A.N. Yeah, I know, I took me forever…no excuses….anyway, we are nearing the end…but this isn't it .I have one or two more chapter to go, so don't get all weirded out by the ending of this one. Actually I really like how this chapter turned out…the end is okay, but the scene right before the end was a lot of fun to write, and I hope it's a lot of fun to read…if you have a twisted sense of humor like I do (see, I can put humor into my stories…I'm just a lot better at tragedy….which is probably why it's tragic humor…you'll see) so enjoy and review! (in case any of you haven't figured this out yet, I don't post until I've gotten at least one review….)

Still won't let me do my divider….mutter mutter mutter…

Chapter Ten

Lament

Lestav had never been in a battle. There weren't many in Tamuli, not anymore. He hadn't been present during the last war fought, supposedly against Cyrgon. Lestav was a trader in information, the most valuable merchandise he would say, and he had pieced what he could of the confrontation together. Oscagne and Itagne had been presenting a story very openly…something about trolls, but Lestav suspected (he always suspected) that there was more. So he had heard of the otherworldly soldiers the Elenes had fought. He had shuddered, just thinking about the numbers and the strength (although the Peloi horseman he had heard it from might have been exaggerating, they tended to do that). Lestav had still never been in a battle and he was a complete virgin to the fear that now engulfed him.

It was the night before battle…The Battle, really. The sky was dark and the stars shown brilliantly, the first clear night in over a month. The moon was bright, although it was not full, and the light cast shadows in the valleys of the dunes, and highlighted the ridges of them. Lestav watched from the ring of the campfire. He could see pale light against the horizon, and he shivered at the silhouette that stood alone on one of the dunes tops. Nyph had left the fire earlier, but no one had followed.

He had been the first, Lestav knew; the first to find Talen, and bind himself to him as they all had, although perhaps not in so many words. And Nyph was the illusionist, the one who had to act Talen's part whenever he was away. He knew him best because of it, and he was worried. Lestav didn't really know why Nyph was worried. Talen didn't seem to be, but the half-styric was. He was very nervous, and not just because of the coming battle.

The wind stirred again and the harsh sand stung his uncovered skin. He kicked at it. Desert, why on earth did they choose desert? There was nothing here, not really. Except a wayward and backward people. Yet he had come, had followed Talen, been drawn to him with very little fight. In a way Lestav understood it.

Talen had a magnetic personality, even in his now slightly morbid state. He had the air of a hero, a hero of a lost cause. Only it wasn't like that. He made it seem as though the cause that once was lost now had hope. He made the cause that had absolutely nothing to do with Lestav of Tamuli become a cause Lestav would die for. To some extent Lestav could manipulate people's thinking, and he knew that he was not being manipulated. It went beyond his cheap tricks and perverted Styric magic.

The end of the journey was coming, and they were all being pulled inexorably in towards the center. Towards Talen.

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Nyph looked up in time to see the dawn rise early and pale over the sands. He saw that enemy camp, so close, was not yet up and he saw that his own camp was barely stirring. He had never been a particularly brave or strong man, and he felt his insides congeal at the thought of what was to come. Nyph thought it was all very poetic.

He headed back towards camp, glancing at the bodies of his comrades slumped by the dying fires. He walked silently past them and on to Talen's tent.

He pulled back the flap and looked in. Talen was already up, strapping on his armor. Nyph let a small nervous smile slither onto his face and vanish just as quickly. "Even a god needs armor I guess."

Talen turned towards him and restrained a smile. "I'm no god."

"So you keep saying." Nyph went up to him and started helping him buckle on his breastplate.

"Nyph, I want you to stay near me during the battle, be my standard bearer."

"I was a bandit Talen, I know how to fight."

"But you were not meant for it, my friend. You know that as well as I."

"I will stay with you then, not for anything I was meant for, but because you ask it of me."

Talen bowed his head. "You always did, you know."

"Did what?"

"Trust me, without question. Even after we had just met."

"I owed you a debt of life."

"Do you still owe it to me?"

