Post by Sabra Darklure on Aug 27, 2006 14:51:09 GMT -5
Blood burned through her thighs like molten metal, the incline deceptively steeper than she had perceived. The lithe woman leaned into her stride, her upper body nearly parallel with the dusty trail she climbed. Her breath was labored and harsh in the acrid air as she struggled to the apex, her expression triumphant when she surmounted it and gained the flat ridge of the plateau. Sabra slowed to a walk, letting her overworked muscles cool down. She had been too long idle, and her body complained of it with each step.
The path fed her into a narrow channel formed by twin rock outcroppings that looked too orchestrated to be a product of nature. The small hairs at her nape stirred. Sabra paused, her head canting as she tried to determine if the source of her body’s sudden unease was simply a reaction to some residual power from the rock formations or some other, more immediate risk.
The tangy scent of oranges reached her a mere moment before the figure separated himself from the shadows of the towering stone on her right. Sabra had just enough time to curse and assume a crouching roll. The sound of metal scraping ineffectually over stone was loud in the confined space, but she had no time to celebrate and somersaulted backward a breath before the thunk of the second knife sounded from the dirt she had just abandoned.
Riek’s hearty laughter told her the assault was over. “It’s good to see the reflexes are still adequate, dovey. I was worried after watching you struggle up the hill that you had gone soft on me.”
Sabra stood and seethed, and only the knowledge that throwing the knife she had drawn would be futile against the likes of Riek kept the hilt in her hand. She sheathed the blade and crossed her arms over her chest, cocking a hip in a showy display of impatience. Fixing the wiry man with a cold stare, she asked straightforwardly, “What do you want, Riek?”
With a dramatic flourish, Riek thumped his chest with a fist, “Oh, you wound me, dovey, right to the quick! Can you not tell I am wilting away without your effervescent mien that is my sunshine on a dismal day?” Within a heartbeat, the jovial façade was stripped from Riek’s demeanor, replaced with the less often glimpsed predatory cast that revealed his true nature. Thin fingers raked savagely through his sandy mane, a gesture that Sabra recognized as one of frustration. Riek hissed out a held breath, deflated. “I want what I always want, Sabra. You. To come back to the Fold. Where you belong.” He followed each of the short, staccato sentences with a solitary step closer to her.
Sabra stood her ground, craning her neck as he neared to lock their gazes. “This is getting stale, Riek. Nine hells! How many times do I have to tell you I am never coming back? And how far do I have to run to outdistance you and your wounded pride?” She knew that her leaving the Fold had been humiliating for Riek and had cost him no small measure of status. The very fact that he had been sent to retrieve her was evidence to that.
“Pride? My pride? Oh, that is rich, dovey.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You think I have followed you to every stinking army you’ve joined and through every forsaken land you’ve tread because you slighted my ego?” His laughter was abruptly silenced when he read her expression, which was plainly devoid of guile. “You really don’t know, do you? You haven’t an inkling of your true worth to the Fold. Unbelievable. Precious, even.”
Beneath another ripple of laughter wafted that citrus smell that always preceded Riek’s comings and goings. Sabra started from her lapse of stunned silence, “Riek, wait! What do you mean, my ‘true worth’? Damn it, Riek, tell me!” She pursued his retreating figure behind the thick finger of stone, but he was gone. Only the tingle of power that played along the soft fine hair of her arms remained.
The path fed her into a narrow channel formed by twin rock outcroppings that looked too orchestrated to be a product of nature. The small hairs at her nape stirred. Sabra paused, her head canting as she tried to determine if the source of her body’s sudden unease was simply a reaction to some residual power from the rock formations or some other, more immediate risk.
The tangy scent of oranges reached her a mere moment before the figure separated himself from the shadows of the towering stone on her right. Sabra had just enough time to curse and assume a crouching roll. The sound of metal scraping ineffectually over stone was loud in the confined space, but she had no time to celebrate and somersaulted backward a breath before the thunk of the second knife sounded from the dirt she had just abandoned.
Riek’s hearty laughter told her the assault was over. “It’s good to see the reflexes are still adequate, dovey. I was worried after watching you struggle up the hill that you had gone soft on me.”
Sabra stood and seethed, and only the knowledge that throwing the knife she had drawn would be futile against the likes of Riek kept the hilt in her hand. She sheathed the blade and crossed her arms over her chest, cocking a hip in a showy display of impatience. Fixing the wiry man with a cold stare, she asked straightforwardly, “What do you want, Riek?”
With a dramatic flourish, Riek thumped his chest with a fist, “Oh, you wound me, dovey, right to the quick! Can you not tell I am wilting away without your effervescent mien that is my sunshine on a dismal day?” Within a heartbeat, the jovial façade was stripped from Riek’s demeanor, replaced with the less often glimpsed predatory cast that revealed his true nature. Thin fingers raked savagely through his sandy mane, a gesture that Sabra recognized as one of frustration. Riek hissed out a held breath, deflated. “I want what I always want, Sabra. You. To come back to the Fold. Where you belong.” He followed each of the short, staccato sentences with a solitary step closer to her.
Sabra stood her ground, craning her neck as he neared to lock their gazes. “This is getting stale, Riek. Nine hells! How many times do I have to tell you I am never coming back? And how far do I have to run to outdistance you and your wounded pride?” She knew that her leaving the Fold had been humiliating for Riek and had cost him no small measure of status. The very fact that he had been sent to retrieve her was evidence to that.
“Pride? My pride? Oh, that is rich, dovey.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You think I have followed you to every stinking army you’ve joined and through every forsaken land you’ve tread because you slighted my ego?” His laughter was abruptly silenced when he read her expression, which was plainly devoid of guile. “You really don’t know, do you? You haven’t an inkling of your true worth to the Fold. Unbelievable. Precious, even.”
Beneath another ripple of laughter wafted that citrus smell that always preceded Riek’s comings and goings. Sabra started from her lapse of stunned silence, “Riek, wait! What do you mean, my ‘true worth’? Damn it, Riek, tell me!” She pursued his retreating figure behind the thick finger of stone, but he was gone. Only the tingle of power that played along the soft fine hair of her arms remained.