As always, here's my compositions for the Empire story on YouTube.
http://www.youtube.com/user/MagixMusicM ... EA601F0D75
Okrol and Arboar entered the herbalist's shop briskly, the sun glowing warmly on their backs. Okrol's spirits had been lifted by the sight of the rythincolt. The herbalist himself stood behind a counter at the back of the rectangular shaped shop, his Stetson tilted downwards slightly as his body, hunched over the table in front of him, beckoned to his two new customers with a swift raise of the hand.
“And what pleasure do I owe you two?” the herbalist welcomed them cheerfully, standing between the counter and the narrow open doorway behind him which led to the storeroom.
“Just some treatment for my young friend here.” answered Arboar, his hand slipping upwards to take his own hat off Okrol's head. “Turn around, son,” Arboar said to Okrol. Okrol wasn't sure if he liked Arboar calling him son, he knew Arboar was only being friendly but calling him son, given the circumstances, was taking it too far.
As asked, Okrol turned around to show the man his scar, keeping a pleasant face.
“Ah; I see,” said the herbalist after a moment of scrutiny. “That's a nasty scar, boy,” he finished, standing back, stroking his five-O'clock-shadow in thought.
“What would you recommend, friend?” asked Arboar.
“By the looks of that, I would say...” suddenly, the clerk's face became a picture of recollection. “I'll be back in a minute, wait there,” he proclaimed, running through the narrow passageway that led into the back of the shop, leaving Okrol and Arboar alone.
Okrol's scalp itched and prickled with fear. As he brought a hand up to itch it, Arboar spoke.
“Don't worry, Okrol, word of us can't have reached the people here. If it had, we couldn't have walked freely around Lampito as we did,” he re-ensured, sensing the anxiety radiating from Okrol's mind. Arboar could see right in, he could see Okrol much more thoroughly than he would ever let on. He knew how Okrol worried for his mother and father, he knew Okrol's pain for his home and his friends that died fighting against the Zarphic Riders. Arboar felt fear trickle into Okrol's being as the herbalist's face changed when he ran into the back of the shop. However, Arboar wasn't scared; he'd been studying the clerk since the two had walked in and knew there was no danger where the herbalist was concerned.
Okrol listened to what sounded like a small bird chirping inside the shop. Its song, beautiful, falling on Okrol's open ears. The melody made his head turn slowly, trying to locate the source of the noise. Arboar too, turned his head, reaching out with his senses for the enchanting tune.
They moved almost in unison, walking excitedly to the left hand side of the shop, where the noise came from.
Arboar had been defeated, the sound had taken over him, mellowed him. For the first time in years, he opened the flood-gates, allowing the sound to overwhelm his being. Okrol and Arboar crept anxiously to a unit of shelves stacked with bottles of black coloured ointment. They knew the sound issued from just behind it. Even as strong-willed as Arboar was, he, nor Okrol could bring themselves to look upon the object that made the brilliant noise.
“Ah, I wouldn't get too close to that if I were you,” the herbalist said imposingly, walking back to his spot behind the counter holding a blue coloured bottle in his hands. Suddenly, Okrol and Arboar snapped out of the trance in a blink of the eye.
“What was that?” Okrol asked the shop owner, swallowing hard.
“It's my new invention,” he replied. “It's designed to relieve stress but it still needs work; it's too strong.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Arboar said, feeling slightly embarrassed inside himself.
“Yes,” the herbalist agreed. “Now, I remembered having this in-stock a couple of years ago,” he said, holding the bottle up. “It's my own innovation and it is used for regrowing hair.”
“OK,” Arboar said. “And how do we use it, friend?” he finished.
“Just pour the ointment onto the desired area and this will do the rest,” he finished proudly, signalling at the bottle.
Okrol waited outside the shop while Arboar dealt with payment for the man. All the conversation he'd had with Arboar on the way to the herbalist's had stopped him from really noticing the town. Now that he looked closely however, he noticed the pubs and taverns. He noticed some people running, some people talking, all fleeing or siding with the same group of people. Okrol couldn't see who they were; there were too many people blocking his view.
Okrol heard a sharp clink, then a scream. A man in the crowd that circled the group fell limply backwards, an arrow indented in the heart of his dead body. Suddenly, the swindling dust that lay cunningly on the ground, flurried flaccidly as the small mass of people ran for their lives in all directions, arrows chasing them through the dusty mist. It was then, through the commotion, that Okrol saw them. He saw their hooded clothing concealing their faces, he saw the daggers that hung casually from their belts. He saw their crossbows, happily fixed in their hands. Okrol's heart dropped into his gut like a rock in quick-sand - It was the Zarphic Riders.
Arboar heard the commotion and came running out of the shop, stowing the bottle into a large pocket in his clothing.
“What do we do, Arboar?” Okrol asked tensely.
“We run,” he replied. “I can't fight them all,” he finished, squinting into the haze.
“Now you keep your head down, boy,” Arboar said sternly, placing one of his large hands on Okrol's back, manoeuvring him behind a small group of houses.
OK, son. This will either go really well or really badly. Here's what I'm going to do: I'll go and talk to the guards, maybe make a bit of a nuisance of my self, if you know what I mean,” Arboar said as he started to smile. “Meanwhile, you slip past in all the commotion. You get to the inn, get our things together and be waiting by the stables with the carriage packed, OK?”
“Yes, Sir,” Okrol answered, slightly shaking with the adrenaline that pounded through his body. “But where are the stables?” he asked.
“No time to explain. You just do what I told you to. Ask Pam where they are.”
Okrol watched from behind the corner of one of the houses, his head creeping only inches into view so he could watch his comrade run into a hoodwinked battle with the men who killed for pleasure.
