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The Word 9
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The Word 9 (Disk 2 of 2).adf
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11-DarkShadow.txt
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11-DarkShadow.txt
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1996-01-17
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|1-Dark Shadow.
A Short-Short story by SparHawk.
The palace loomed before him. He'd been riding for nearly four
weeks. What have I done wrong? is one question he repeatedly asked
himself. Why me? another.
He hadn't understood why he should have left his home. Old Garolc,
the Townmaster, had come into his room late at night explaining that
he'd better leave soon. He did as he was told, and was chased out of
town by torch waving thugs.
When he'd reached the Greenbelt forest he didn't know what he was
going to do. The Priests of Jhai who held a monastery there had given
him supper and a bed for the night but that was only one night. What
about the rest of his life?
He'd finally decided on a course of action after reaching a small
village on the far edges of the forest. Here he had worked at an inn
earning himself food and a bed. One night he'd heard a pair of old
mercenaries talking about an impending war in the west and, in an
unlikely fit of patriotism, he asked where he could sign up. They had
told him to go to the palace barracks.
He rode through. Helpfull signs indicated that he should take the
right fork of the track before him. Soon he was nearing a large wooden
hut which straddled the track. A soldier inside stopped him.
"What is your purouse here, sir?" inquired the soldier with an
obviously standard question.
"I'm here to sign up for the army."
The soldier looked at him quizzically. "You? Never mind, wait while
I get my papers." He looked bored. He ducked under a desk for a moment
and then stood up, brandishing a clip board and a quill.
"Right. Name?"
"Charl de Havile."
"Sign here please."
Charl signed. "Ermmm... what exactly have I just signed for?"
"Just the usual. You promise to obey the King etc."
"Oh, Ok. What do I do know?"
"You can pass now, that you're a bona fide member of his Majesties
Royal Army. See the drill sergeant ahead."
Charl had to leave his horse behind, but he didn't mind. He walked
on to meet the sergeant. He looked busy so Charl didn't want to
interupt. He sat and watched.
Eventually the sergeant noticed him. "You, boy. Have you nothing to
do? Are you..."
Charl interrupted. "I'm new, sir. I just joined."
"Ah! a recruit! Can you use a sword?"
"Yes."
"Ride a horse?"
"Yes."
"Good, good. Go to the stables, get a horse, go to the armoury, pick
out some weapons and armour and be back here tomorrow morning. We march
at dawn."
Charl stood for a moment, slightly disorientated. Somehow he hadn't
imagined it would be like this, but then it was war. He did as he was
told yet again. The stable master was a kind man and had given a fine
horse to Charl when he had seen how good Charl was with the animal. The
armoury didn't seem to have anyone in charge, so Charl picked out an
impressive sword and matching armour.
After some trial and error Charl found where he was expected to
sleep. He didn't have much else to do so he retired early, dreams of
heroism filling his mind.
The morning was over quickly. It started with a quick trumpet call
and ended the same way. Before he knew it he had dressed in his armour,
collected his horse, listened to a speech from the King and rode out in
a neat column through the palace gates.
The journey to the west seemed just as quick, albeit a longer sort of
quickness. The drudgery of army life passed the time. He learned
tactics, basic warfare and some other skills such as diplomacy as
medicine on the road. He helped to teach swordplay and horse riding
with the more experienced tutors. He started to learn some magic, but
he soon discovered that it had an aversion to him.
Soon, too soon, he was in formation on the battlefield. The general
gave the signal to charge.
It was a mass of bodies. From above it was probably a beautifully
organised procedure, but down here it seemed a mess. He simply rode
forward. An enemy soldier periodically appeared in his field of vision.
Charl swung his sword and carried on.
He continued his bloody journey. On either side of him were other
soldiers from his army. In front were more of the enemy. Dimly, in the
distance, he could see the enemy tents. This, as the general had
drilled into them, was their target.
The plan was simple. Fight through the soldiers, get to the tents,
find the leader and capture him. Not kill, as they had been repeatedly
told, just capture. Some of the army magicians were on hold to question
him on 'crimes against the state'.
He had now reached the tents. Behind him a row of dead enemy
soldiers lay in a gory trail. Either side of him the battle continued,
but he was in a strange moment of calm. Time had stopped.
He broke through the enemy ranks and reached the tents. Other
soldiers had done the same. They were meeting heavy resistance, but
there seemed to be none for him. In fact, they seemed to avoid him.
Even help him forward.
Where to now? It seemed obvious to him to go to the biggest tent.
As before he managed to arrive without resistance. He entered.
Inside it was gloomy. Satin sheets hung from the canopy creating a
ghostly atmosphere. Two incense burners produced green, fragrant smoke.
At the back end of the tent someone sat on a throne.
Outside the sounds of battle were still prominent, but in here the
voice was stronger. "Charl," it said. "At last we meet."
What's going on here? "Who are you?"
"Charl." The voice seemed to savour the word. It chuckled before
continuing. "You may call me Charl."
Suddenly it all fit. Why he had been thrown out of his home. Why he
had joined the army. Why he had come here.
He was face to face with his nemesis. It was his twin; he himself;
his own dark side. It was all of those and more. It was pure evil, but
had capacity for infinite good. It was his father, yet also his
grandfather.
Charl - that is the 'Charl' on the throne - was an entity that had
dogged his family for generations. Charl had been his father and his
fathers father. It was all due to some obscene pact in history. This
was Charls only form of life, a shadow of the eldest de Havile son. A
reminder of an earlier age.
Charl was going to kill it.
He lunged forward, sword outstretched. He became enmeshed in the
satin and when he looked up, the entity was gone. He heard a chuckle
behind him.
Charl dived forward again, and the same thing happened. It was
frustrating. There was no way... but...
Charl lifted his sword and fell upon it. This was the only way he
knew. He had to end his familys line. He was the last of the male side
of the family. This way at least he would be free.
As he lay there, his lifes blood flowing from a wound in his chest,
the general entered. The general stared at him on the floor. "Who?" he
said. "Who the hell are you?"
Charl tried to ask for help, but his vocal chords seemed to have a
life of their own. He laughed, then said "General? I'm the new
General!".
End