinda bored by this. "Speak, zar Khulek, speak and, I will answer" Marcan spoke, with his heavy, echoing voice. The ring of zars was small, smaller than marcan would expect in such a large host of marauders. They were are bruised and blooded. They had fought a hard fight, and the thought came to Marcan that a lot of the zars had died in the battle. The knights had been a tough foe, he admitted, they had run through the marauders like a sharpened blade through fresh meat, killing them in their hundreds. But then the marauder cavalry had struck back, smashing the Brettonians back home. It ended in a big brawl in the middle of the field, until the southerners lost their nerve and fled, leaving only their bravest to duke it out one-on-one with the bravest of the zars. But eventually even they got their share, on the side of their godess. The strongest of the marauder chiefs began to speak, shaking in his dark robe, like a boy undergoing the ritual to manhood, as he adressed his superior: "M-my lord" He started "We now have fought for a full moon on end, and, our men are getting tired, we ask, n-no we..." He started to tremble even more "No, we demand that we take a rest!" he regained the vigour he showed on the battlefield earlier today "We demand that we get our share! They promised us enlightenment, and fame, and even mutation! but what do we get? Nought! Death and tiresome marches! We have faced armies at least once in three days, but no cities, no towns, not even a single farm to plunder! We have had enough! I demand a blessing now! And a rest for the entire army..." The chief's eyes widened, not even closing when his head reached the ground, his torso faling on top of it seconds later. The other marauders stared after Marcan as he walked back down. The message was clear; they would continue to fight, until none of them would be alive, or maybe there was a shimmer of hope that they would get to a point where there would be no more enemies to fight, and they would be blessed by the great Tchar. Marcan's cloak fluttered in the cold wind. His heavy armour creaked, the dust really getting in the joints.

The glade wanderer