[Arien]

“Fall back! Fall back!” cried Zasful, reluctantly Dristi followed the rest. They brought their dead and injured too, and Dristi insisted on searching the dead before they were burnt. She walked along the rows of dead till her eyes fell upon the body of a priest, Naramarth. She had not expected him to survive the battle, and he had been no real use to them so his loss was not felt. She kept walking passed dead villagers and warriors, ignoring their slaughtered bodies as if they were non existent. Her eyes now came to Sevora. Sevora! She was dead, Dristi could not believe her own eyes that she was dead. She dropped to her knees and looked upon her face. It was cold, cold with death and defeat. And although this meant Dristi was finally rid of her it did not feel like it was supposed to.

She did not feel like laughing, or smiling or feeling happy that she was dead. She did not feel anything, she was numb. The one she had envied was now dead and she didn’t enjoy it! What was wrong with her?! Why should she even think of morning Sevora’s death, the woman tried to kill her, humiliated her and now the once great priestess had met her match in some foolish tribesman. Dristi could not understand it, her stomach churned and her breath was drawn deep. I hate her! So why do I feel like this? What is this weakness that I feel, even in death this woman still taunts me with her superiority! Tears started to from in her eyes, whether it was from her frustration or something else she could not tell. But they were quickly subdued and she rose.

“Oh! great Eye these warrior's have served thee faithfully and to honour them we sacrifice their bodies that they may join with you in the Great Abyss!” she nodded for the fire to be lit, and it was. Fuelled by wood and spirit that had been poured on the remains the air was soon filled with the smell of burning bodies . She watched them burn. Sevora was one of the last to be consumed by the flames. They licked her corpse tenderly and then engulfed her whole body. Then Dristi turned to the remaining warriors. “We head back to the Citadel, those who came from the village will return at their own biding, the rest are to return. We leave as soon as we can!”

After talking shortly to Zasful they were ready to leave at sunset. They were to walk during the night, no rest would be allowed until they reached the Citadel. Dristi headed the company, with Zasful and the others behind her. She walked at a steady pace under to haunting moonlight. The group looked like ghosts under its pale glimmer and its forgiving coolness. Not much was said, and Dristi did not speak at all, only murmurs from the remaining young ones were heard.

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Within a few days they reached the Citadel, the bustling streets showed no recognition of any word of their defeat, and there would be none. She had warned them before they had left if any word got out that they had nearly collapsed at the hands of tribesmen that person would be hunted down, personally, by her. She did not think that all of them took the threat to heart, maybe she would be busy in the coming months.

Dristi walked up the Citadel steps to where the high priest was waiting. She took only Zasful, Jasara and Khasia with her. They bowed low in reverence and the Dristi stood.

“So few of you return?” he snarled looking behind Dristi to their insignificant group. “And you, “ he lifted his hand to her face, brushing her hair from her face and then holding her chin up, “the only priest left?”

“Yes,” she answered sternly, “Sevora was gravely mistaken, they were harder to suppress than she had anticipated. Therefore she died at the hands of and infidel. This is all that survived, along with converts that came to honour The Dark Lord.”

“And the others?”

“All dead..”

“All?”

Dristi hesitated for a moment, “Yes all, those who did not convert are dead.”

“Good!” then he turned to Zasful, “The warriors are dismissed, they may leave knowing they fought for a just cause. Dristi, wont you bring our young guests into our home?” he smiled and walked into the Citadel. Dristi nodded to him and then to Zasful. She gathered the young ones and ushered them into the darkness of the Citadel.

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A few months later Dristi sat in the Sanctuary of Death, alone. She had on the traditional dress apart from the necklace that hung from her neck. But there was no jewel set into it, it was a circle of white, and then of brown and then black in the centre. It was there to remind her of the one who said he could defeat her. Sad really, but then the priestess would never admit it, she was too proud for her own good and her looks did not help her already inflated ego. And neither did that one taste of humanity that she had had. For once in her life she had felt sadness even if it was for an enemy she would never forget it. And she would never forget that battle where darkness had prevailed, just. And it was only because of a lie they did not loose. Lies, deceit, corruption it was what the darkness was about and why she loved it. And so the journey goes on, as it has always been, for as long as there is life, the darkness will never end.