Chronicles of Murphy: Book 1

by warai kitsune

A young man finds himself sent into Lodoss. Unfortunately, just a few things have changed. Not much, but enough to potentially upset the entire balance, to plunge the entire dimension into ruin. And having seen the series, he knows just enough to MAYBE

14. Chapter 13: Reptiles and Revelations

Chronicles of Murphy

Book of the Accursed

Chapter Thirteen

Reptiles and Revelations

"What do you hope to find?"

Slayn started at Leylia's voice. "What?"

"What do you hope to find?"

He was silent for a moment. What DID he hope to find? Leylia hadn't sensed anything. Neither had Neese, or Etoh, or any of the rest of the clergy of Lodoss. So why was he doing this? Why was he so worried?

Shrugging his pack a bit more tightly, he smiled reassuringly. "Truth be known, I'm not really sure what I expect to find." He chuckled. "I don't hope to find anything. All I know is that there's something going on right now that defies explanation, something that's been worrying me for the past several months. Almost since I first left Zaxom."

She smiled back, one hand reaching out to reassuringly grasp his shoulder. "There was a war stirring, if you recall. And a certain..." her smile turned sad, "nuisance, going about. It would have been enough to worry anyone."

He shook his head as he watched the novices finish loading their horses. He'd resolved to head back to Moss, and ask Wort for advice. He'd considered taking a boat to Raiden and then heading south; it would have meant nearly a week of extra travel, but at least with that they wouldn't have to deal with the Dwarves' Great Tunnel again. In the end though, Leylia had convinced him that Wort might not necessarily be the only source of information. He might not even be the best, as unsettling as that might have been. And if they traveled overland, there was a good, or at least reasonable chance for them to find something along the way.

Still...

"It wasn't Karla," he said plainly. She winced, but didn't seem to be that honestly upset about the name; she was making progress there, at least (at last). "I don't know what it is, but..." he sighed. "It didn't end when we sealed Karla away. If anything, it became worse."

Leylia was silent. Sensing she was deep in thought, Slayn chose to remain silent as well. When she finally spoke again, they were nearly a mile down the road, and far outside of Tarba. "You make it seem as though whatever Karla was up to, she was somehow preventing a greater calamity, something that you've sensed, but also something that the entire priesthood of Lodoss has somehow failed to notice."

Slayn winced. There was a distinctly frosty note to her voice.

She continued all the same. "If you're right, what kind of problem could it possibly be? I don't mean to be rude, but the only thing you can do that we can't is cast spells as a wizard. I just can't see some sort of threat showing up that was entirely arcane in nature." She smiled apologetically. "At least, I can't see a magical threat powerful enough to be sensed over the entire continent, one that no one else could feel."

"What makes you think no one else feels it?" Slayn replied. Noting the surprise on her face, he shook his head worriedly. "I might just be paranoid, I admit. I might be reading into things that aren't really there. It's just..." he sighed. "Over the past two months, every wizard, witch, warlock, sorcerer, rune-caster, and village herbalist that I've run into has been agitated. Man and woman, old and young, serious or even just showing a passing interest in the arcane arts, they've all been on edge."

"Coincidence."

Slayn shook his head again; she didn't really look convinced of it herself. "Leylia, I've met nearly forty spell-casters in the past two months, some of them more than once, sometimes only in passing. I refuse to believe...I CAN'T believe that they'd be in a bad mood just in passing." He tried to grin a bit, softening the topic. "I'm not that abrasive, am I?"

Leylia didn't respond to the quip. Deep in thought, she mentally shuddered, but she didn't think she had much of a choice.

She was going to have to go digging through Karla's left-over memories. She'd need to wait until they stopped for the evening; she could at least write it off then as simple nightmares. "I really hope you're wrong Slayn. The war is over, and everyone has a lot on their plate. It's only natural for them to be a bit...overwrought about all the changes that are going on."

Slayn didn't shake his head. He could have, he wanted to, but he didn't. He knew that Leylia was just fooling herself. She knew it. Still, there was no reason to bring attention to it. No reason to force her to see...worries. Quite possibly groundless worries.

And quite possibly prophetic as well.

I hope I'm wrong too.

--------

Shadam looked upward uneasily. They were still at least two days from Fire Dragon Mountain, but that was by horse. Shooting Star was quite capable of flying down to them and incinerating the whole detachment as a way to kill some time.

Kashue grinned at his vizier. "Stop worrying. Even when he was active, Shooting Star never ventured very far from his lair. I doubt he'd do it now just to inconvenience some insignificant humans."

