Bydor, on sudden impulse, grabbed Logaen and pulled him into a great bear hug. Then, embarrassed, he pulled away and cleared his throat roughly. "Thank you. I will not fail," he promised, and then he vanished into the trees.
Logaen trotted back into the city, careful to avoid the main fighting. When he remembered the initial fray and how he had been caught in it, his heart raced again and he was reminded that he was barely a thirteen year old boy, and he had no place in the battle no matter how much he wanted to be the hero. There were other ways he could help, he knew, understanding now the place he had been given in Saradomin’s Order. Saradomin couldn’t lose his Chosen now, not with what was coming.
An immense commotion somewhere ahead alerted his senses and he dashed forward, sword upraised in his hand. When he reached the scene, however, he skidded to a halt and stood stock-still. Shock turned his legs to jelly. An invisible hand clenched his throat, cutting off all breathing.
Zamorak stood in the center of the circle. Saradomin was across from him, in the start of another alley. His eyes were glued to Zamorak, but they noticed Logaen and widened for a moment. Logaen only had eyes for what dangled from Zamorak's spindly hands.
Saine's writhing, trembling body was clutched in Zamorak's grasp. He screamed and pleaded and cried, but Zamorak just laughed cruelly as he gazed into the shimmering eyes. Then he glanced up, as though just noticing Saradomin.
"Oh, hello Saradomin," he greeted cheerfully. "Look what I found. I don't like trash in my city, you know how picky I get." His voice was a casual drawl, but there was a steely edge beneath it.
24-Sep-2006 22:23:18
- Last edited on
25-Sep-2006 01:50:49
by
Crystal Smee