The messenger from the Yaza Plains arrived at Brass Castle around midnight. Percival, bored, restless, and unable to sleep, had been passing time in the soldiers' barracks, playing darts with some off-duty guards. Suddenly, the creaky wooden doors to the barracks flung open, and in walked Salome, disrupting the men's revelries.

"Percival," he called, motioning the young lieutenant to follow him. He led Percival out of the barracks and into a deserted stairway corridor of the great fortress. The gloomy, dead silent room was lit only by the flickering flames of a few torches set upon the stone walls. The torchlight cast dark, eerie, swaying shadows of the two lone men onto the cold floor.

Percival noticed that the strategist had a look on his face that was even more solemn than usual, and it greatly worried him. "What is it, Salome? Is there news from the front?" His voice echoed resonantly against the walls of the hollow chamber.

Salome nodded. "Galahad has—"

"Wait. Give me a warning first. Is this good news or bad news?"

"Both. Which would you like first?"

Percival quietly sighed and brought his eyes down to the ground, apprehensive. "That depends on what the bad news is," he said calmly.

Salome gave an extended pause, carefully regarding the dark-haired lieutenant. "Pelize is dead," he finally said.

"Oh, Goddess… How?" That information certainly came as a shock, but Percival did his best to hide the guilty relief from his voice. If that was the bad news, then the good news could only be…

"He was killed by Yelsa, one of the top lizard commanders, who was himself killed by Lieutenant Chris."

"Oh... Man, I…I really don't know what to say…" Just give me the good news already, Percival anxiously thought. It wasn't that he did not care about the death of his vice-captain; it was just that other issues were more relevant to him right now.

Salome must have read the look in Percival's eyes. "The rest of the offensive went well enough. Chris's forces are right outside of Placia, and the liberation of Haysmorth was successful as well. We've recaptured and secured the region."

"I see. Were there any survivors from the village?"

"Yes. Nineteen knights, twenty-seven villagers." The older blond man paused. "It looks like you were right. Borus is among them."

Percival turned his head to the side, trying his very best to remain somber and expressionless, despite feeling the complete opposite. "I told you," he mumbled.

"And also, Percival, Galahad is summoning you to go to Clearwater village, where his troops and the Haysmorth survivors are currently stationed. Do you know where that is?"

"Yeah, of course. It's just to the northeast of Iksay. A good horse can take you over in less than twenty minutes. I used to ride up there every once in a while when I was a kid to pick up supplies for my father's shop."

"Good. Then get ready to head up as soon as you can. Chris is preparing to take Placia early in the morning. Galahad wants you to lead a couple of your companies to support her."

A chance to finally see some action and to meet up with Borus again. Percival couldn't be more eager. "Sure thing, Salome. I'll get ready to go right away." He quickly headed off to his room, put on his armor, packed some light provisions, and woke up Leo to say a quick goodbye. After a few more words from Salome, he went to the stables found his horse waiting for him. He saddled it and hastily set off alone into the night. Salome had urged him to bring some escorts, but Percival refused, insisting that they would only slow him down.

Percival's steed Svetlana was a sleek, jet-black mare, nowhere as big or hefty as the massive knight chargers, but much lighter on foot. Percival had grown up around horses and knew more about them than even the best of stable hands. He had always preferred the fast ones, although horses built for solely speed tended to lack to nerve and composure required to brave the turmoil in the middle of a raging battlefield.

Svetlana was no different in that regard. But while it wasn't the mount that Percival rode into battle on, it was his very favorite horse. He had received it two and a half years ago from one of his neighbors back in Iksay as a gift to congratulate him on his promotion to the rank of senior lieutenant. He had known many fine horses in his past twenty-five years, but none combined speed, endurance, and disposition nearly as well as this tall black mare. It could swiftly gallop for numerous miles without tiring and carry him from place to place with astonishing speed. And it would do so ever willingly, no matter how hard he pushed it. He used it as his traveling mount, while his actual Caleria-imported combat charger awaited him at his field camp on the Yaza Plains.

Svetlana ripped along the snow-covered roads and plains, and Percival arrived at Clearwater in less than three hours. In record time, too, he thought proudly to himself. It usually took him at least three hours just to go between Brass Castle and Iksay, which was a remarkable pace in and of itself. Of course, on this particular trip, he had driven his mare more harshly than was probably good for its health. Its breaths were labored and its entire body was soaked in sweat by the time Percival reached the village inn stables where the stationed knight officers temporarily kept their horses.

"Sorry about that, darling," he spoke quietly to Svetlana as he dismounted. "But believe me, I have a good reason to be in a hurry." He handed its reins over to a young groom. He usually didn't trust stable hands with the care of his horses and preferred to tend to them himself, but this particular situation called his attention to other, much more urgent matters. He was led off by another knight towards Galahad's quarters in a nearby villager's residence.