Shadam nodded absently, but continued looking. He'd been the one to tell that to Kashue in the first place. Still, he recognized the suggestion for what it really was; morale-boosting. He looked around at the men accompanying them. Some were confident. Some were even openly contemptuous of the beast they would soon be facing. Some, like that Parn fellow and his friends, were apparently quite eager. Yet even they gave in to the slightest emotion if you knew what to look for.

Fear.

Shadam had been born a simple desert barbarian. He'd joined Kashue, despite the man's youth, when he'd been nothing more than a mercenary. Regardless of how young he had been though, Shadam had been struck by one attribute that outshone any other man he'd met. Kashue listened. Though young, and confident (though the term that had come to mind at their first meeting had been something along the lines of 'full of piss and vinegar'), he wasn't a fool. And more than that, he valued good, or even mediocre advice. He knew sense when he heard it, and usually implemented sensible suggestions, save when they ran counter to his own designs.

Shadam knew that if nothing else, Kashue encouraged fear. Not because it kept people in line, but rather because it kept them on their toes. He smiled briefly at a memory of the salle that had been erected for strategy lessons and gaming; inside, over the entrance's lintel, had been carved a message that Kashue had taken from Shadam's earliest lessons.

"Fear keeps us alive."

There were quite a few on Lodoss who might despise fear. Truth be told, most in Flaim despised it too. Despite that however, he doubted there was a single force on the desert that would spare you shame for being afraid.

His confidence restored, he reined his horse back, riding for the rear of the line.

Kashue watched him go, but his mind was elsewhere. Against any other opponent, he would have been plotting his strategy, but that wasn't really an option here. Battle with Shooting Star was pure and simple, and that was perhaps what made the damnable beast so dangerous. It didn't really matter where you were when you loosed your attacks when your opponent's entire body was covered in iron-hard scales several inches thick. Who cared how solid your infantry formations and cavalry were, when your opponent would be a thousand feet in the air, and still high enough to incinerate everything that caught its eye? What point in trying to ready the battlefield when you were going to fight something in its own lair, a lair in which you knew that no one had ever dared to enter?

No, Kashue had little hopes for outthinking his opponent. There was nothing to outthink. He could only pray that the lances he'd given orders to forge would be ready, and that he hadn't pinned all his desperate hopes on a thousand years of legends that were false.

Still, he had two days. And like many men who ride to their possible deaths, he didn't spend it thinking about what was to come, he spent it thinking about what had been. He considered those last little things that would drive him mad if he didn't resolve them now.

He thought about foes he might never get the chance to fight (he would have relished the chance to face Ashram before Soul Crusher had come into the equation). He thought about allies he might never see again (he'd miss everyone, but Jester most of all, certainly; the dragon-riding prince had saved his ass more times than he could count. More than that, he'd been like a brother to him, his earliest great ally, the man who'd backed him when he'd built Flaim).

He prayed that he would see the end of this battle through, a battle that there was little chance of winning.

--------

Later that night...
On reflection, Kashue had to stop and wonder if he should just pray to last until the battle began. Somehow, this hadn't been quite what he'd expected.

Alex showing up to help out? Not expected, not unexpected, and not particularly welcome. Mainly because he couldn't see what possible use the lancer would be. Deedlit showing up? It was pretty clear that she'd come with Alex and not for the dragon; she'd been vehement about not wanting anything to do with the several-thousand-ton demonic killing machine. Though he couldn't help but wonder lately if she came FOR Alex or just sort of came in the same direction he was going. Chiffon showing up? Acceptable; useful, at least potentially. He'd heard in passing that she'd been trained as a fairly competent and extremely powerful sorceress; hopefully she'd have some powerful shielding or protection spells for the fight to come.

Mutters from his men broke into his disgruntled musings. Looking up, he watched as nearly a score of his men argued, shifting their swords uneasily in their sheaths, glaring at the unwanted figure in their midst.

He shook his head. "What the hell were you thinking, Alex?"

Ashram didn't smirk. He could have very easily; the tension in the camp amused him to no end. Still, he chose not to. For all the little respect he felt for most of the men here, he still felt that it would have been unconscionably rude to kill his host's retainers, and he was certain that if he did anything other than glare coldly at everyone around him, he'd be forced to kill at least half the camp before the night was ended.

Next to him and a bit behind, Pirotess didn't smirk either. Unlike Ashram, choice had little to do with her choice of expression; rather, she chose not to openly scowl. This whole situation felt wrong to her, wrong on more than a few levels.