Nyph was careful in answering. "In some ways. But I have followed you for more than a debt now. For a long time. This means more than any debt."

"Worth dying for?"

"Yes."

"You say that without hesitating. It frightens me."

"I don't understand."

"That you will die for a cause that was never really ours to being with, in a country that was never ours."

Nyph was quick to reply. "You mistake my meanings; however, where else do you think the rain must start after a drought of freedom?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Talen's lips. "Where it is most needed I suppose. In the desert."

"Talen, you will kill for it."

Talen sighed. "And be killed, I now fear. If not now, then later."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I had a past with the people I'm fighting, the leaders I'm killing. I killed people I once fought beside."

"The one from the city, he survived."

"Berit? Yes. Barely, from what I understand."

"Sa'hidi, do not start doubting know. Not after so much." Nyph pleaded.

Talen turned toward him and smiled. "I suppose you're right. I just think like this because of the battle. I expect this will decide it."

"We can win it. The Elenes are still recovering from the Tamuli episode."

"They are an army of magic users. They are veterans. We are shopkeepers and nomads."

Nyph shook his head in mock amazement. "Yes, that's what we are. But we have one who vies with gods. We have one who has contended and lived."

Talen turned towards him, his mouth open to speak, but he remained silent for a moment, thinking. When he spoke his voice was very soft. "Nyph, this isn't for me. It's for them."

"I will die for you. Loftier goals are too high." Nyph looked down.

He heard Talen walk past him, the tent flap falling quietly. Nyph checked his own blade girded on his belt and followed.

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Sparhawk was angry.

He was angry that he could not make himself angry….if that made any sense. He sat in full armor, sharpening his sword, waiting for the troops to finish suiting up. He kept trying to think of everything that Talen had done. Killed Kahlad, killed Dolmant, almost killed Berit, hurt Danae, brought Martel back, made Elahna furious at him, and now was going to cause the death of how many Elene and Rendorish soldiers? But try as he might, Sparhawk could not make himself as angry as he wanted to be. The main problem, he suspected, was that pain came with each memory. Not just pain over what Talen had done, but over the fact that Talen had done it. That twinge of sadness, the wondering if he might have been able to keep Talen from doing what he had done if he had treated the boy differently.

A younger Pandion walked up to him. "My Lord? The troops are ready and in position. We wait your orders."

Sparhawk rose in the glinting dawn-light and mounted his horse. He missed Faran, but the horse was far too old to being doing anything really. He felt the sand give under his horse's feet and was glad for his exile so many years ago. He would not have known how to handle his horse this well otherwise. Sparhawk looked over his shoulder. Unfortunately, not all the other Knights of the Church had had that fortune. While flat sand was easy enough, the dunes were causing them serious grief.

He reached the top of the dunes and looked back down. There was a mass of shining armor, a sea that rippled and glistened in the sun. Sparhawk sighed. It would blind the enemy sure enough. The Rendors wouldn't be able to use archers, but every knight was also blinding the man in back of him.

For a small instant the idea of a rousing speech flitted through Sparhawk's head. He quickly banished it. There was no speech to be made. No rousing one. What would he say, 'rise; let's burn these infidels for wanting their freedom'? There really wasn't a way he could make this battle sound good or glorious or even honorable. The church wanted it…Dolmant would have wanted it.

He turned back to where the enemy's camp had been. He faced their army now, row upon row of men wrapped in black cloth, only their eyes visible. No archers. Talen was using his knowledge of Eosia to plan. The Rendorish infantry knelt in front, sparse cavalry behind them. That was the Church's one advantage. Heavy Cavalry. The horses would slam into the opposing troops and neither blade nor spear would be death's instrument, but blunted, thundering hooves.

Sparhawk unsheathed his sword and let the cold morning light catch on it. It was not with the mad glory of battle that he began his charge forward, nor was it with the rage he had faced Martel with so long ago. It was set determination borne only of years of fighting battles he never really cared about. This one was different of course, he cared very much, but he wished it was not him leading it.

The other horses followed him, his single pounding joined with a roar of thousands more. It was quiet. No war cries and no screams of terror from the enemy, just the everlasting pounding of hooves on sand, kicking it up behind them.