The only sleep Percival had gotten in the last day was a short afternoon nap. But if he had been weary at all before, the news of Borus's rescue and his new assignment had snapped him entirely out of it. Eagerly, he followed the knight to the destination house, hoping that Galahad would hurry up with whatever he wanted to say him, so that he would have at least a little bit of time to catch up with his fellow lieutenant.

Percival smiled to himself at the thought of finally seeing his friend. The last month had not only been torturous upon his conscience, it had been stifling as well. Due to their long years of acquaintance and their proximity of age and rank, Percival had found that he could drop the formalities with Borus the way he couldn't quite do with any of the other knights. He sorely missed having someone to drink with, to spar with, to talk with about matters other than official business such as war or politics. Not to mention that the blond knight was vastly entertaining to joke around with, simply because it was so easy to get an amusing reaction out of him.

The knight took him to the two-storied house where Galahad was staying. "The captain awaits you inside, my lord," he said as he held open the door for Percival. Percival nodded, thanked him, and stepped inside the house. Without entering himself, the knight closed the door behind him, shutting out the cold winter air.

Percival instantly liked the house. The small, cozy living room warmed by a bright hearth fire reminded him of his own home, down-to-earth and without any of the extravagances that he had grown used to since he became a knight. The aroma of homemade cider drifting in from the kitchen reminded him of his simple roots and suddenly made him quite homesick. Man, when was the last time I visited Iksay? he asked himself nostalgically, recalling that he had been too busy with his military undertakings to join his family this past Yuletide.

The host of the house, a middle-aged farmer, respectfully greeted the lieutenant and led him into the kitchen, where the host's wife stood beside the stove, heating a pot of cider. Galahad sat at the small wooden dining table with Roland, sipping warm cider and studying a large map that was entirely covered with markings of troop positions and movements. They turned as Percival entered.

"Lord Galahad. Lord Roland," Percival said, nodding to each of them. "Good morning. Or whatever you're supposed to call it when it's three a.m."

"Glad to see you've made it here so swiftly, Percival," Galahad replied. "Sit down," he motioned towards an empty chair at the table.

Percival quickly seated himself. The hostess placed a mug in front of the young man and poured him some cider. Then she and her husband stepped out into the living room, closing the kitchen door to give the three officers some privacy.

"Salome has told you everything, I assume?" Galahad asked.

Percival wrapped his hands, numb with cold, against the warm cider mug and finally felt the blood flowing through them again. "Everything but the details, my lord" he responded after taking a sip. "But I suppose that's what I'm here for."

"So you know about Lord Pelize?"

"Yes, my lord. I was deeply saddened. He was a great man on and off the battlefield, and the Knighthood will sorely miss his leadership." The three men gave a respectful moment of silence. Percival played around with the idea of asking Galahad the question of who might be chosen to succeed Pelize as vice-captain, but ultimately decided against it. It would seem indecorous and perhaps even inappropriately ambitious of him.

Galahad continued, moving onto the next subject. "Yesterday, Chris' troops had pushed the front before the Great Hollow twenty-five miles to the east, ending up right at the entrance to Placia." He ran his finger along an arrow on the map that led to the coordinates of the foothills that Placia lied under. "Around 120-150 lizard troops have withdrawn into Placia. We can make the safe assumption that they've embedded themselves defensively within the cavern and are ready to fight to the last soldier against any offensive attempt to occupy the settlement."

"Cave warfare," Percival muttered, fully aware of the difficulties ahead. "Well, that's never any fun. Has the Great Hollow sent reinforcements?"

"Not as of yet, but we cannot assume that they won't," Roland answered.

"Of course, the lizards suffered very heavy losses from their defeats yesterday," Galahad added. "I highly doubt that they'll be organized enough by morning to sent more troops to aid the ones already at Placia. But we must take precaution." He paused as he gulped down the all the remaining cider in his mug and gave a hefty sigh of content.

"Anyway, Percival" Galahad continued. "I want you to lead two companies to support Chris. She already has two hundred knights and one hundred infantrymen gathered at the mouth of Placia, ready to attack before daybreak. I want at least one of your companies to stand guard at the entrance and watch for enemy reinforcements while her troops enter the cave to attack. I already sent two of your junior lieutenants, Lanchet Simons and Winston Markoff, down to the Yaza camp headquarters and told them to prepare two fresh companies to go when you arrive. You can take a short break here now. Then I suggest you head out there as soon as you can."

"Yes, my lord." He paused. "So I heard from Salome that the Haysmorth survivors were rescued."

Galahad nodded. "There weren't many, but we brought those who were still alive here to Clearwater. Borus is here as well, as I'm sure you've heard."

"How is he? May I see him?"

"He's sleeping upstairs in this very house," Galahad stated. "He has no serious injuries, but he's understandably exhausted and malnourished. I sorry, Percival, but I think it's best that you not disturb his rest."