The only reason Ashram should even be in Flaim should have been either to negotiate a surrender from Kashue or to wage the war prior to negotiating that surrender. This seemed...almost altruistic. Not entirely foreign on Marmo, but rare all the same. And even after almost a full day of arguing and explanation, she still didn't understand why he felt he owed Alex a debt.

She just thanked Falaris that whatever debts he felt he owed, he still regarded Alex as an enemy.

Alex ignored the tension in the camp. He'd created it, but oddly enough, he didn't care. Well aware of the fact that actively creating dissent was...uncharacteristic for him, he still didn't care. It was the endgame. He had to fight Shooting Star, he had to fight Wagnard (twice, at most), and then he had to deal with Kardis. He'd seen it all done before, he knew what needed to be done. After that...

Cyrus had informed him that at the rate he was using his powers, he had roughly three months left to live. That was assuming he didn't burn through too much extra in the fights to come, but still. Three months left to live, and all of it numb.

THAT, he was convinced, was Karla's real revenge. He couldn't even do anything...shall we say 'stimulating' before he died.

Slumping against a cactus, ignoring the scratchy noises of thorns against his rough canvas sun cloak, he stared listlessly into the desert. It might have been the desert, it might have been Lodoss, it might have been the realization with Ashram's arrival that it was finally almost done. It might even have been the realization as they traveled here, the shock when Kashue and Ashram came face to face and didn't immediately try to mince each other; the realization that he HAD made significant changes despite Wagnard and Kardis forcing the plot back to the canon.

All he knew was that he was tired. He was finally tired of it all.

He would never have believed it might happen a year ago. How much time had he spent dreaming of things like this, of actually getting to be part of the stories he read and loved, rather than just being the spectator? How badly had he wished for the chance to do something BIG, to do something spectacular? How often had he wished for the power to finally ACT on some of the impulses he'd had?

He had the power. He had the opportunity. He had the significance. And now, he just wanted it to all be over with.

Maybe it was because he'd always assumed he'd finish things with a happy ending.

"Is that actually comfortable?"

He looked up; he hadn't bothered concentrating enough to stay aware of his surroundings; Deed hadn't had to work to sneak up on him. He made a mental note to keep his concentration up; the ignominy of ending this from a scorpion's sting or snake's bite would be mortifying. Looking over, he noticed her worried look. Checking back, he confirmed that none of the spines had managed to pierce his chain mail, and shrugged. "It's not as bad as it looks."

She stroked one of the spines, hissing quietly as she managed to prick her finger. Gazing at the tiny drop of blood, she gave him an even look. "I'll take your word." Slipping to the sand next to him, she followed his gaze out towards the setting sun. "What were you thinking about?"

He was silent for a while, but answered, "the past."

She looked up, startled. Blinking at him, she managed a smile. "I would have thought you were thinking to the future." She leaned back, her arms wrapped around her legs. "To how it's all going to end."

Alex's snort caught her off guard. "I've spent the last three months thinking about the ending. I've done all I can, and am QUITE finished with worrying about that."

She looked at him, the worry on her face becoming more acute. "That's not like you. There's always been another plan, another idea. Why not any more, all of a sudden?"

He shrugged. "The story's almost over."

She was silent for a time (he didn't realize she was waiting for something more). "That's it?" she finally asked. "You're telling me that the story's going to be over?" She shook her head in exasperation. "Alex, I don't know if you realize this, but we're not just characters in a story. There's going to be more to deal with after the story's done."

He blessed his lack of body control at that moment; he didn't have enough involuntary reaction to look as queasy as he was sure he should have felt. "I know you're not just characters, but...Deed, every plan I've made, everything I've done that seemed 'genius' was due almost solely to the fact that I knew what was coming. I could prepare, because I could anticipate everything that was going to come. In less than two months though, that's all going to end. I won't have anything else to go by."

He started as she smacked him in the head. "So you're going to be stuck as normal?" She laughed under her breath. "Welcome to Lodoss. You've finally joined the rest of us." Looking into his eyes, she managed a smile. "It's hard to come to terms with, I know. But you haven't been just gliding along on other people's information all this time, you know. The last three months, when we were just roaming around...you told me yourself that wasn't part of the story. It was just something you wanted to do." Standing, she placed her hands on her hips and mock-scowled at him. "So stop griping. You've learned enough about Lodoss in general that I think you can bring yourself to live here. So cheer up. That is an order."

He looked up at her incredulously. What happened to little miss Snarky? Chuckling, he stood up, grinning at the sudden, involuntary glower in her eyes. It must have been hard, trying to dress down someone who towered nearly a full head higher than you were. "That's actually what I was thinking about, you know." Seeing her confusion, his grin broadened into a genuine smile. "How you used to act. You've been irritated with me almost non-stop since we left the Valley, all those months ago. It's nice to see you being...well, perky again."

