WOT Adv 211

--- The Wheel Turns ---
Darkness gave way to piercing light, yet the images were distorted and blurred.
His head swam and voices lurched painfully about.

"He ain't dead yet!" a blurred and bearded face crowded out the view of autumn leaves above him.

"Then move over will ya, and let me have a look see," another head poked in, peering down at him. "Yup, he's still breathin' but only a little. He won't last much longer though. Here, help me with the boots..."

Some movement, some pulling.

He struggled to move, to speak, to even think, and as his eyes twitched, he found that consciousness was too painful and he slipped away once more into blessed darkness.

...

He felt a cold wetness on his face and opened his eyes. His vision was still blurry but not as bad. He saw water dripping from autumn leaves above him and from grey skies further beyond that.

Where was he? Who was he? He ached all over and felt a stinging sensation on his neck, head and chest. He touched his head and arced through his being. The last thing he saw was his hand come away red with blood.

"Light!" He moaned and darkness came again.

...

He coughed and struggled to breathe and spit up the iron taste of blood. It was dark and tall trees loomed above him. He rolled over and groaned in pain and struggled to his hands and knees, his dark hair hung in muddy strands about his face. He shivered in the cold and could see from moonlight that filtered through the trees, that the forest ground was frozen and glinted with frost.

And there gleaming in the mud in the pale moon light was a broken sword, broken at the hilt. He touched it and the pommel seemed familiar to him. He grasped the hilt and stared at the jagged metal of the broken half he carried. He clenched his fist, the wet leather wrapping smelled familiar.

A single thought. Fadekiller's blade.

Then more thoughts came.

Fadekiller. His father.

His father. Mad beyond mad, cackled with glee as lightning danced along the blade that thrust through the Fade's chest. The Eyeless's mouth was wrenched open and lightning danced between his teeth, smoke curled from its hair.

And still his father cackled. His father... His father's sword. He was Fiznak. Autumn leaves. A forest. A fight. Bors. Keb.

The memories flooded back and he sank painfully onto the cold ground.

"Keb," He croaked still on hands and knees. Thirst constricted his throat. He looked about him. He knelt alone in the arena where the memories of the last few minutes came back to him.

He had struggled with all his might to get through the man's guard, to save Keb from her fate, to even save himself... but to no avail, the man had parried every attack and in the last assault had broken Fadekiller's blade, his father's own sword, and mortally wounded him.

"Burn you, Bors," He breathed out, but the effort made to curse his most recent adversary turned into a massive shiver that chattered his teeth together.
He lifted his head and looked around. Through the light of the pale moon, he could see that he was still in the arena, but everyone was gone.

So was everything he had: his battered armor, his extra weapons, even his boots were missing. All he had was his clothes, and his cloak.

He noticed his wounds. His chest had a gash all the way down from his right shoulder to his navel, his tunic stood torn and bloody, open and flapping in the wind. Another gash ran from his left shoulder to his neck, making it difficult to even use his left arm. A third wound pounded with each pulse of his heart into his skull.
He winced at the memory of Bors's final blows against him, the swift curved blade, slashing past his defenses, breaking his sword, careening into his head, slamming him to the ground...

Why Bors hadn't killed him, he didn't know. But he knew if he didn't find some heat or shelter soon, the cold night soon would.