As disappointed as he was, Percival obediently nodded. "I understand, my lord. As long as he's all right, I suppose there's no need for me to concern myself." He took a great swig from his mug to finish off his cider and stood up from his chair. "Well, now. Are any of the taverns still open? I think I'll grab some food before I head off." Roland responded to his statement by closing his eyes and silently shaking his head.

"Percival…" Galahad began.

"Hey, I said food, not drink," Percival defended himself with a laugh. "It's nice to see that my lords think so highly of my reliability." He walked to the kitchen door and opened it. "Come on," he said, shoving a hand through his sleek dark hair. "I'm not that irresponsible. I'll catch up with the two of you one last time right before I leave."

Stepping out into the living room, he politely thanked the farmer and his wife, who were sitting on a couch, for their hospitality. Just as he reached for the front door, he heard some footsteps at the top of the stairs behind him, and then a voice. It was a weary and drained voice, but one that he would recognize anywhere, even though he hadn't heard it for a month.

"Percival?"

Percival grinned as he slowly turned to face the speaker. "Hmph. Never expected to see you alive again." his cool tone of voice and expression were betrayed by the excited glint in his eyes.

Borus certainly looked different from what Percival had remembered. It was obvious that he had just gotten up from bed. He wore some ill-fitted homespun garments that Percival guessed had belonged to the farmer. His blond hair was wild and ruffled, and his eyes looked badly fatigued, although Percival couldn't tell if the weariness came from still being half asleep or from having just spent the last month in a wintry hell. He had lost at least thirty pounds, and he had obviously not had the chance to shave since he was rescued, as unkempt facial hair covered his lower cheeks and chin. Percival couldn't remember the last time that he had seen Borus unshaven, other than a brief phase during Borus's teenage years when the blond squire had thought that leaving a bit of a stubble was attractive and manly.

Borus managed a weak smile and raised an eyebrow at his friend as he started down the stairs. "I thought I heard you down here, you heartless bastard. Was that supposed to be the warm reception I expected from my brother knight?"

As soon as Borus reached the bottom of the stairs, Percival vaulted over and seized the blond knight in a forceful hug, forgetting both that he was wearing hard metal armor and that Borus wasn't in the best of physical conditions. Borus didn't seem to mind. He patted Percival's back, both of them laughing cheerfully.

Hearing the racket, Galahad stepped out from the kitchen just as his two lieutenants backed off from their enthusiastic greeting. Percival glanced through the open door to see Roland continuing to pour over the map without once looking up, completely ignoring the noises and antics of the two young men.

"So you're up, eh, Borus?" Galahad said, eyeing the blond knight.

"How can I not be?" Borus responded, laughter still ringing in his voice.

"Hey, I was just heading out to the tavern," Percival exclaimed his friend. "Come with me."

"Uh…" Borus hesitated.

"Don't worry, man. It's too dark and early for anyone to notice that you look like a piece of shi—" Percival was barely able to stop himself after he noticed that the farmer's wife was still sitting in the room. Embarrassed, he smiled sheepishly at her.

"Good job," Borus muttered, grinning widely. "All right, I'll go. Just—"

"Percival, wait," Galahad interrupted.

"Yes, I know, my lord. I'll watch Lord Borus's liquor intake. Wouldn't want him overindulge himself after a month of depravation and die of alcohol poisoning so soon after we get him back, now would we?"

"And don't loose track of time," Galahad firmly reminded. "It's a quarter past three right now. I want you heading off towards the camps by quarter to four, at the latest. I've already said all I wanted to say to you, so don't bother coming to find me again. Just go." He turned attention over to Borus. "Can I trust you to report to me after Percival leaves?"

"Of course, my lord," Borus dutifully replied.

"Then have fun, you two." Galahad went back into the kitchen and closed the door after him. The farmer and his wife both got up to offer their further services to the knights. The woman followed Galahad into the kitchen to pour them more cider, and the man found Borus a heavy coat to put on. The two young lieutenants then headed out towards the pub.

Neither spoke a word to the other on the way, each saving his energy for braving the bitter cold of the winter night. When they reached the tavern, they found it still bright and bustling, even at this odd hour. All of the customers were stationed knights, many of them heavily drunk, rowdy, and destructive. It was clear from the bartender's repeated sighs, eye rolls, and headshakes that he was less than pleased to have these men here. But of course, he had no choice. The Council had decreed that as long as the war with Grassland lasts, any village or town in which the Zexen army chooses to base troops must yield its services to the soldiers.

The two young men sat down on stools at a quiet corner of the bar. Percival ordered a glass of milk and a plate of ribs for himself, as well as a bottle of the most expensive wine in the house for Borus, insisting that it was his treat. The bartender swiftly brought them their drinks, but Percival would have to wait for his dish to be cooked.