She blinked, eyes comically wide, ears drooped. "Oh. I...I didn't realize. You'd been kind of...well, irritating, and it never occurred to me that you'd notice..." she blushed. "Well, I didn't think it was that bad..."

He looked at her for a moment in confusion. "Three months of sniping and arguing doesn't seem like something wrong to you?" His grin reappeared. "That's normal for elves, isn't it? High elves anyway. Being all but immortal and all that, I bet a normal argument lasts years for you guys, doesn't it?" The indignant look (and becoming blush) were all the answer he needed.

Deed leapt high enough to smack him in the head again, unmindful of the fact that he was still laughing at her. "We do not!" Turning up her nose, she glowered at him with as close to a superior air as she could. "I'll have you know, high elves – no, all elves happen to be better than simple arguing."

"Which is why you're arguing with me right now, over precisely...nothing."

She flushed; she hated when he did this. "I said elves don't argue." He couldn't help it any longer.

"Damn it Alex, stop laughing at me!"

--------

"WHAT?!"

Lelwys kept his head down. "Yes, I'm afraid that Kyugesu has failed."

"YOU IMBECILE! I DON'T CARE ABOUT SOME BOUNTY-HUNTING FOOL, WHAT ABOUT ASHRAM?!"

Lelwys ignored him. "The black knight killed Kyugesu. Why he was present, I couldn't say."

It was the wrong thing to say; Wagnard was insane, not stupid. "I wonder indeed." Eyes flaring, he glared hotly at the dark elf. "Baylos, almighty power of fiery destruction..."

He hadn't expected Wagnard to kill him, but that didn't prevent training and reflex from taking over. Seconds before the completion of the spell, he invoked his race's powers, vanishing in a streaking of the air.

Snarling, Wagnard lashed the spell against the nearest patch of bare stone. The burst and crackle would have been FAR more therapeutic accompanied by screams of pain.

Stalking around, he considered his position. Going around Ashram hadn't been particularly difficult, but he needed to make it seem at least in part that he hadn't been going against the greater interests of both Marmo and Ashram himself. Possible; he'd make sure and have one of his acolytes implicated in a sacrificial ritual of some sort; a high elf would have been excellent in any case, not just for his own purposes.

As for the scepter...well, securing anything of great power, magical or otherwise was perfectly in character for a Marmo. If Ashram got a hold of it beforehand, he could make it seem as though he'd merely been intending the scepter to be given either to him or Narse for safe-keeping.

If not...

He allowed a skeletal grin. If it came into Wagnard's hands first, then it hardly mattered, now did it?

--------

(Flashback)

Ashram looked up curiously as he finished unpacking his armor. He doubted he'd need it, and truth be told it wasn't the best idea in the world to go charging into the deserts of Flaim in glossy black steel plate, but he did have an image to maintain. Besides, among the many enchantments he'd had woven into his armor was one that kept him comfortable regardless of temperature. "What do you want?"

Chiffon watched him quietly for a while...just watching. He didn't seem to think much of her; when she failed to immediately respond, he just finished taking his armor plate off the packhorse and began to strap it on. "Why?"

He paused in the act of strapping his vambrace, looking at her coldly. She elaborated. "Why are you here?"

He ignored her, turning his attention back to his armor. It would take some time to don it properly, and he didn't want to have to gallop through Flaim with the damned thing chafing him.

Chiffon watched him for a moment further, and finally spoke again. Oddly enough, it wasn't directed towards him. "First he killed your men at Fortress Myce. I didn't see that; I only heard of it later. Then he galloped into Kannon and stole the royal family right out from under your nose. I didn't see that either, truth be told; I only saw the aftermath. Then you captured him, and kept him alive. Beating him day after day, but never asking any questions."

She finally turned back to him, and despite himself, he started. Not fearfully; it would take more than a half-breed witch to do that. No, he started in surprise at the depth in her eyes.

He felt like he'd been swallowed in a vortex.

Chiffon didn't realize, or didn't care about the effect she was having on him. "I've been trying to understand you for a long time, Ashram. You let Alex live, time after time. You chose not to retaliate at Fortress Myce. You chose not to execute him, once when you first captured him, and again after he helped me escape. You let us both go in the forest after he finally managed to escape. And if I'm to understand it correctly, the two of you fought a cooperative duel in the Valley. Less than a half an hour later, you saved his life again from Karla...right after he seemingly tried to assassinate Beld, the ruler you personally nursed back to health on Marmo." She shook her head. "You're not altruistic Ashram. No one would believe that. You might believe in a debt, but you wouldn't go out of your way to come and repay it."

