The Servants of the Eye left their desert camp much the same as they had left Umbar. Even the noon sun was a twin to the one so many days before. But now, a tremor ran through the ranks quite unlike the excitement at the departure from the Citadel on their mission. Because now they were marching to battle the infidels. They awaited eagerly to deal out death and to be covered in their enemies' blood. They fingered their weapons, yearning to bring steel upon steel, iron upon iron, and iron and steel upon flesh. The lusting and thirsting was strong, seeming to glimmer around them like the waves of desert heat, seeming to flash between them like the glinting of spears in the bright sunlight. Death was singley on all of their minds, but all of those thoughts were welcomed and many were cherished. For each and every one of them, the death of others was a great splendor of excitement, bringing them happiness and immense enjoyment. Their own deaths were not things that diminished the joyful anticipation at the fact that the infidels were less then a mile away. Their own deaths were of little importance. For them all, it was in service to the Great Eye, the Dark Lord Sauron, and so it was a gift. To die in the service of their lord brought them greatness in their afterlife, for Sauron was the Lord of the Dead, or so they believed. It was this way naturally for all of them...except for the man tied up and being hauled by one of Ghurdan's crewmen.
There was less than half a mile to the infidels encampment, and they could be seen on the horizon across the flat savanna. The tribesmen waited, seemingly patiently, for their attackers, standing still and calm, but with weapons at the ready. For those of the Eye it was a simple matter: if the tribesmen were foolish enough to stand against the Eye in such a way, then so be it. As the Servants drew closer, they could see that these men were driven by hatred almost as deep as that which their enemies held for them. But, what the Army of the Eye could not see was what else those tribesmen were driven by. Love. Love for their families and friends, for their tribes and for their entire way of life. They fought for their tradition and ancesttry, their freedom and their lives. All of these things were worth fighting for far more than what the Servants held weapons for, and they had never known and would never know it. This ultimately was a battle between darkness and light, good and evil, standing as an earthly example of this supernatural battle. But, for those that fought under the blazing sun, it was simply a fight for their lives or a fight against their enemies. And so they collided, emotions driving them all toward their own types of victories, leaving their lives in their hands, and giving them into the mercy of their enemies' steel.
[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]
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