23 June 2012
Chapter 3
The General
Those two black dots floated in front of his eyes. Pits of darkness leading to deaths door. Four had rolled. His chance of being chosen increasing. The Geisha and The Juggler passing their trials.
As he stood above the crowded yard of men The General wondered if he could do the same. The winter winds had set in and now mocked his advances. Snow falling and spreading its halting freeze.
'Sir! Reporting that Lord Basham has arrived! Sir!'
Ignoring the overly enthusiastic private he looked out at the frosted hills. Sighing at its simplicity and purity. Breath froze and danced as crystal wind.
Turning from the beauty he descended to the fortresses gate. Lord Basham stood tall and proud on his stallion. To every solider here looking regal and invincible.
The General knew a fleeing enemy when he saw one however. The Lord's face was too pale even for this tundra. Worry creased his eyes and dented his brow. Fine silk jacket was unkept and dirty not just from riding. No escort showed his haste and mistrust.
'My old friend it is good to see you.'
The General nodded his arrival and returned the warm greeting. Moving into his apartments the Lord slumped into a deep leather chair. It's cracked surface blending well with the broken man.
'I take it you've heard the news?' he squeaked nervously as he ran a frail hand through dirty hair.
'I have.' he turned his back on his friend and walked to the drinks cabinet. 'Still brandy?'
A shaky nod and he continued his ramblings. His cousin dead. Found hunched and rotten, a strange hued death. His sister struck down at her own wedding.
'I fear I'm next!' beady black eyes darted to every corner as if mentioning murder would bring assassins down on him. 'I came to you old friend, your the last one I trust.'
The General winced at those last words. Trust was a commodity the world was short on. His men trusted him to lead them to safety. His country trusted him to protect it's boarders. His friend trusted him with his life.
Handing him a tumbler of brandy The General cradled his own. His thoughts swimming in the golden liquid. The urge to drown in its stinging embrace seemed too strong to resist.
'Do you know why?' The General asked
'Why?' the Lord fell silent. Savouring the question as he took a sip. Cloudy eyes looked back as he answered. 'I cannot think why.' a slur already in his voice.
Sighing The General discarded his glass untouched. Like he thought trust was a rare commodity, even between friends.
'This brandy...' he grinned. 'Its jolly good stuff...' his face sagged on one side. 'Making me rather sleepy mind...' blood poured from his nose and ears. 'God... What... Have... You... Done?' he gasped through struggled breaths. Blood soon filled his eyes and poured from his mouth.
Leaning back in his chair The General eyed his own glass. Picking it up he held it inches from his mouth.
Dice rattled in his ears. Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to taste that golden release. Dice rolling thudded against his temples. With an effort he lowered his glass. The dice would decide his death not him.
©Samurai2012
Dice with Death • Opuss № I