Ashram snorted as he buckled on one of his bracers; he hadn't bothered to stop arming himself as she talked. "You presume a great deal about me, witch."

"I'm a sorceress, not a witch," she corrected gently. "I just want to know something Ashram. What do you think that Alex is going to do for you?"

"You presume a great deal." Ashram paused; looking at her curiously, he let his eyes narrow. Tiny spikes of aggression in her eyes; was she angry? "My plans and my intentions are no concern of yours, witch."

"Alex is my concern," she replied quietly. "If you've finally decided it's time to try and kill him, you're going to be sorely disappointed."

Soul Crusher flicked out; he didn't care about killing or even harming the girl, but she needed to know her place. The blade streaked for her neck...

And rebounded.

His eyes bulged; he'd fully intended to stop the blow, but there wasn't any magic that should have been powerful enough to affect Soul Crusher through its demonic aura.

Chiffon took advantage of that moment of surprise to calmly grasp the tip of the sword between two slender fingers...

...and channel a lightning spell directly into Ashram's plate mail.

The demon within the sword acted immediately to try and quell the spell, but without Ashram's will reinforcing her, there was little she could do. It only took a moment of pain for his instinct to reassert itself, but Chiffon hadn't intended to cause any real harm either.

She watched him as he snapped to his feet, both his and Soul Crusher's killing intent melding in the night around her. She didn't bother to fight the fear; she'd been afraid all her life. Fear was simply one more thing for her to endure. "Alex seems to think that there's a good reason for you to be here. I don't agree, but I'm willing to trust him. But I'm warning you; if you try to harm him, I'll do everything in my power to kill you."

Ashram snarled at her; the wound to his dignity stung far worse than the shock. "I'll kill you soon enough, witch. And a better place the world will be for one less of your ilk."

Chiffon nodded. Perhaps. "I don't want us to misunderstand each other," was her only reply.

(End flashback)

Cain wished he had a head to shake. He would have shaken it now if he'd had it. That was, without a doubt, the most insane, most dangerous, COOLEST thing I have ever seen you do.

Chiffon examined the pendant dangling in her hands; they wouldn't stop shaking. "I can't do anything to him, can I?"

Cain mentally 'pshaw'ed. You did something that first time didn't you? I doubt anyone's gotten the drop on Ashram like that in decades.

She shook her head. "It was a bad idea, Cain."

Yep.

They both whirled, eyes widened (in Chiffon's case), cat's eye asterism turning to a slit (in Cain's case).

Cyrus looked between them both; Alex was busy in Kashue's tent, and he'd already blocked out any link for the time being. He just counted himself lucky that Alex didn't care when he did this. If he ever...check that. WHEN he found out what Cyrus did during those times, he was very likely going to wonder what Crow tasted like.

Still, if there was one thing he'd learned, you had to do what was in your nature. So he tricked and meddled and talked far more than he needed to. Alex wouldn't have approved of that, you know, he said conversationally. Chiffon couldn't read his body language (neither could Cain, actually), so neither realized just how pleased he was that Chiffon didn't seem to suddenly lose the will to live when she heard that; Cain and Deedlit had managed to give her a sense of self that was strong enough to deal with the idea of losing Alex's approval. Made things easier for him. Though not because you attacked him; he'd just be irritated that you showed Ashram how powerful you've become when he didn't need to know it. He shrugged, his wings mantling over his back. Me? I think it's LONG since time somebody gave the boy one upside the head.

Chiffon nodded dumbly. Why do the weird things that shouldn't be able to talk but can anyways always come to me? she wondered idly. "Um...thank you."

Cyrus shrugged again. Like I said, it's past time somebody did that. But that's not the real reason I'm here. He took the spiritual equivalent of a deep breath. How much do you know about what happened to Alex when he fought Karla?

Chiffon felt something inside her turn to ice. She'd noticed...something, but neither she nor Cain had been able to figure it out. And after seeing how he'd reacted when Deedlit tried to ferret anything out of him, she'd wisely chosen not to bring it up. "Only that he's hiding some of the damage he took."

Cyrus winced. Well, that meant she'd believe him; whether that was good or bad remained to be seen. Well, yes. It's a bit of a long story...

--------

"THAT is the sum of your strategy?"

Kashue's hand unconsciously clenched; he knew better than to let it rest on either his hilt or scabbard, but still... "If you have a problem, you're welcome to leave." And good riddance.

