InsaneJournal

hell for leather (sleeping tiger)
They rode like wild horsemen of old, charging through brush and plain with equal verve, their eyes fixed always forward. Rand was not exhausted by the time they'd stopped for the first night. A day and a half, covered in a day's time. This was the pace they were meant to keep all the way to their destination. When you rode that hard, over that many miles, there was precious little time for conversation. In truth, Eragos did not know what they would have discussed in any case. He knew that the cold wind bit through everything he wore to shield himself. He knew that soon or late he was going to pay a price for what he'd chosen to do, and how he'd chosen to do it. It was his lot to lead the willing into danger. If they were unwilling - or unable - then it was his lot to keep them safe. Right now, the Lady Vera and Eithne were either unwilling or unable.

He was not sure it mattered, in any case.

There was the question of why they were here. Was it personal? Did he truly think, in his heart of hearts, that Eithne and the Lady Vera would die if they were to accompany him? Did he want his brother's death for himself? Was there some honor, or glory, at stake that he would not let his conscious mind consider? Or was it something more elemental than that? He did not need a reason other than his code to seek the capture or death of wrongdoers. Eragos did not think that made him a madman. Yet his code was what drove him. He'd failed once in his life to keep his word. For that he would see no blue skies and open fields when he was, at last, called home. Nothing about that bothered him any longer. If he did not fear death, if he did not fear damnation, then he became incorruptible. Fear and money and power were trinkets. Yet the drive was something simpler than all of those things. He simply wanted to keep to his oaths.

He needed to keep to his oaths. Not just for Sleeping Tiger, or the Lady Vera, or Eithne, or Bahn. Or Vargis. Or the comrades who had died along the way. The little girl that his brother had murdered. There was something in him that looked upon his image in the mirror with shame. There was a heavy price to pay for knowing what you were. Knowing that you were cursed. That your undoing was your own action, and that no matter how you labored, the end of your life would be celebrated by the gods and mourned by few - if any. To keep to his oaths now would remind him that something inside of him wanted to do good. Something inside of him needed to do good. If that was the thought that stayed in his mind when he finally did pass on, he thought he could endure the judgment of hell for the rest of eternity. How strong was that thought against a future composed entirely of suffering?

Would his will be enough? Or did all wills break, in the end? He would find out that answer eventually.

Two hours away from Simanel. That was when they saw it. Rising into the air, a column of black smoke. Too large for a waste fire. Too black for a ritual - sometimes, the temple did odd things, but that smoke was ordinarily white - and too large for a series of torches. How many torches for that smoke? It was not the burning for light. The city itself was afire, encompassed with a flame meant to destroy it and those inside. He'd thought it odd that he'd encountered no one from Simanel on the road in the ride. He'd stuck to the roads, but gone hard for the advantage of time, and during those days there were no wagons. No riders. No sign of commerce. As though the city itself had dropped entirely from existence, and all within were taken as well. Was this an attack still happening? Or was it something he'd be too late to try and prevent from happening in its entirety?

"An attack," Sleeping Tiger said, grim as death, before his mask was eased into place.

His face must still ache.

"Then let's go," Eragos replied.

Orange haze greeted them as they cleared the final hill. A cloak of glistening yellow and orange and red. It seemed to coat everything that the smoke did not touch. And when at last they were combined, haze and smoke, they told the tale of a city on the edge of annihilation. If there was shouting, they were still too far yet. Eragos saw a group of riders plunging through the fire on the edge of the city, further into the madness. It was those riders he resolved to catch. If they were White, they would tell him what had happened. If they were other, they would die for their part in the sackiing of the city. Then he would find out if the Castel still held. Gloved hands hesitated on the reins. His mask was firmly in place, and his heart was true.

What he was seeing must have been impossible. Who could sack the city without an army? Who would want to sack the city without an army?

He was right to ride as hard as he did.

Their horses struck immediately from walk to gallop, on Eragos' signal, a hard charge that carried them down the slope of the hill as though they rode ahead of an entire army. It was not the case. Two was more than enough, he thought, for the group of riders. Yet there was no telling how many would be coming against them. Or how many had already died. There was fighting. There had to be fighting. Surely, there was fighting? Eragos did not slow as the earth rounded and eventually flattened. There was flame at the gates, devouring every inch of wood that it could find and wrecking metal works. This was where the group of riders had gone in. He would follow their path, wherever it took him, to start. Rand charged right through the flames. Sleeping Tiger was not far behind. The clatter of their horses in the dead silence of the burning city was almost unbearable. It was impossible to be both fast and quiet while riding.

It was strange to see the smoke, shards of cinder and glowing embers fired into the air by the heat. He knew some of the buildings that felt the kiss of flame. Not all of them - not even a majority - but he assumed, any place that might have been harboring someone who might resist. All of those things and he could not smell an ounce of it. Only the rainwater he'd used to wash his face this morning. It might have been heavy snow that was falling, once, but with the flame much of the snow was melting. Both that which had accumulated, and that which was falling. Yet here he stood, with no snow and no stench of smoke, as though he stood apart from it all.

Then he heard it.

A shout.

Both men were experienced riders. Eragos and Sleeping Tiger changed directions - passing through a narrow alley instead of continuing down the main road. Above them, metal hissed and wood creaked. A beam finally gave way to the madness unfolding around it. Sleeping Tiger passed under the arch of the alleyway as it collapsed, tearing out the side of a building with it. The first sound he'd heard. If there was fighting, it was not happening here. Nearby, perhaps? Or toward the Castel? Eragos erupted out of the alley with a final leap on the part of Rand, only to find himself in the center of a tributary street. Here, then, were those riders. Four of them. Cloaks of gray. They were advancing toward the south, and they held the middle ground between Eragos and a group of persons on foot.

Only one among those on foot wore the tunic and mask of a White Rider. The rest were civilians. Five children, none older than eight, and two adults. The adults were managing the children as best they could. The White Rider was - despite the lack of steed and long weapons - baring a knife at the riders, who were all shouting instructions as loud as they could.

"Leave them be!" the White Rider cried.

"Put down your weapon!"

"You bastards!' one of the civilians shouted.

Eragos drew his sword.

Despite the collapse of a burning building, the screaming and tears of the children, their own voices - those riders seemed to hear and know what was coming for them. One of them turned to look over his shoulder. He cried something out - a warning, perhaps - and his comrades began to turn, as well. Eragos dug in his heels to urge Rand forward. The warhorse erupted again - and now Eragos was beginning to wonder how much longer his horse could do such a thing. Two of the four riders in gray came to meet them.

The fight was on.