…It was true that D’Minataur had raided the old castle from the local lord keeping it, but that had been nearly a full cycle ago. No one would want such a heap no longer of strategic use unless save men like himself needed a base of operations. Why then the slaughter? The madness of death at an unseen hand? Balen couldn’t tell how many there were, best he could do now was keep his guts in and summon the strength and make it to the lower levels of the keep. He’d be safe there.

The confusion allowed Balen to hobble his way within the fort walls and avoid even the remote chance of being suspected deserting his brothers. Bandits had an odd sense of honor that only applied when one’s own life wasn’t endangered. His leaders now, two siblings, were different. They demanded unity, trust and brotherhood. Ideals meant nothing to Balen now, not when his bowels threatened to pile on the floor.

Looking back it all seemed pointless now. He could hear wailing and eruption of stone and furn drowning them out. Growing closer like a rampaging beast down these narrow halls ran the blood cold. It would have been better to die like a man than a hapless coward. He had drawn his weapon on the lookout and likely fell out of sight. He could see just ahead through the arcade something gleam brighter than the sun flickering down between the columns.

What looked to be a spark or trick of the eyes burst into an array of flames that sent ashen forms flying into the stone walls. Balen’s tongue had dried as it gapped, eyes unblinking in the noon’s warmth. How peaceful the day had seemed, but now he watched agog as his allies scattered to dust over the walls and floor….

Complete short story here: http://eternityarte.tumblr.com/TerseTales