Ashram ignored him as he stared at the map and piles of notes on the campaign table. "I've seen Narse several times on Marmo; I've been in his presence. And by all accounts, Narse is weak compared to Shooting Star." He turned a flat look on Kashue. "I doubt that Soul Crusher and the Holy Sword combined could handle Narse. And you mean to tell me that you're resting your hopes entirely on three magical lances?"

Shadam crossed his arms. "The legends and lore of the Dragonslayer have been passed down through the tribes of Flaim for as long as there have BEEN tribes of Flaim; it is well known that the God of War was the greatest slayer of dragons; his hatred of dragons, particularly ancient dragons is the stuff of legends. If ANYTHING is likely to harm Shooting Star, it will be His blessing."

Ashram didn't sneer, but his manner said quite clearly what he thought of that. "Regardless of whatever blessings the god may grant, this isn't going to work." He let a spike of killing intent meld with Soul Crusher's aura; it wasn't much, but it was enough to shut them up. Granted they were training drawn swords on him, but at least they were silent. "I'll freely admit that I don't know very much about the art of enchanting or blessing arms and armor, but I DO know that the power of any mystical enhancement is directly based on how much time is invested in it. I have something of a hard time believing that three lances made over the course of a few days will be much use."

"Compared to a sword that gained its power in a single moment of bloodshed?" Kashue asked pointedly. "Keep in mind that these lances are being forged not by powerful priests, but by an ENTIRE priesthood. The hammer strikes are the counterpoint and tempo for holy songs and prayers to Myrii; they are being blessed not by archbishops or head priests, but by every man and boy in the temples, every moment of their construction."

"Not to mention," Shadam felt it necessary to add, "that these lances are being created SOLELY for the purpose of dealing damage to the Ancient Dragon Shooting Star. They are in every possible way meant to be weapons of Bane."

Ashram hid his surprise; the idea of an entire priesthood throwing itself cooperatively into something like that was foreign to him. The idea that they would spend so much time, energy, and concentration on something that might very well never harm them was hard to believe. Though he would mentally concede the point to Shadam; that much power, focused ENTIRELY on the singular purpose of killing the dragon might do some damage. All he said however was "we will see how effective they are, I suppose."

Everyone in the tent seethed.

Alex watched quietly, his hands lightly on his lance. He knew without any doubt that Ashram wouldn't be the one to strike the first blow. It didn't change the fact that he would do absolutely nothing to forestall a fight other than that; if it came to that, Alex had every intention of braining the fool who drew on Ashram before he could get himself killed. The last thing he needed was another excuse for Marmo to attack.

Not that they ever needed them; it was the principle of the thing.

Mainly, he wondered what he had to expect. He'd been worried ever since Ashram had shown up to fight Shooting Star...well, if not alongside him, then in the general area to the side of him. Wagnard had made his first move on Deedlit; he'd end up making a move on Shooting Star too. So the question was, who would he send in Ashram's place? With Pirotess here, he doubted that it would be Dark Elves. It didn't have to be strong enough to kill or even seriously harm Shooting Star; the priest that would no doubt be accompanying the second Marmo contingent would only need someone potentially powerful enough to be a real threat to Shooting Star.

Well, enough of a serious threat that the dragon might not bother paying attention to the larcenous priest.

Alex started; he hadn't realized they'd been talking to him. "I'm sorry, what? I was lost in thought."

Kashue frowned. "I was wondering what your thoughts on the plan were."

Alex shrugged. "I don't know much about slaying ancient dragons; I doubt I could contribute anything that you and Ashram wouldn't have already covered."

Kashue nodded calmly. "Anything would be better than nothing; NONE of us have any insights into dragon-slaying."

Alex nodded idly. "I fought a dragon once; just a small one, and I had a lot of help, but we managed to kill it in the end." He frowned in thought. "Shooting Star is bigger than most castles; he won't be able to keep track of lots of targets. And unlike a castle, he only has one defender; himself. Swarming him, or at least attacking him from lots of sides will be the best. Assuming that you can keep out of the way of his tail sweeps. And assuming he doesn't try to lie down on top of you." He fought the urge to let loose an absurd laugh; they all looked a bit queasy at his words. "The problem I suppose is that all of our most effective weapons are melee; you'll need to get a vital spot to do a lot of damage." He shrugged. "If you want my recommendation, go for the legs; if you can open up either the femoral or brachial arteries, you'll start slowing him down. Throat's too risky; so's a head shot, and there's no way that a sword or spear is going to be able to reach his heart, let alone do enough damage to drop him permanently."

One of the men coughed. "Um, I'm sorry, but...what the hell is a femoral artery?"

