Intermezzo IV - Taunting

Intermezzo

Faelnon was sleeping relatively peacefully in his cabin. His mind was clouded with all the things currently going on before he went to sleep – he was surprised he could at all. As he slept, a small smile crept along his features, his ears were filled with a sweet tune, he didn’t recognise it at first, but then it struck him, it was an old folk tale from his home-town, Caritas. Said tune had slowly awoken him, but he could still hear it, awake. His eyes flicked open inquisitively, the room was dark, but sitting in a chair in the corner of the room was a figure he instantly identified as Shandor – he was playing a flute.

Shandor stops and looks at Faelnon, ‘Faely, old boy! I’m back, and I’m over whosyamacallit.’ He pauses and rolls his eyes around before giving up this pretence, ‘Okay, if I had really wanted to impersonate Shandor, I probably would have put the research in – I will next time, I promise. But I got the flute thing right, didn’t I? That’s what he plays?’

Faelnon, already fully awake and rather annoyed with the intruder, ‘Clarinet actually.’

‘Oh…’ He puts the flute on the desk, ‘Oh well. How are you?’

‘What do you want?’

‘Me? Nothing in particulars, I just bought a ticket to this wonderful show and I intend to enjoy every drop of it. Oh, but I thought I should help the play along, it seems to be lagging in Act II, don’t you think?’

‘What the Tarkna are you talking abo-‘ Faelnon was interrupted as his vision blurred and he slumped back onto the pillow. He blinked his eyes to clear them, when he did, he was staring at a burning sky. No, it wasn’t on fire, it was just blood red. He sat up, he was on a dusty, rocky area. There was the sound of hoof beats all around. He realised where he was, it was a place where Shandor, Ariea, The Dwarves, Foilae and himself had been many years back; there was something more, but he couldn’t place it. He looked about to see Shandor fighting two figures, raiders. They were interested in the armour and supplies the group had. Faelnon looked about and saw himself engaging one of them. He watched, partly horrified, as the other Faelnon deliberately was brutal and vicious to his opponent before slowing killing him. As his opponent fell to the ground, there was a cry not of the two combatants, Faelnon of that time didn’t bother to look, but this Faelnon did. Shandor was pinned down, his sword had been knocked away and he looked to have a broken arm; Faelnon should have helped, but he was too busy killing the already-dead raider. The current Faelnon watched in horror as Shandor was struck down and killed.

There was a cackling as he was brought out of this illusion, Faelnon was back in his cabin. “Shandor” was standing on the other side, ‘Ah, I love a little stroll down memory lane, don’t you? Did it even occur to you that Shandor died because you were too busy being a “kind” person? And why did Ariea die again? Oh yes, she and Shandor obviously hatched their own plan, nothing sinister could have ever happened, right?’

Faelnon had no words.

‘Well, old Faely, you’ll be pleased to know that every night I’ll be here to share another lovely memory with you until you finally give up this stupid notion of defeating us, and you disband the group. Then I leave you alone, I promise.’ He grins, suddenly there is the sound of glass shattering. He looks about, slightly surprised, ‘Hm, I guess I’d better leave you to get to that. I’ll bring a clarinet next time.’ He disappears in a roar of fire, along with the flute.

Faelnon made no motion for a long moment before he realises he has to act about the noise.