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Talen sat tall upon Knightmare. He looked very imposing in the black Rendorish robes, like all his soldiers only with all his long hair free and blowing in the slight breeze. The Church heavy cavalry came thundering towards them. The lone figure that had begun the charge, Sparhawk he assumed, was now swallowed up by the mass of flashing knights pounding forward. Some of the men were starting to fidget even though Talen had told them what had happened. Even as he yelled "Hold!" to his lines, he sent the command to all his captains spread throughout the line, and they shouted it towards their men.

The charge came on and as the enemy horses closed the distance, even Talen began to feel adrenaline pumping through his veins. He looked to Martel on his left and Nyph on his right. Martel flashed him a reassuring smile, utterly confidant as always. Nyph looked straight ahead. Talen was somewhat nervous, as he had never commanded an army before. He had never really commanded anyone in battle before. But he had seen battles, and he knew what would happen. Just a little closer.

The horses couldn't stop now, not if their riders pulled with all their strength on the reins. The knights relied too much on their mounts. "Lances!" Talen yelled, and the men waiting stiffly immediately drew them up at an angle. The knights were close enough that Talen could see the sick realization on their faces. They pulled back, but could not stop.

The thundering came to shattering halt as the sea of horses broke upon the lances. The screams of men mingled with that of their mounts and blood pervaded the air in a mist. "Cavalry, Forward!" and Talen pushed his own horse with them and into the fray.

The reality of true battle broke upon Talen as he heard the sound of death multiplied a thousand times. Killing one person, alone in the quiet was nothing to being in the midst of hundreds of dying men. For a moment his drive faltered, but he saw Nyph determinedly kill a knight and he fought on.

The din was incredible, and the ring of steel clashing against steel rang in Talen's ears. The loudness was nothing Talen felt compared to a sudden quiet in one corner of his mind, a quiet that followed one horrible scream. Lestav was dead. In his sudden grief Talen only noticed the blade coming swiftly toward him, and Nyph riding forward to take the blade himself. Talen's instincts took over and he hardened the air in front of Nyph, created an invisible shield that immediately stopped the enemy's strike.

A new awareness filled Talen and with a sharp, sweeping gesture he sent a dozen or so knights, some of which he knew, to their deaths, crushing their organs in his mind. The horses screamed when the bodies exploded in their saddles, and caused more mayhem among the troops. Another knight rushed him from behind and Talen swept around and sent the man high into the air to impale himself on pikes raised high. The Rendors rushed forward.

Zi'yal was hurt…but quiet and Talen heard her mind-whispers telling him of her life and now her death. But over that quiet pain of her death his own soldiers swept forward and unknowingly made the Elenes pay. It was the loss of heavy cavalry that made the made the difference, and that difference was starting to show.

Talen killed another dozen men, feeling a slight drain, but ignoring it. He could win this. He could make it all work out. The Elenes knew what he was doing now and a slow silence now filled the air. Talen readied himself for another attack, leveling it at the knights now quite a distance away, when it was blocked.

Aphrael stepped forward and the knights fell back.

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Martel watched the battle between the goddess and Talen with half lidded eyes. They were holding ground evenly, and unless something very dramatic happened, they would stay that way. This wasn't his battle. It never had been, and it never would be. He had helped the boy for his own purposes only. He had struggled to keep his spirit on earth when Talen had fainted and he had sacrificed his own wants so that when Martel went after what he wanted, Talen could not stop him. And now it was time to collect.

Martel skirted the troops until he found himself a Pandion body that was roughly his size. It was no use fighting Sparhawk any other way than the way in which he was accustomed to. He stripped the body of armor and donned it. He then belted his broadsword, a thing Talen had had the strange little boy who traveled with them, form out of thin air. He moved on. The troops were two hundred or so meters apart and with all the bodies strewn between the two sides, it wasn't difficult to cross from one side to the other.