He looked up. "Hmm? Oh, sorry." He raised his leg, placing his foot on a convenient stool. His left hand went to his chest as he gave the impromptu anatomy lesson. "Blood reaches the heart through the vena cava, then goes through the pulmonary artery to the lungs. From there, it goes back to the heart, and then travels up and down through the branches of the aorta." His fingers sketched towards his stomach and continued downward. "It goes through the abdominal aorta, eventually dividing into the two femoral arteries in the inner thighs." He put down his leg. "Between the muscles of the upper arms and upper legs are fairly major arteries; slice those, and you'll get blood. A LOT of blood." He shrugged. "Though considering how much blood Shooting Star must have, it'll probably take a while for the wounds to do enough damage to put him down permanently."

Kashue considered, but the problem was clear. "Two problems with that. First, Shooting Star's legs are going to be quite a bit above our heads; we'd have to be on ledges at just the right height to go for his thighs. Secondly, even if we're high enough, what are the chances that we'll be able to reach the INSIDE of his legs?"

Alex shrugged. "I didn't say it would be easy. And the sad fact of the matter is, you're not going to find ANY better places to attack from the ground."

Ashram snorted. "Then don't attack from the ground. You have the witch; she must know flight spells."

"Sorceress, not witch," Alex and Deedlit corrected in stereo.

Kashue frowned thoughtfully. "That might be our best chance, actually. Keep someone in reserve or hiding with Chiffon, then have her give a boost to someone with a lance." His frown lost its thoughtful quality. "Come to think of it, where is Chiffon?"

Alex looked around. "She must be back in her tent." He hoisted his lance over his shoulder and prepared to leave. "I'll send her in."

Ashram watched him, but there was something bothering him. "You told US to attack his legs. Would you care to tell us how YOU mean to fight?"

Alex paused at the tent flap. Truth be told, he'd been giving this a lot of thought; how DO you kill something that's essentially coated in four-foot-thick armor (scales, hide, fat, and muscle). He had an idea...the only problem was that it would require REALLY good timing, excellent reflexes, and an almost suicidal disregard for your own life to make it work. Which meant that not only could he not let anyone else know about it, he was the only one who could pull it off, if it became necessary.

Still, they had asked, he supposed some sort of answer was in order. He turned, allowing a small grin to cross his lips. "Tell me something. Which side of a dog is the hairiest?" Ignoring the startled look on Ashram's face (and dutifully cataloguing the expression as one he wasn't particularly likely to ever see again), he left in the confusion.

Ashram stared into the now-empty tent entrance, and considered the parting words of one of the only men who'd ever managed to stand against him as an equal, the man who had not once but TWICE out-thought and out-fought him on the field of battle...the one man he truly considered his equal and rival.

"What the hell was that supposed to mean?"

--------

The hooded priest eyed Skurai curiously. He'd heard stories; as he understood it, mothers on Lodoss used him as some sort of night-walking monster, threatening misbehaving children with him; 'you'd better be good; Skurai comes for the blood of naughty boys and girls,' or something of that nature.

There wasn't really all that much known about him though. He'd been around for nearly a hundred and fifty years; he'd been a legend before Beld had ever been born. The only things that were known for sure about him were the simple facts that he had immense skill, near-immortality, an incredibly powerful, ancient, and evil sword...

...and a complete disregard for all life. Oh, and that he was generally regarded to be completely insane.

The priest wondered idly if Kardis hadn't created him as an avatar on the material plane.

Skurai ignored him; he'd been told not to kill him, and frankly, he didn't like to kill priests anyway; they never fought back properly. Priests of Kardis were the worst; they loved death and destruction so utterly that most of them died with smiles on their faces, even as Talatsu boiled the blood in their veins and devoured their broken souls.

Where was the fun in that?

That was one of the reasons he'd accepted this commission...well, suggestion, really. He wasn't being paid; he had no need or desire for money; what was the point when there was nothing you desired to buy, nothing you needed to survive? No, Skurai had no uses for money, or anything as foolish as material wealth. He lived solely for the challenge, for the joy of killing an opponent worth the battle to do so, for the hope of someday fighting the opponent who'd be enough to kill him and take on the Curse of Talatsu in his stead.

He prayed that when he did die, he'd linger long enough to see the look on their face when they realized exactly what they were going to have to bear for the next century or so.

He smiled. One had to have SOMETHING to live for, even if it was only eventual death.