"Been a while since we last had a drink together, huh?" Borus commented as he poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Borus. This is milk," Percival replied with a laugh. "If and when I get back from the next battle, then we'll go have some real fun."

"If by 'fun' you mean getting drunk off our asses, then that sounds good," Borus chuckled, taking a careful sip of his wine.

"Why, no, Sir Stater-of-the-Obvious. I meant having a tea party, of course. Hell, we'll even invite Chris Lightfellow."

"Chris Lightfellow…" Borus mused, ignoring Percival's sarcasm. "Isn't that who's currently leading my regiment right now? Who the hell is she, anyway?"

"Come on, man. How can you not remember her? It's the Chris Lightfellow. Galahad's former squire, and the only woman in the Knighthood. We even used to know her when we were squires, although not very well, I'm afraid."

Borus raised his head and closed his eyes as he tried to conjure up the name from his memory. "Oh, right!" he finally remembered. "Her. Silver hair?"

"Yeah, and one hell of a good fighter too, or so I've heard. Never seen her in action myself, but I guess I will in just a few hours."

"But still… Galahad got a woman to replace me? Goddess, that's so damn insulting!"

Percival frowned and stared contemplatively at his glass of milk as he grew serious. "Look, I know everyone assumes she only got promoted 'cause she's sleeping with Galahad. I mean, before I met her, I thought the same thing. But, well, when I actually did meet her and talk to her, it felt… I don't know… Just the way she carried herself, it felt like she's more than just the captain's little pet. Like she might have actually earned her position on the battlefield rather than in his bed."

Borus rolled his eyes. "Gimme a break."

"Well, whatever the case, Borus, she's still your rescuer. She thought up the whole strategy for our offensive, you know. It was only because of the distraction of her strike towards Placia that Galahad was able to break you out of Haysmorth."
"Yeah, I know. Galahad told me." He paused. "But they are still gonna reinstate me as senior lieutenant, right? I mean, she can't just take over my position permanently, can she?"

"Depends on how much Galahad likes her," Percival replied with a casual shrug.

Borus stroked the blond stubble on his chin. "Yeah, I bet Galahad likes her. Filthy whore," he grumbled resentfully.

Percival raised an eyebrow. "Hey, now. That was a bit uncalled for. She did save you and all those other survivors at Haysmorth, after all. You owe her pretty big for that much." He suddenly smirked and shot Borus a sidelong glance. "And besides, I believe that you were quite fixated with her back when we were squires."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything!" Borus's sudden temper change caused him slam down his liquor glass with a force barely short of shattering it.

As amusing as Percival usually found Borus's fits of irritability, he decided that this probably wasn't a good time to instigate one. "Okay, okay, man. Chill out. I personally think that you should reserve your judgment of her until you meet her. But if you really don't want to like her, fine. Whatever." Percival then lightheartedly grinned and said in a smug voice, "She's a very attractive lady these days, and I can always do without the competition. Not that you're much competition when it comes to such matters, of course."

"Cocky asshole," Borus snarled back. Elsewhere in the tavern, a couple of tables were overturned as a drunken brawl broke out, to which the two lieutenants, located in the corner away from the action, paid entirely no heed.

By now, Percival's side of lamb ribs was done. The bartender served it to him, and then quickly left, recognizing the two high-ranked knight officers and not wanting to disturb their private discussion. Percival took off his gauntlets and hungrily tore off a large chunk of the tough meat with his teeth. He decided that the break in their conversation while he was eating would be a good pretext for changing the subject.

He now dropped all facetiousness and took on a grave, somber tone. "So, did Galahad tell you about how you got stuck up in Haysmorth in the first place?"

Borus nodded. "Yeah. He did."

"I'm sorry, Borus. I went down some lizard hole, got lost, and missed the attack signal. It was all my fault. I should've known better. I mean—"

"Yeah, well, don't blame yourself," Borus interrupted. "Shit happens. You couldn't foresee the consequences. It was unintentional."

"Just because I didn't intend to kill all those villagers and knights doesn't mean that I'm not responsible."

"Look, Percival. I knew perfectly fucking well what would happen to everyone around me in Haysmorth when I decided to I shove my head up my ass and not surrender." He sighed and shook his head, turning away from his friend. "You might be partially responsible for trapping us in that hellhole, but I was the one responsible for the deaths of eighty-six knights and over a hundred villagers. It's not the same. I killed them, not you."

Borus sighed and continued, his voiced filled with guilt and remorse. "Galahad spoke with me earlier about branding me as a Zexen hero, because I stood up to the lizards. A fucking hero, can you believe that? And for what? My conceit? My failure as a military commander? My complete disregard for innocent lives?" He paused. "You know what? Let Chris Lightfellow keep my position. I don't deserve it. I don't even deserve to be alive right now when so many others aren't because of me."

"Borus…" Percival didn't have the slightest idea of how to respond to Borus's speech. Looking down at his half-eaten food, he realized that he had by now lost all of his appetite. An extended moment of stillness passed before either man spoke again.

