Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Amaranth #14 (Durendal), Crane White #13 (green your grave will rise)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Skindiving)
Word Count: 949
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Atro does not like his options.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM. Last Cinnabar.


They had been trekking through the forest for days, always keeping the mountains to their left, following the lead of a man who may or may not be taking them to their doom.

(“Do you trust this man?” the general had asked him, and Atro could only say that he knew him, that he had met him before and he had given him the knowledge he needed to escape ekalap territory alive. But trust him? There was no telling.)

But in the end they had no choice, because the Savage Lands were impenetrable and only the Cottocks knew of whatever passages lay hidden in the mountains. Perhaps the Wyrtessians also, but even if anyone managed to find their villages it was widely known they would not lift a finger to help an outsider.

Then there was Gheir, neither fully one or the other, and he had found his way to them.

(“That’s the best clue we have of his intentions,” Atro said. “Why would he offer to help otherwise? What’s in it for him?”

“Leading us to a slaughter,” said the general darkly.

“The Wyrtessians turn away outsiders, they don’t kill them. Murder is their worst sin.”

“You said yourself he lived for years among the Cottocks, even ruled them,” the general argued.

“And he lost face in front of them,” Atro pointed out. “I was there. I saw them abandon him.”

“He lost face in front of one village,” said the general, giving no ground. “Who’s to say he didn’t start again somewhere else?”)

But they had no choice, because they’d realized that as long as they were on the defensive the Cottocks would just keep coming, and every time they lost a battle they only had to retreat into the lands no one could follow them through. So the only way to end the war and for good was to attack them, root out their villages and their supply trails, destroy them on their own soil so they could never attack Ceenta Vowei again.

And so they had followed him, after he promised to show them a passage through the mountains, one that would lead straight into Cottock lands.

“This is it,” said Gheir after the third day, his gait still wide and sure even after days of almost endless walking, only making camp for a few hours each night. It wasn’t safe to stay in one place for long. Cottocks melting into and out of the trees could destroy a whole army of trained soldiers before anyone realized what was going on.

Atro looked back at the general, who frowned and shook his head. Behind them stretched the entire column of infantry, disappearing into the dense underbrush, one hundred men who had been hand-picked for this excursion. The forest was too thick for cavalry.

“It’s not ideal,” Atro muttered to the general, while Gheir stood politely by and tried to look as if he wasn’t listening to every word.

“Not ideal?” the general replied with a huff.

“Not ideal” was putting it as mildly as possible. The pass was narrow, so that at most only two men could walk abreast. It was walled with high, steep rock, offering neither shelter nor escape. A shallow stream ran through it, slow-moving at least and clear where it flowed out of the pass, but they soldiers would be forced to walk in it and Atro could see debris ahead, obstacles to slow them down even more. Anyone above them with arrows and a good shot could slaughter every one of them. Anyone with decent sword could block off the ends of the passage and stop their advance. Neither scenario required more than a few men. And this was Cottock territory.

“If I lead the men in their, we could all be dead in the next hour,” said Atro, turning to Gheir. “Is this our only choice?”

“Unless you want to be dead within the next hour, then yes,” said Gheir. “This pass is rarely used. You’re not the only ones who feel dread at the thought of going through. I could show you other passes, but I know for a fact they’re well-defended. I thought the Cottocks might have overlooked this one.”

“You’re placing a lot of faith on their forgetfulness,” the general said with a snort. He looked at Atro. “This smells of a trap. I won’t sacrifice a hundred men to it.”

“You can go through, or you can go back to where you came from,” said Gheir. “But I am telling you the truth. I cannot guarantee your mens’ safety. I cannot say for certain there aren’t right now a dozen Cottock bowmen watching from the trees above, waiting for you to enter. But I am telling you there is less chance of that happening here than anywhere else.”

“I say we go,” said Atro, but he looked to the general, because ultimately it was his decision.

The general sighed and stared back over the line of men, all of them standing, waiting patiently for their orders. “They all knew this quest might mean death,” he said. “Yes, we’ll go through.” He pointed a tanned finger at Gheir. “But if you’re leading us into the slaughter, know that I will personally kill you, no matter how many of my men die, no matter how far you run or who you shelter with. That is a promise.” He drew himself up to his full and impressive height, almost as tall as Atro himself and nearly twice as wide. His shadow swallowed Gheir’s form completely.

“I understand,” said Gheir, and Atro marveled that he didn’t even look afraid.