Ed Gentry - Neversfall

He tossed her leg aside and punched her again, and this time his aim found her jaw. Gasping in pain, Adeenya fell to the floor. A gray dimness encircled her vision and grew darker each moment she held onto consciousness. As the darkness closed in around her, the first man with the kind green eyes stood and dusted himself off. Red-faced from his compatriot's chuckling, the man kicked Adeenya in the ribs with a resounding crunch.

The door slammed shut before her. Outside, she heard her chuckling assailant say to the green-eyed man, "That is twice now, my friend. You are slipping."

Adeenya pulled herself against the nearby wall and tried to relax her muscles. The pain was easier to take than she had expected. Her ribs ached. Her head throbbed. Had she a mirror, Adeenya was certain she would find bruises on the side of her face, likely blooming bright and colorful. They would fade into purples, greens, and then yellows. Would she still be trapped in this place then? Would she be alive long enough to see those ugly marks diminish?

The room had become very dark, not granted even the meager light that made it past the boarded window before her assault. Evening had settled. She wondered if the guards had changed. Even if so, it would do her little good. The previous guards would have warned the newcomers of her attempt to escape, making them wary of any further efforts.

Adeenya pulled her legs in tight to her chest, resting her forehead on her knees. She thought about all the times other warriors had told her that they felt naked without their armor and limbless without their weapons. She craved her armor worse than even her favorite food, but she did not feel naked without it. She desired her weapons more than any lover she had ever taken, but she did not feel limbless. Anger pervaded her mind, leaving room for little else and granting her protection and fury.

A voice outside the door spoke. She started when she heard a familiar booming voice answer the first. She uncoiled her body but stayed seated, ready to move quickly if necessary. Other voices answered the first and feet shuffled. The door before her opened, and torch light poured in, chasing away the darkness. Her anger seethed at the sight of the entrant as he placed a torch in a sconce on the wall.

"Good evening," Jhoqo said, closing the door behind him with one hand, the other riding the hilt of his sword. He wore a slight smile and soft eyes. He was in full dress- armor, rank insignia, and Maquar silks.

Adeenya met his gaze and did not falter, even when she heard the men on the other side of the door moving away, their feet pounding as they went down a flight of stairs. The muscles in her jaw flexed rapidly as she clenched, the pressure on her teeth growing almost unbearable. For his part, Jhoqo knelt and nodded toward her, as if he understood and forgave her reaction.

"I can only imagine what you're feeling now," the man said.

Adeenya sprang forward, her hands reaching toward the Maquar's neck. Jhoqo's head shook as he stepped into her attack and drove a fist into her stomach. She crumpled back to the floor, sputtering and gasping for air. He withdrew and crouched, watching her closely. She forced away the pain and drew a deep breath as she pushed herself back up against the wall. Her eyes found his again, his dark skin shimmering in the firelight from the torch.

"Please do not do that again," Jhoqo said. "I have no wish to harm you."

"Only to knock me out from behind? To blame me for Marlke's death? And what else?" Adeenya said. "What other invented crimes have you charged me with?"

"A few, all necessary," Jhoqo replied. "His death is the only one that you are guilty of."

"I was trying to stop him! Your interference is what killed him. Or maybe you finished him off yourself!"

"You caused his death," Jhoqo replied. "Whether directly or indirectly, you were the cause of his death. Had you not insisted upon setting a trap for the traitor, you would never have discovered Marlke at his work. Had you not found him, he would not be dead."

"That's the logic of someone seeking absolution if I've ever heard it," she said.

Jhoqo shrugged again, unimpressed with the distinction. "I let him die. You killed him," he said. "There is a difference."

"By the One and the All… you are mad," Adeenya said, her feet unconsciously pushing against the stone to move farther from the man.

Jhoqo smiled halfway and nodded as he moved himself to rest against the door, sitting opposite the woman. "Your words do not surprise me, but let me ask a question. Why did you become a mercenary?" he asked.

When she did not answer, he continued, "Did you wish to serve something greater than yourself? Though Durpar does not have a military institution in the same sense as my country, you mercenaries fill that void. Is that why you made your choice?"

Adeenya thought about the question and nodded. She saw an opportunity and could not pass it up.

"It is the same for most of us, I think," he said, offering a larger smile.

"Most of who?" she asked.

"Patriots, like you and I," he answered. "That's what we are, Adeenya. We love our countries, our people, our ways of life."

Her eyes wide, Adeenya said, "You're a murderer. You're no hero!"

"I said patriot," he replied, and added, "though I think history will remember me as a hero as well. How do you wish to be remembered, Adeenya? As a hero or a traitor?" Jhoqo asked, leaning toward her.

Adeenya hesitated, Jhoqo's grotesque nature growing clearer to her by the moment. Talk of patriots and heroes, love of country and fellow man-it made her stomach heave in protest to think of the man before her believing such things about himself, while the blood of his subordinates soaked the ground. His eyes shone back at her in the torchlight, and he clearly expected a response to his question.

"I'm no hero, " Adeenya said, "and I don't yet deserve to be remembered as one. Maybe I never will be," she said with a shrug before continuing. "And if you're what passes for a patriot, then I'd not call myself one in this life or any after."

Jhoqo nodded, easing away from her. He stared at her in silence for several moments before standing, his knees grinding a little and causing him to sigh. The short man moved to the wall against which she rested and placed his hand on the stone. Running his fingers along the rock, he smiled, tracing the tiny gaps where one stone met another.

"Do you know what makes stacked stones stand together as a wall?" Jhoqo asked, not looking at her.

"Patriotism?" Adeenya said, sarcastically.

Jhoqo's grin widened as he looked at her and said, "Of the builders who come together to craft the wall? That's true. But I mean in a broader sense."

Jhoqo ran a finger along the gaps between the stones again and spoke softly, "If you stack these stones directly atop one another, no matter how many columns, they will begin to waver and eventually tumble after you pile six, maybe seven of them high, will they not?

"However, if you place several side by side and a similar row atop those, but shifted one way or the other from those below so that the gaps no longer line up, you achieve more balance, but no permanency, solidity, or strength.

"The strength-what keeps them together-is the weight of them. The pressure is spread amongst them, each taking its fair share and passing the rest down to its neighbor," Jhoqo said, kneeling on the floor near her. "Like soldiers working together, they take everything they can handle and trust in their fellow soldiers, their brothers and sisters, to do the same. Given enough stones, no height is unreachable, no weight too much, no pressure too great. The same is true of soldiers and patriots."

She frowned and ran her fingers over the stone. His words were surprisingly moving. Despite the situation, she longed to feel the connection between them, but she felt only cold rock, well placed by hundreds if not thousands of workers, and likely magically enhanced to be sturdy and durable.