"Percival," Borus suddenly broke the silence. His amber eyes looked distant, and his voice sounded detached. "What are we doing? This war is so…" He trailed off.

"Pointless? Prolonged? Ill-advised?" Percival finished. "I wholly agree."

"Then why are we…?"

"Because this happens to be the course of action that the Council has chosen to take, and we as knights have sworn our oath to the Council," Percival recited.

Borus suddenly looked up at him with fire in his eyes. "I don't know about you, Percival, but I swore my oath to the Goddess and Zexen, not those greedy bastards."

"And the Council is supposedly the representative embodiment of Zexen, carrying out the will of the Goddess. See how that works, now?"

"Fuck you, Fraulein."

"Listen, Borus. I don't like how this war is going any more than you do, but we still have our duty. We knew when we became knighted that we're now obliged to serve a higher authority, not run around doing whatever we personally feel is right."

Borus didn't reply and simply gazed back down at his half-empty wine glass. Unusually enough, he had not had much to drink at all from the expensive vintage. Percival looked up at the clock ticking upon the wall over the bar and realized that it was already three-forty. "I have to go now," he said as he gulped down the last of his milk and put his gauntlets back on. "Tell Galahad that I've left when you get back, all right?" He patted Borus's shoulder as he stood up.

"This war needs to end soon," Borus suddenly stated without turning his head. "I'm sick of fighting. I'm sick of all this senseless bloodshed."

Percival pensively regarded Borus, suddenly taking in just how much his friend had changed over the past month. "I think we all are." He paused, and then said briskly, "Take care, Borus." Without waiting for Borus's non-existent response, he turned and walked across the noisy tavern and out the front door, leaving behind both his unfinished plate of ribs and the troubled, brooding young blond knight.


Bazba had expected neither the bad news nor the promotion, and he certainly did not want the latter after receiving the former. He paced alone, angry and depressed, inside the commander's chamber within the Great Hollow to which he had been newly assigned. The cavern grotto, sparsely furnished but nevertheless possessing an air of dignity, had previously belonged to the now-deceased Yelsa.

The young lizard knew that he could never even come close to replacing Yelsa, no matter what Zepon said. Bazba had held more respect for the great commander than any other lizard, even his chief. Yelsa was not just a strong, courageous warrior and a wise, strategic military leader. No, Yelsa was far more than that. He possessed skills that few other lizards possessed, skills that denoted greatness, skills that had put him next in line for the title of chief. Yelsa was a negotiator.

Bazba had looked up to Yelsa ever since he was a hatchling. He admired the commander's intelligence with words, his ability to peacefully resolve conflicts before they resorted to violence, his capacity to clearly think with reason and good sense even under the most heated of conditions. He marveled at Yelsa's way of taming both friend and foe through discussion just as much as he marveled at his deadly adeptness with a gride. In both battles fought with words and with steel, Yelsa had never once forsaken his honor. As Bazba recalled, his own desire to live up to the image the great commander was the very reason that he chose the life of a warrior in the first place.

And now, Yelsa was gone, slain by the hands of that vicious silver-haired she-devil that the Karayans had warned the Lizard Clan about. Bazba had heard the news last evening, when he, along with the rest of Dupa's troops, had withdrawn back to the Great Hollow. The attacking Zexens had smashed their unprepared and outnumbered defenses, finally breaking their siege on Haysmorth village. Already miserable and demoralized, the defeated warriors were then told that not only had the southern prong of the Zexen offensive now reached the gates of Placia, but also that Yelsa had fallen.

To say that Dupa had been furious would be a great understatement. After all, he and Yelsa had grown up together side by side. The hot-tempered lizard commander had immediately clutched his gride with both claws in a violent battle stance. "Where is she!" he had roared, his eyes filled with fiery rage. "Take me to her now, and I shall avenge Yelsa's death!" Even Chief Zepon could only pacify him to the point where all he did was storm into the cavern dungeons and slaughter several Zexen prisoners-of-war in order to vent his anger.

To be honest, Bazba had felt no different from his commander. The only thing that prevented him from acting likewise was the knowledge that such a reckless deed was certainly not what Yelsa himself would have done. The knights had lost a leader as well, Bazba had heard. They must be just as angry towards us, he told himself, trying to put things in perspective. But the thought didn't console him much; he all too quickly reminded himself of the fact that the Zexens were the invaders in the first place and thus deserved no such sympathy.

With a leaden heart, Bazba had retired to the officers' barracks to get some much-needed rest. But he was interrupted shortly afterwards by one of his warriors, who told him that Chief Zepon had important business with him. He had hastily headed up to Zepon's room, where he was promptly told by his chief that for his proven and commendable performance upon the battlefield, he was chosen to serve as the Left Fighter of Unit Two of the three Bodies Fighters in the late Yelsa's place.

