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Spring of Victory: Interlude #18
A General No More The General sits with his back against the wooden signpost, waiting for the right time to cross the river. Today there is no battle, no collision of armies, and no clash of weapons. Today he sits waiting for the moment that he has dreamt of since that fateful day in the swamps all those years ago. On this day of relative calm, The General is going home, a general no more. His more than human ears pick up the sound of an approaching carriage over the ever-present wind. Casually he glances towards the sound. Through the haze and blow of dust he can barely make out black shapes pulling a large carriage. The carriage and its occupants are coming down the same road he himself had walked earlier that day. He can tell that it is still some distance off. Stretching out one leg, he leans his head back. "Roust me when it gets to the last dune." He says to the modrons sitting nearby. There is no reply from the obedient creatures. Over the years they have come to understand this human. He gives them purpose and they have rewarded him with their loyalty. The General closes his eyes and lets his troubled mind wonder. As usual, it immediately flies to a day full of pain and trouble. In perfect clarity he sees and feels hands of the cornugon surgeons stitching his wounds together with demon guts. Their work made him like a flesh golem, all stitched together from the ragged flesh of other beings. At least their skill is such that no one can see the scars. After all, they are not meant to be seen, only felt. In time his tortured mind is through reminding him of the horrible being he has become. It lets go of the maelstrom of emotions and rests upon a single pleasant memory. His shattered soul reaches out and grips the memory tightly, holding onto it however briefly. It is a fine day in a field near the town of Pregmere. She is here, close enough for him to smell her perfumed hair. He soaks in the warmth of her love and she smiles knowing how few people ever get this close to him. "Do you have to go?" she asks, sliding her arms down his back to his waist. He nods. "It has to be done. We moved the tree once and since I am the last, I do not intend to move it again." "I am worried Granus will do something stupid with you gone. The man has more ambition than sense and a few of the druids are his close allies." Her smile turns to a frown as her hands entwine with his. "And I will miss you." "Briallen," he says calmly, "I will be back before Granus moves against Rohan. We'll put an end to his ambitions. His son is a better man than Granus and we'll have some peace. For a while anyway." He pulls away from her but his hand lingers in hers. "And, I will miss you as well." Briallen smiles again and lets her hand linger in his. "Perhaps when you return, we can work on making sure your family line does not end with you." His face becomes serious. He steps in close again and grabs her around the waist. Without preamble he presses his lips to hers. The kiss lingers. Neither of them wants to break their embrace but the call of duty finally forces them to part. "I won't be gone long." He lets go of her and turns toward the town. "I'll be waiting," she whispers to his departing form. "General?" The voice is that of Gray Seven, the monodrone who has been with him the longest. Dream over. The General opens his eyes to see the monodrone hovering nearby. Its coarse voice adds, "The carriage is at the last dune." He looks over and, sure enough, it is nearly on them. Casually he stands and brushes off his long coat and straightens its collar. As the carriage nears, he can see that is pulled by six black-boned osyluth. "Of course," he says aloud and to no one in particular. In the coach is a fiend of large proportions with its face contorted into a horrible never ceasing grin. Even the modrons tremble in its presence. The human however, seems unaffected. "Lost your way?" The General asks. His hands fall casually to his sides. "No, just here to wish you well, human. We have been together so very long." The devil licks its grotesque lips and leans closer. "I will miss my favorite general." "Sentimental son of a ..." The General begins but the devil's raised hand cuts him off. "No need for belligerence. My intentions are true. A deal is a deal. Even if I will no longer be the envy of Acheron." "Good, I would hate to have to kill you after all we have been through." The human says with dry sarcasm. Laughing, the devil sits back in its carriage. For a moment the palpable evil fades away and the grotesque smile becomes almost bearable, almost. "Even a being of evil can hate saying goodbye." The devil says, sounding almost genuine. It is a common myth that devils and demons are beings of pure and unending evil. However, even they can appreciate a boon companion; as a mortal might appreciate a loyal pet. Some are rumored to even have friendships, though none would dare admit it. It would show too much weakness. The General sighs to himself and allows a faint smile to come to his lips. "Then say 'so long'. If you ever decide to try another shot at the Abyss, you know where to find me." Nodding once, the devil cracks an enormous whip over the head of his osyluth carriage team. Quickly they are moving their legs in perfect unison, carrying the carriage and its contents away. The General wastes no time after watching them crest the hill. "Seven, you know how to get to the Outlands safely, yes? Just as we spoke of?" The monodrone salutes, "Yes sir! This unit knows." "Good. Take the armor and go there. Hide until I call you." Obediently the five modrons grab their burdens and are gone. He is left alone on the banks of the river. When the time comes, he makes his way across and finds a dust-covered road similar to the one he just left. A lone woman is waiting there. Around her neck is a collar made of mithril. "You should let me go," she says, her voice purring in defiance as always. "My lord will reward you well." "If your words are true, then you will be released. Until then . your life is mine." He grabs her by the arm and looks both ways along the path. "Now, which way?" She points to his right but doesn't relent, "I can be much more valuable to you than just as a guide." She steps in seductively but he keeps her at an arm's length. With a sneer, she taunts him, "The world is far different than the one you left." "Oh yes, gnomish bards and dwarven wizards, I know. Somehow I doubt they will be much trouble," he replies, pushing her along the road. "You'll see," Samandiriel says sullenly. The General just laughs. 
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