It was very amusing how he could move among the mass of knights unnoticed. If he had come to assassinate Sparhawk, it would have been ridiculously easily. But Martel wasn't satisfied with just killing Sparhawk. He was going to fight Sparhawk in a twisted version of what had happened in Azash's temple. And this time, he was going to win.

He stood right behind Sparhawk and found it almost impossible not to laugh aloud. But he controlled himself and let an icy smile creep onto his face. He tapped Sparhawk's shoulder and was delighted with the surprise and horror that registered in the other man's eyes.

Martel didn't take his eyes of his old friend and enemy's face, but he heard the great of steel on scabbard and could not help the wild grin that spread across his face. The men beside Sparhawk and Martel heard the sound as well and turned to look at them. Sparhawk glanced at the men, signaling them off with his eyes. They backed away to form a wide circle around the two opponents. Martel had to admire the way Sparhawk commanded obedience.

Martel's own blade snaked out of his sheath and he lunged. There were no words between them and the stillness rang with their blows. It was a pre-destined dance that had already occurred, but with a very unsatisfactory ending. The sand made moving too fast hard and the sun beat down hard on the armored men as they clashed and then pulled back.

More and more men were looking on now, but Talen and Aphrael ignored them. Martel wondered if even this fight might inadvertently help Talen by distracting the child-goddess. If he got too close to killing Sparhawk, he might. And killing Sparhawk was getting more and more certain. The champion was old, and his body was tiring. Martel had been dead and now occupied a very young body that was faster, quicker to react and stronger. The advantage was beginning to show.

Chop, chop, swing, stab, slash, slash, parry, twist the blade and dance away. It was horribly easy now. And the child-goddess wasn't paying attention. She wouldn't see and she wouldn't stop him. Defeat was in Sparhawk's eyes, and a triumphant light shown in Martel's blue ones. One more succession of blows and Sparhawk would be his. He jumped into the routine. It was time to finish it and it would be finished and oh the glory and happiness and satisfaction I've won and here it comes the very last blow and then he will be a lifeless corps the brother I once loved and isn't that what Talen thought and Talen killed his brother I think I heard and here it is it's over and done and one last strike and he's—

There was a crunch just like there should have been, but it came from the wrong body. Martel looked down and seemed slightly surprised and puzzled by the fact that he now had the blade of a pole-arm sticking out of him. He gasped loudly in the silence that now filled his ears. He could no longer here the raged breathing of the old man, of Sparhawk but he could here his own lungs drag at oxygen and struggle to drag it down into him. He could not here the rustle of the troops or the sounds of Talen and Aphrael's fight, but he could hear blood bubble and drag thickly at every move he made. Martel could see Sparhawk, above him, but it was not Sparhawk who had hit him. What fool had interrupted them and finished him and why oh why did it always have to end this way? Why was he always the one to loose?

His vision was starting to cloud and he couldn't feel his legs, but Martel was pretty sure he was on the ground. And now his blood wasn't working properly, it had started doing odd, not right things, like coming out of his mouth in a trickle, which wasn't that bad, but Martel was pretty sure blood wasn't supposed to do that. What damn fool did this?

The nasty numbness had started to creep up from the legs but it hadn't yet reached his abdomen, and Martel wished it would because his stupid nerves had finally started working and he could finally feel the excruciating, burning pain. It had taken bloody long enough…and now, he thought, I really need to know what bastard did this to me.

He looked up at the cloudy Sparhawk and began to turn his head but he found his head would not go more than 90 or so degrees and then his body started really hurting. He fell onto his hands and more blood dripped from his mouth. It hurt so much to do that, he decided, because the pike was still sticking through him. The idiot hadn't had the courtesy to pull the foreign object back out again. And this of course meant, somewhere in the back of Martel's brain, that he would die very slowly, because as long as the damn piece of wood and metal was in him, he wouldn't bleed very fast (not that bleeding to death was a very fast way to go in any case) but now he would bleed even slower. Well, he though, it gives me time to kill the bloody bastard who did this to me.