The dark-green scaled lizard had stepped out of the chief's chamber in complete shock. How could he possibly be chosen to lead an army when he was only twenty-four years old? For a long-lived lizard, that was barely out of adolescence. Four years ago, the need of the Lizard Clan for additional troops had forced him out of warrior training into an actual war before he was even considered an adult.

But despite his age, he had taken to the adjustment well. He had been one of the top pupils in his training class. Now, motivated by his fierce desire to defend his cherished homeland against foreign occupation, he had truly come into his own. His prodigious fighting skills devastated the Zexen forces and moved him up the ranks within Unit One of the three Bodies Fighters until he was finally made one of the top officers right below Left Fighter Dupa a year and a half ago.

Even so, the young lizard certainly didn't consider himself ready for taking on the role of the left fighter of an entire unit. Members of the Lizard Clan continued grow in size until late into their thirties, and although Bazba was regarded as first-rate warrior, he was still considerably smaller in stature than Dupa, Yelsa, or Shiba. Often among the lizards, the impressiveness of one's physical build was instrumental in determining the amount of respect that he commands. Bazba was certainly considered a very attractive male for a member of his clan. But he feared that, due to his smaller size, he lacked the physical strength that his fellow warriors frequently looked for in leadership.

Nevertheless, Bazba resolved that if he was to be given such an important responsibility, he would do it to the best of his abilities. He had already established a formidable reputation as a left fighter, and now, he would just have to take his efforts up a notch. He would try his hardest to live up to the name of Yelsa. Perhaps he would someday make the great warrior's spirit proud.

Bazba was taken by a soldier to his new room, the one that Yelsa used to reside in. He had been told by Zepon to get a good night's rest. The Lizard Clan forces had suffered a crushing defeat today, but tomorrow morning, after its warriors had time to recover and reorganize, Bazba, along with Dupa, would lead the counterattack against Zexen at Placia.

Feeling restless, Bazba paced about the large, imposing room with jumbled thoughts overflowing his mind. But soon, the young lizard began to feel the wear that the long, arduous day had inflicted upon him. He fell asleep almost immediately when he finally lied down upon the bed.

He was awakened just before dawn by a soft female voice. "Bazba. Wake up, Bazba."

As soon as the young commander stirred himself enough to recognize the voice, he bolted upright from his bed and found himself gazing into the sharp yellow eyes of his lover Zelphis. She was smiling at him and holding something behind her back. Bazba smiled back and took her in a passionate embrace. The orange scales of his cold bare chest pressed hard against her warm white and yellow hunting tunic.

"Good morning, my love," he whispered to her. "How went the hunt last night?" Ever since the war started, the females of the Lizard Clan had been given the role of hunters and providers for the warriors while the much larger males fought upon the battlefield.

Bazba let go of Zelphis, and she stepped back. "Quite well. Our squad took down two boars and a great musk deer buck. And I caught this." She brought her claws out from behind her, revealing a large white grouse that she had been holding.

The young male frowned and cocked his head slightly. "Are you not supposed to hand your kills over to the war supply administrators?"

"Oh, but I heard about your remarkable promotion when I got back from the hunt, so I snuck this in to congratulate you. You aren't going to turn me in for that, are you?" she asked playfully.

Bazba shot her a teasing grin back as he accepted her gift. "Perhaps I shall overlook it if you stay here and share the meal with me."

Zelphis sadly shook her head and looked down. "I do apologize, Bazba, but I can't. I've been call upon for grave-digging duty at six o'clock. I'll be late if I don't head over soon."

"What!" Bazba exclaimed indignantly as he stood up. "You have been out hunting all night! They cannot do this to you when you need rest! I would like to have a talk with your direct commanding officer!"

"Bazba, I'll be fine. I'm not even tired."

"No, it—"

"Look, Bazba. I just came by to give you my blessing. You are a strong, brave, and honorable warrior, and you deserve to succeed Master Yelsa. I know you have a battle today, and I know you shall fight courageously, triumph over the ironheads, and avenge Master Yelsa. The spirits shall be with you to guide and watch over you, as shall Master Yelsa. I only wish I could also fight by your side."

A moment of silence fell over the room as the young female finished her speech. Then, Bazba smiled tenderly and pulled her close. "I am always thinking of you, even amidst the fiercest of battles."

"Perhaps it would be wiser then to keep your focus upon the combat."

Bazba let out a deep, raspy chuckle. "But I miss you there. It dampens my spirits when I consider how my new promotion implies that our private moments together shall grow even shorter and scarcer. We will win this war, and when we do, I shall come home to you permanently. I swear it upon my honor."

"I know, Bazba. I await that day."

The two young lizards silently held each other for a long moment in the cold, dark cavern chamber. Zelphis then pulled away. "I must be going now." She started to leave, then stopped and turned around again. "Oh, and Bazba? Were you awake when a Zexen convoy delivered Master Yelsa's body back to the Great Hollow late last night?"

