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 Ch. 14: A Job to Do

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Dye
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PostSubject: Ch. 14: A Job to Do   Thu Apr 29, 2010 6:34 pm

Priest gathered the remnants of his clan around him in a small clearing in the forest. Half a mile away, the ShadowStorm Warlord organized his men into a defensive position. He had more than enough men to overpower Requiem, but he had also sustained heavy losses from Requiem’s superior warriors. And he wasn’t about to risk losing any more that day. What if the Guardians of Doom showed up?



Priest counted the members of his clan. Next to him, Asterisk lay, his right shoulder wrapped in gauze, the stump still bleeding. On his other side, Blizzard was comforting the new recruits. Edvin had sustained an injury to the chest, while Seth was wearing a sling over his broken arm. Other recruits were similarly battered. In one corner of the grove, surrounded by sticks, Skell was whittling himself a set of arrows, having lost all of his in the battle. In another corner sat Megan, Priest’s sister, happily slurping the ice cream that Edvin had conjured out of thin air for her. Priest counted ten people. Where was Saint and Nathan? The sound of snapping twigs. Skell stood up, a finished arrow to his bow. He lowered it when he saw two men, dressed in black, approaching the camp, led by a small girl dressed in red. Blizzard raised both of his eyebrows. Dawn smirked.



“What are you doing here?”



“What, am I not allowed to fight?’



“Wait, you fought?”



“Yes,” Saint answered Blizzard’s questioning looks. “She took out five guys all by herself, mainly because the enemy was too surprised by her appearance to do anything for about ten seconds. The rest of them gave up after that.”



“But Dawn, where’s your weapon?”



“Where’s yours?”



“Mine broke.”



“Well, I didn’t use one.”



“What!?!?!?”



“Blizzard, she can crumple steel plates like paper with her bare fists.” Nathan muttered. “I don’t think she needs a weapon.”



“All of you, shut up! I have two of my men in mortal danger, and here you are, chatting away?” Everyone paused and turned to look at Priest. His face was grim as he contemplated how to get the last two of his members out of the enemy base alive.



-----



Dye and Jacob were standing on a small hill on the far side of the base. Dye was carefully examining the map that Blizzard had given them. Jacob shifted in his spot, nervously glancing over his shoulders.



“Can we go already? I don’t like the feel of this place.”



“Neither do I, but we have a job to do. Hey, come over here.” Jake walked over to peer over Dye’s shoulder.



“Dang, that’s a great map! But wouldn’t Priest need it too?”



“What, this? Nah. I don’t think they need the blueprints to the White Light base in order to get in. But we do. Look at this.” Dye pointed to a small tree in the corner of the map. “We are right here, and according to the map, the secret entrance is right at the base of that tree.” Both of them turned around to stare at a small tree, standing, perfectly straight, on top of the hill. As they watched it, a little puff of smoke appeared out of the top of the tree. Jacob1 started in surprise.



“Hey look, it’s a chimney!”



“No really? I thought it was just a magical tree that just spouts smoke and purple bubbles.” Dye snorted. “The problem is, how do we get into the base?”



“The base? What base?” Dye slapped his hand to his forehead and groaned loudly. Jacob was seriously getting on his nerves. While he was doing this, Jake was busy peeling the bark off the tree. Underneath, he found a big shiny button. Curious, he pushed it. Both Dye and Jake jumped as the base of the tree split open, revealing a series of steps leading down into the hill.



-----



As the two climbed down the stairs, Dye heard voices. Clapping his hand to Jake’s mouth to keep him from bursting out loud, he sat still and listened. One voice was the familiar sneer of Elitis, while another sounded as if it came from a short, fat old geezer. Elitis was the one speaking the most.



“You see? Requiem was a pushover. If the Guardians of Doom are stupid enough to ally themselves with such a weak clan, they must be getting weaker themselves!”

“But my lord…they destroyed a substantial part of our army…”



“No buts…”



“But the Guardians of Doom has a bigger army…”



“I said no buts! Victory is ours!” Elitis’s laughter echoed up the stairway. Dye rolled his eyes, unsheathed his giant saber, and trotted down the remaining steps into a grand, gilded conference room with a great iron table sitting in the middle of it. On one side sat Elitis in a golden chair; the ‘throne’ that lent its name to the room. On the other side of the room, next to the staircase where Dye stood hidden, a great fire roared in the hearth, sending spouts of smoke up the chimney. Around the table sat the various other members of the council of the ShadowStorm Elites. Some of them were pot-bellied politicians that used wit rather than warmongering to control the clan. But others were indeed warriors, with swords, axes, hammers, and spears leaning against the backs of their chairs. The moment Dye entered the room, all eyes turned to look at him in surprise.



“Hey guys,” Dye said. Then he charged.
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