He drew another loud, ragged breath and then exhaled. The white bangs that fell in front of his face were now flecked with red. He slid his eyes over and looked up, but the sun was there and the man was a big black blob and there was this funny haze around Martel's vision. Well, no matter, Martel thought. He slowly pulled a long dagger, needle-like, one he had stolen from Talen (and one that had killed Martel's own henchmen) and slowly, painfully Martel began to stand up.

He could just see the man and Martel's eyes widened in surprise. The man cocked his head to the side and Martel heard him like he was talking with a mouth full of cloth.

"I heard you were an expert at back stabbing, so don't look so surprised."

Martel swayed slightly and tried to look weaker then he already did. It took and amazing amount of concentration to get words out of his mouth. "You can't backstab…if I've never…really been fighting for you…"

The man smiled a bit. "Well then, you just played into his hands…and out of mine. Couldn't afford it." He turned and no one said or did anything. But Martel, who staggered forward and stabbed the man, who let out a piercing shriek that both broke the silence and mended it because everyone stopped, even Talen and Aphrael and the whole army turned, but most couldn't see.

The man lurched away and Martel fell on his stomach and the blade moved and gods of Styricium, it hurt. Martel could only see a shadow drop beside him and felt so far away, the hand pick up his. He knew that touch and he smiled even as his eyesight failed. "Well," he said, but wasn't sure if his vocal cords were working, "I tried. The gods always did like you best."

Sparhawk said something but Martel couldn't hear it and his vision was almost all black now. He wasn't dead, he knew, but things had stopped working the way they were supposed to. And then light started coming back into his mind, and Martel knew that wasn't supposed to happen. He had died before, and there wasn't any light then. He decided to analyze what this light could mean because he was swiftly loosing interest in everything else. Well, it couldn't be heaven, because there wasn't one, and even if there was one he hadn't done anything particularly good in his short new life so he wouldn't be going there. It wasn't hell because hell should have a fire-flicker light except there wasn't a hell because he had died before and if there had been a hell, he would have gone to it.

Now his vision was clearing and that defiantly wasn't right. Now that he was resigned to die again, why did people keep interrupting him? Fine, he had accepted that he would never beat Sparhawk (not because of Sparhawk's skills but because he had all the gods on his side and Azash had died and in twenty-twenty hindsight Azash probably wasn't the best ally of all time to have chosen.) So just let me die and for heaven sake don't let anymore damn necromancers traipsing over my grave and decide on a whim, 'golly, let's see who died here!' because I swear if they do I'll drag their souls back down with me.

It was a bit of an annoyance when the boy appeared before him. Raven. Martel looked at him and rolled his eyes, but the boy wouldn't go away. So he tried shutting his eyes, but he couldn't and then he remembered he was dead, or dying or something. The boy most have tattooed himself on the back of his eyes, Martel decided. Damn, he thought, I don't want to go looking at some kid. His annoyance was getting to the point of extreme (why couldn't he just die!) when he felt a decided tug around his midsection (some dolt probably thought he was dead and decided to pull the pike out of him. He had wanted it out earlier, but no that it was there; Martel found he rather liked it where it was, as long as he could still feel things (such as pain).

And then he was standing next to Raven.

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There was something happening over there, Talen knew, but he couldn't afford to let his guard down. He couldn't let his attention wane. It was only by a fierce concentration that he had managed to keep Aphrael at bay so far. He had had to dismount so the horse wouldn't keep moving, and Nyph had come with him, signaling the troops to retreat a bit. There was definitely something to be said for experience. He wished whatever was happening would go ahead and stop. He wanted to know what was going on, and his want was distracting and frustrating.

He wrenched his mind back to watching Aphrael, blocking her attacks and thrusting and probing with his own. She was like nothing he had ever experienced…and dangerously so. Aphrael showered him with images to distract him from her and what she was doing. He had thought himself equal with her when he had fought her the first time. And perhaps he was, but Aphrael had centuries more experience, and when she wasn't in a state of emotional wreckage, she used the experience.

Talen sent another thrust of energy in response to a particularly vivid set of images that had almost sent him spinning into whiteness. The euphoria of the fight was the most dangerous thing in this battle. Where as before giving oneself to instinct was a bit of an advantage, now it was fatal. These attacks could not be repelled by instinct, and the thrusts would go nowhere without intense concentration.

