New Recuit
371 Words
Lassitor's camp was eerily quiet after the departure of the three. The sunlight was fading, painting the sky nearly as red as the courtyard. The Sage rose from the ground and dusted off his clothes. Lassitor's sword still pierced his chest. He sighed; this had been one of his best outfits. He grasped the sword with both hands and slowly pried the magical weapon from his chest.
He turned to the west and saw two cloaked figures melt from the woods. The smaller of the two danced through the bodies as they approached. The Sage sneered with derision at the smaller figure. She did not deserve the Master's special interest. She was a broken thing, only at home with the skeletons she commanded.
The Master, however, seemed to glide across the battle field. The Master's steps were unhurried, never avoiding the bodies nor stepping upon the slain. The Sage bowed low at the Master's approach.
“My Lord, I have done as you commanded,” he said.
“Then you have done well,” the Master replied as it turned toward Lassitor's cold body.
A withered hand emerged from under the black cloak; the skin stretched tautly and drained of all color. The hand stretched toward Lassitor's remains and black flame erupted around it. The hand clenched into a fist and Lassitor's body lurched and then slowly stood.
Lassitor groaned and then stared in horror at the cloaked figure before him. “Why?” he asked again.
“Yours is a special quality, Lassitor, a quality I require,” the Master uttered. “You should feel honored that I have chosen you to be in my service.”
Lassitor said nothing, his will subsumed by the Master’s. He bowed his head in what could have been acknowledgement, but was more likely defeat.
“A new player has entered the game,” the Master said turning back to face the Sage. “Time begins to slip from us. We must move on to the next one.”
“As you will,” the Sage said, lifting a severed arm from the ground. He began to gnaw at it as he followed the Master. They went northward toward the next recruit.
- Writer