Suddenly, a flurry of dust was thrown into the air again as surprised feet started to move quickly and clumsily. Okrol saw his chance and bounded for the inn. It took him only a few seconds for him to reach where Arboar was fighting the men viciously in the dust-cloud. Arboar winked at him as he ran past. Okrol ran for what seemed like hours under the intense heat of the sun, stopping only at the large, polished door the inn lay behind. After opening the door quickly, Okrol shot up the stairs, thumping on them hard, causing dust to billow out in all directions. The door to his room was as it had been when he left before. He opened it.
Okrol and Arboar's bags lay by the small window. Okrol ran over to retrieve them, now panting wildly in the silent air. As he picked the bags up exhaustedly, Okrol stopped to look out through the filthy window. He saw more people being murdered as more Riders entered Lampito in search of himself and Arboar.
“Such a pretty sight, isn't it?” came a cold, chilling voice from behind him. Okrol turned swiftly around, only to look straight into the face of Pam, who stood in the corner of the room. She looked different, maddened. She had bright, menacingly red eyes and smiled darkly as she walked forward slowly into the centre of the room.
“I think you need to rest that head of yours,” she said, her voice now changed. There was no longer an accent, nor a huskiness to her speech. They had both been replaced by a chilling, deadly tone that pierced Okrol's ears like nails on a chalkboard.
“No thank you, Miss,” said Okrol as Pam moved closer to him, her deep, blood-red eyes, glinting in the light of the window. “Please, Pam,” Okrol pleaded, petrified.
“Pam? Pam?!” she said. “Oh, you mean this Pam?” she finished, mimicking her phony character, coldly.
Okrol walked backwards, his back touching the dirty window pane. Pam lunged forward with frightening speed, grabbing Okrol by the collar and pinning him up against the window. “What's wrong, little Okrol? Miss mummy and daddy?” she said, laughing at his frightened face. “It's a good job you don't know where they're hiding, or I would have extracted that from your pathetic little mind as well.”
The door to the room opened casually as Arboar entered the thresh-hold, his head dripping with sweat, his bloody sword still held in his hand.
“Lokdempam; I should have known,” he said, addressing Pam. Lokdempam's head moved to face him with super-human speed, staring at him evilly.
“You cannot intimidate me, witch,” Arboar exclaimed fiercely.
Both Lokdempam and her opponent drew their weapons at the same time; their hands. Huge, invisible bursts of energy shot from both outstretched arms, both surges colliding in the centre of the room. As the forces collided, waves of pure energy danced around the room, smashing picture frames and anything else that got in its way.
Lokdempam felt Arboar winning, his force conquering her. She threw all her strength into one last push. The wave up-turned the bed, sending it flying at the far wall, making it land in pieces. Okrol too was taken off his feet, his back braking the brittle window pane he was leaning against. Okrol fell out of the window and spiralled down into oblivion. Arboar sat, defeated against the door of the room, waiting for Lokdempam's final blow. His eyes looked fiercely up at her, behind them not fear, only intelligence and hatred. She had done her job now, she could now return home to Zekric, back to her brother, the chief of the Zarphic Desert clans.
Calmness overcame Arboar as Lokdempam disappeared before his eyes. She had gone. Next time, he would be ready.
Okrol screamed Arboar's name at the top of his voice. Arboar shot up with newly found energy. Okrol had fallen onto a group of unsuspecting Riders when he fell out of the window. In the time for Lokdempam do withdraw, the Riders had tied him up with thick, bristly rope, and placed him on a wagon. As Arboar reached the window, the Riders were already moving, cracking at their horses with their whips.
Arboar snatched the bags from the floor by his feet. He belted down the stairs, turned a corner. He lunged through the 'dining room' door, through the dining room, through the kitchen, out into the yard, through a gate and into the stables. After taking seconds to throw the bags onto the back of the trailer, Arboar was in the driver's position and was riding frantically after Okrol's captives.
Arboar followed the screams of frightened men and women, trying to work out where Okrol was. Eventually, he saw them for a split second. The Riders were heading out of Lampito, further into Largate. Arboar made a swift turn, hoping to short-cut his way through the busy streets and head the Riders off.
Arboar arrived at the only road out of Lampito that lead further into Largate. The Riders were already fifty yards ahead of him along the road, somehow, he hadn't managed to catch them up. Arboar retrieved his crossbow from a hidden compartment by his feet. He took aim and fired. The arrow whizzed through the air, stopping only to hit the body of an unfortunate Rider. Arboar reloaded and loaded again, each streamlined arrow he released, hitting a Rider. He had one arrow left to face one Rider who drove desperately, wild with fear.
There was a rock on the road, just a little bigger than a head. Arboar, too busy loading his final arrow, couldn't manoeuvre the horses in time. The rock splintered the front wheel of the carriage, sending it crashing to the floor. Arboar was thrown out of it, landing awkwardly on the road-side. His arm felt numb and the Rider was well out of crossbow reach. Arboar struggled to get the last arrow in place. It was worth a try. He released his last arrow, speaking his ancient words as it took off. Suddenly, the slim piece of wood burned bright blue, speeding on quicker and quicker. Arboar, the champion shooter had aimed it just right, it hit the Rider in the back, pierced his heart and carried on moving. It stopped only when it hit the wood of the Riders' carriage.
It took no less than ten minutes for Arboar to finally reach Okrol. After untying his angry arms and legs, Arboar let him up and studied him carefully.
“Are you all right?” Arboar asked.
“Yes. I think so, thank you, Sir,” Okrol replied through infuriated, panicky, gritted teeth.
“Right, glad to hear it. Come on then, come and unbuckle these horses with me; from now on, we travel horseback.”