Bazba's attention sharply perked. "No. When was this?"

"Around midnight, I've heard. His funeral rites will be performed this evening. For now, his body is being displayed in the Main Hall. You should go there now to pay him your respects. I have already done so."

Bazba solemnly nodded, relieved that the hated Zexen invaders had at least the decency to provide the Lizard Clan with a chance to give Yelsa a proper burial ceremony. "Thank you for informing me, Zelphis. I shall head down as soon as I get dressed."

"Take care, Bazba."

"You too, my love. And you have my sincere appreciation for the grouse. You are an esteemed and tremendously skilled hunter, and such an offering honors me." He paused. "I love you, Zelphis."

Zelphis looked back at him one last time, bringing her eyes up to meet his. "I love you, too. And please stay alive." Then, she swept aside the deerskin door flap to the chamber and left.

As soon as she was gone, Bazba put on his white and green robe, his ornamental ankle bands, and the metal horn crest that he wore on top of his head. Setting the grouse down upon a stone table to eat later, he headed out and made his way to the crowded Main Hall. There, warriors and civilians alike have gathered to look upon Yelsa's earthly body for the last time before his ceremonial cremation and the burial of his ashes to unite his mortal remains with the earth spirits.

The other lizards gave way to allow the new commander to make his way to the corpse, laid out neatly upon a stone pedestal. Bazba stepped up and gazed upon the body of his predecessor. A great deep flesh wound ripped across his side where the Zexen she-devil had penetrated Yelsa with his own gride.

Again, Bazba felt his own anger rising, but calmed himself with the thought that Yelsa had died exactly in the way he would have wanted to die—in honorable battle, defending his homeland. Yelsa would not survive to see the end of the war, with the invaders defeated and peace restored in Grassland, but Bazba was prepared to give own life to see to it that the late commander's greatest wish was realized. The young lizard offered a prayer to the earth spirits for Yelsa as he stood over his body, informing them of his intentions.

When he was done, he returned to his room and cooked the grouse over an open fire. He realized just how hungry he was when he chomped down the entire bird with his great toothy jaws in just a few bites. Shortly afterwards, he, along with Dupa, was summoned again to Chief Zepon's chambers for a briefing on today's battle.

The meeting didn't last too long. The two commanders were informed that the Zexens had already begun their strike into the depths of Placia at half past six this morning, about an hour ago. As Bazba and Dupa were already aware, all civilians and warriors were evaluated last night through a branch of the underground highway that opened into a hidden chamber in Placia. They had arrived safely in Stratow, another Lizard Clan settlement to the southeast of Placia, sometime in the early hours of the morning.

The Zexens, consequently, had met absolutely no resistance during their offensive at daybreak, which was certainly not what they expected. That was the Lizard Clan strategy: lure the pleasantly surprised invaders into a false sense of security, then strike when their guards are down.

And Placia was still home turf. The lizards were far more accustomed to its dark, twisting tunnels and caverns than the Zexens. That familiarity, along with the lizards' naturally better vision in the dark, gives them a crushing upper hand against the Zexens, as long as they can confine the combat to within the underground hollow.

The battle plan, therefore, was simple. Bazba and Dupa were each to lead two hundred troops into the underground highway, accessing it through one of its entryways from the Great Hollow. The two commanders were then to split up, each taking his own troops down a separate route of the extensive, branching network of passageways.

Bazba was to head directly to Placia and immediately strike as soon as he arrived. Dupa was to bring his troops right to the exit of the underground network that was just to the north of Placia, nestled within the foothills and hidden from view. There, they would conceal themselves until Bazba's assault was well under way. By then, the Zexens should be tied up by Bazba's troops within Placia. Dupa would then come out of hiding and attack the Zexens from outside of the entrance to Placia, driving them into the cavern and trapping them inside. There, where the Zexens were at their greatest disadvantage, the lizards could easily annihilate them and take the settlement back.

The operation would commence in about half an hour from now, at eight o'clock. Zepon dismissed the two commanders, telling them to prepare themselves for the upcoming operation. As soon as they left the chief's chambers, Dupa, still furious over Yelsa's death, headed off to the training center without a single word to his fellow commander. Zexen blood was the only thing he craved right now, and Bazba grew concerned that his current mindset might not be the best with which to lead such an important military undertaking.

Nevertheless, the last thing Bazba wanted was to upset Dupa further. Although he idolized Yelsa more than any other lizard, Dupa was every bit worthy of his respect too. The quick-tempered commander, though not nearly as wise, articulate, or conciliatory as Yelsa, held the much-deserved reputation of being the fiercest, most courageous fighter of the Lizard Clan. For a warrior tribe, such a title was certainly an esteemed, sought-after honor. His valor and fighting skills were exemplary for all Lizard Clan warriors, including Bazba.

