It’s Wednesday! Yay! *Usual rigmarole* Linky goodness. And now to the good stuff…
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I PRESENT TO YOU FOR YOUR DELECTATION AND DELITE A FULL 24 STENTENCES, YES, YOU HEARD RIGHT, 24 SENTENCES FROM Rebellion Rising.
Three years after conscription, Soldier 813476’s found himself in the current situation: up to his ankles in fine red sand, rusting stiff armour, an unquenchable thirst and under attack. For the third time this week the ambling column of Haelean solders was attacked by the sturdy, mounted archers who had been pursuing them since they entered the steppes two weeks ago. Even now, four days after they had left the steppes behind to face the desert the bowmen still pursued and harassed them. With their short, curved bows that could project an arrow further than any Haelean issued weapon, the mounted warriors were not in any danger and could casually pick off the soldiers at will. Any serious attempt at a counterattack failed miserably the defenders killing the Haeleans before they were even in range of the Empire’s supposedly superior weaponry. There was nothing for it but to hold your shield steady, your head low and keep moving. Those who knew the history of the area knew who these mysterious, almost demonic warriors were – men of the Honloy Tribe of eastern Bashraan. When the Haelean Empire was just a village far, far to the north, the Honloy tribe was living on the steppes the army had passed two days earlier.
These warriors played an important role in the defeat of the Haeleans the first time they’d tried to invade Fariel and Bashraan, close to sixty years earlier. These days though, barely a handful of people knew any history, let alone details or of the Haelean’s defeat. But Tasyn knew. Haelea’s official position was that the Empire had succeeded in their first quest to invade Fariel and Bashraan, the two countries which had forged together to create Anrien. Officially, there never had been an Anrien. Tasyn knew it to be a lie. Everything was a lie. But the truth would not set them free. It would only result in another dead body in the sand when the army moved on tomorrow.
Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through Tasyn’s back, startling him out of his reverie quicker than a woman’s slap. He swore, reaching around to feel where the arrow had pierced his skin. His hand came away sticky with blood. He swore again. Carefully, he reached round once more and tugged gently at the shaft. He felt his skin tear. A barbed arrow, then. Great.