It was starting to wear on him. Aphrael was a goddess, she was used to splitting herself…but Talen's mind was growing tired. His vision wavered from time to time, but for the most part he could keep it steady and clear. Movement kept catching his eye. And there was someone beside him (He didn't dare look away from Aphrael to see who) and he couldn't spare the time it remember who it was. They kept moving though, and holding him steady. Talen wasn't sure whether to hate this person or thank them.

To Talen the world consisted of only Aphrael, but whether he acknowledged it or not, the rest of the world was there, and it acted upon him.

At first he really didn't realize it. But something tore his eyes away from Aphrael. He flew off his feet, choking on sand as he lifted his head to look and find out what had happened. Elith stood above him and he blinked in surprise. "Elith?"

There was a cloud of dust around them, and Talen could see neither Aphrael or his own army.

Elith said nothing but lowered his hand to Talen's upturned head. He ran his long fingers into Talen's hair almost caressingly, until he pulled sharply. Talen let out a whimper and shut his eyes. His head hurt and he couldn't figure out what was going on.

"Look at me boy." Talen opened his eyes and saw the man who had started this entire crusade holding a knife—his knife(with blood already on it….) in front of him. "Don't turn away from death. That way I'll be able to raise you from time to time without guilt."

"What?" Talen blinked and then struggled. Elith tapped each of his limbs and they would no longer respond to Talen's mind. There was a mixture of sadness on the man's face.

"I'm not a vain man. I will not recite my plans to you, but know that you die for a better world of my own making."

This wasn't making sense. Elith had had this idea in the beginning, it was all his. Talen felt the cold of the knife on his throat. Someone was rushing over, but Elith's hand shot out and Talen recognized Nyph being thrown to the ground. "You're one of us?"

A cruel smile cracked Elith's lips. "Us?" just how many of "us" do you think there are? I am heaven's abomination and heaven's deliverer. Only we two have broken the bonds of this world. Only we two have the power to hold our cruel gods in check. But those who are not for me are against me. You gain too much power too quickly. Time to end it all."

The steel cut into Talen's neck but he managed to whisper and that stopped Elith.

"What was that?"

"Raven."

The boy was by them then, Talen didn't know how long he had been there. Elith's eyes widened and he swiped at the boy with the knife. Talen shouted and the blade passed into Raven's body. And it came clean through. Raven cocked his head.

Elith snarled. "What is this?"

Talen smiled just a bit. "He's one of us too."

Raven did not look at him. "No." he sighed deeply. "No, I'm not one of you. I'm sorry, Wolf." Raven turned to Elith. "I'm sorry for you too Elith. But I cannot allow you to attain your goal."

"Wha—"Elith's eyes grew wider still. He slumped and Nyph stood up from behind him, bloody sword in hand. Without Elith holding him up Talen slumped to the ground, his body still not responding. Raven looked down at him, although it was not a look of kindness.

"I'll stay with you, but they will not see me." And then Nyph knelt quickly beside him.

"Sa'hidi, can you move? No matter, I shall carry you, I—"

Talen grabbed him. "No, leave me here." Talen didn't want to move and his head was pounding.

"Sa'hidi, the Elenes are coming. Without you, I do not think we can live to crush them."

"Nyph, take on my form…and order a full retreat."

"But—"

"I'll be okay…you should know that." Nyph said nothing but nodded and left Talen's side.

Talen closed his eyes and wondered what he was doing. He couldn't move but perhaps he could escape another way. But he didn't care enough too. Something had unhinged inside him and he couldn't fix it. He looked up at Raven. But Raven wasn't there anymore. A great shining figure was and Talen caught hints of the boy, but everything seemed to be swimming. And after-affect he supposed. "What is your name?" He asked the once-Raven.

"Elohim" the figure replied.

"And you will stay with me?"

"Yes."

Talen closed his eyes and smiled.

He was still smiling when the Elenes found him and took him away.