Deciding to leave Dupa alone, Bazba started his way towards the main entrance of the Great Hollow, to the outside world. The impending operation would take place entirely underground for him, and he knew that, despite what he promised Zelphis, he might not come out of it alive. Just in case he didn't, he felt the need to breathe fresh air and see the morning sunlight one last time.

He slowly walked through the grand entry hallway. Tall, imposing stone pillars stood guard on either side of the passage, towering up towards the high cavern ceiling. Carved into them were depictions of Grassland warriors told of in countless legends: the Flame Champion, members of the Fire Bringer, and many others. Master Yelsa most certainly deserves his place among such heroes, Bazba thought to himself as he passed by. When this war ends, we shall surely carve his likeness into the pillars alongside these champions of yore.

Bazba braced himself as he exited the Great Hollow into the cold winter morning. Not yet adjusted to the brightness of the sunlight, he squinted his eyes as he stepped out of the shadows. Despite the chilly air, the bright rays of the sun warmed his dark green scales.

The main entrance of the Great Hollow was situated within the heart of the rocky foothills that cut across the grassy plains. Between the stone cliffs before the cavern ran a narrow, twisting path that led to the lowlands. Bazba started his way down the path. He passed dozens of guards on watch, who all respectfully saluted their new commander. Soon, he reached the end of the path, and the boundless Grasslands spread out before him as far as the eye could see. Leaving behind broad footclaw prints in the unbroken snow, Bazba walked past the scouts and guards stationed nearby. He wandered off some ways until he was alone, surrounded only by the stillness of the peaceful sunrise.

Bazba silently stared out over the vast, empty plains, blanketed in white from yesterday's snowfall. He remembered his youth, hunting and playing out in the endless oceans of grass. He recalled how he used perceive his beloved home: breathtakingly beautiful, blessed by the spirits, nurturing all life that dwelled upon it with its abundance. His mind turned to the present, and he bitterly reflected upon how much he hated the Zexen invaders for perverting that untainted vision of splendor and majesty.

From the very day he fought his first battle four years ago, he knew that he could never again view the Grasslands with the same youthful innocence. Even as he now gazed upon the tranquil, pristine snowfields that lay before him, bathed in the rosy light of dawn, all he could see were bloodstained plains made fertile by the decomposed remains of his fallen comrades, reeking of death, of destruction, of war.

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaws as he reminded himself of his firm, unbending resolve. The invaders may have brutally ravished the peaceful land of his birth, leaving behind nothing but sorrow and ruin, but he would continue to defend it with every last fragment of strength that his body and mind could yield. He owed so much to his homeland, for raising him, feeding him, allowing him to grow into the fine young warrior that he was today. Even if it cost him his life, he would never surrender it to those Zexen fiends, who held no respect for nature and no mercy for life.

But no matter how determined he is to fight on, he was growing wearier of the war each and every day it continued on. There had been so much bloodshed, so much destruction. Four years was enough. He wanted to win the war and win it quickly. He wanted to keep his promise to Zelphis, to marry her and raise a brood with her. He just wanted peace to return to the Grasslands and for all its inhabitants to live free from the carnage and strife and foreign oppression. And for that he was fully willing to fight, but he bleakly wondered how much longer this cruel war would last.

"Master Bazba!"

The voice from a soldier snapped the young officer out of his contemplation. He turned to face the lizard warrior jogging towards him from the direction of the hills enclosing the caverns of the Great Hollow.

"The troops are getting ready to depart, Master Bazba. The Chief recommends that you head back to the base to join them now, sir."

Bazba nodded. "Thank you. Please grant me just a moment longer."

The soldier bowed and waited as Bazba took one last look across the barren snow-covered plains in the glow of the winter sunrise. Master Yelsa, he thought. This next battle shall be fought for you. Master Dupa and I shall take it upon ourselves to track down and slay that silver-haired she-devil. We shall avenge your death with honor, Master Yelsa.

Bazba respectfully lowered his head and prayed for the spirits to deliver his message to Yelsa when he is later reunited with them. Then, he turned around and said to the soldier, "I appreciate your patience. Let us now depart." Together, they silently started their way back to the Great Hollow, their footsteps crunching in the fresh, soft snow.


End Note: It's a slow chapter, I know. If you really can't see the point of this chapter, it's basically just expository material that shows you how everyone from both sides of the war is sick of fighting, and how someone (I wonder who?) needs to put an end to it soon. I'm fairly pleased w/ the tavern scene. Yeah, I made Borus look like an asshole, but come on, he's just being a typical male. It'll change eventually. I promise. Oh, and look at this! There is now officially mushy romantic crap in my story (which, as you can easily tell, I suck at writing about)! Never mind that it involves bipedal lizards. Anyway, thanks for reading and please leave a review (criticism/flames welcome).