The priest rose from his meditations and approached. He calmly waited to be acknowledged; when Skurai finally looked at him, he simply nodded deeply once; it was close to an obeisance, and it was not lost on the mad slayer, no matter how little he cared. The priest smiled. "The sun will set soon; the Hour of Dying Light. It is an auspicious hour for Kardis; an excellent time to begin your hunt for the dragon."

Skurai snorted disdainfully. "Your goddess means nothing to me."

The priest ignored the slight; in his mind, one venerated Kardis through action, not word or ritual. "Kardis is the goddess of madness, chaos, bloodshed, and destruction; all things that you leave in your wake, all things that will be pleasing to her." He shrugged. "Surely, it is not a BAD hour to shed a great deal of blood, is it not?"

Skurai regarded the priest in silence for a moment before smirking darkly. He stood, letting Talatasu rise from his long shadow. He laughed as he felt the familiar, burning hilt in his hand. "I suppose you're right priest."

--------

Alex didn't frown; he didn't have the energy to spare at the moment for it. Still...

After the near cave-in earlier, he'd volunteered to scout the path ahead. Chiffon had quietly taken a place beside him; he'd been a bit surprised. Deedlit usually scouted with him; for all her power, Chiffon wasn't much a combatant without some distance and a little bit of time to pull a spell together. Deedlit had frowned, and tried to take Chiffon aside, but...he didn't know WHAT had happened, but when they came back, Chiffon had been expressionless and Deedlit had looked...unsettled. He wasn't sure why.

They paused at one of the outcroppings of rock within the tunnels; outcropping might have been a bit too much of a word for it, as it was nothing but a bit upright rock. Still, it was a good enough place to rest while they waited for the rest of the group to catch up, as well as to check for magical traps. He turned to ask Chiffon what she saw –

- And froze at the dull, almost lifeless look in her eyes.

She looked at him calmly; it freaked him out to see the emotionless expression. It reminded him too much of the expression she'd worn in Meiking, the movie he'd seen her in. She'd only gotten that particular expression after a lifetime of abuse culminating in a gang-rape; they'd managed to counter some of the former, and he'd prevented the latter... "Chiffon, is something the matter."

"Cyrus told me everything."

He froze. Imagine if someone had managed to stuff their hands into your innards, and proceeded to drag them down and out through your toenails. It's a fair summation of what Alex felt at the moment.

Chiffon continued relentlessly. "I'd wondered why you seemed less...alive these past few months. You'd always been very vital before the valley; you pushed yourself powerfully. Now...now you're just going through the motions."

Alex was silent for a few moments. He finally answered, "A soul leaking out has that effect, I suppose."

Surprisingly, Chiffon shook her head. "I mean the way you act; Cyrus really told me everything. The truth about where you're from, what you know about us, the shows and series..." she looked at him again, and he wanted to cringe. "He also told me about your plan to die. That's what makes you seem like you're just going through the motions; you're just killing time. You're not really living anymore." She scuffed idly at a rock with her fingers. "I think you really did die in Karla's castle, you just didn't lie down in the end."

He was silent again. She's saying good-bye, he realized. Finally, he asked, "Is that what you told Deed?"

He started as she spun around, tackling him. "DEED?! Why is it always about Deedlit? Why not me?" Biting back a sob, she proceeded to try and beat him with her fists.

He caught her wrists easily, letting her tug helplessly. She didn't bother very long; her heart wasn't in it. He sat up carefully; she didn't resist. She wasn't even crying. It was as though she were too exhausted even for that. "I don't want anyone else to know; I didn't anyway."

"Cyrus said you didn't."

He nodded. He was going to kill Cyrus if the bird showed up; he doubted he'd be too mad in a day or two, but at the moment he was quite willing to kill the damned thing. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd be that upset."

She stifled a bitter laugh. "I never stood a chance, did I? It was always her; I was just a charity case."

He gently forced her to look him in the eyes. "When we left the temple, Deedlit decided to come with me; I asked you to come." He gently stroked her hair, wishing he could actually feel its softness. "I doubt I could have made a decision either way. It would have come down to which of you decided I wasn't worth it first, I suppose."

"I wouldn't have let go," she whispered as she pulled closer. "Not for anything. Not for anyone."

He didn't answer. He just let her stay there for a few moments.

She sniffled a bit when she pushed herself away; he was surprised (and a bit worried) at her willingness to end it after so little time; in his experience, getting your emotional equilibrium back took a little bit longer than that. He started, his eyes darkening with alarming speed as he noticed Cyrus perched close by. "Oh, you have balls..."

They're coming the crow spirit replied, unapologetically. They deserve to know Alex. Sorry.

His fingers clenched around Achiya, but Chiffon managed to sooth him from an angry orangish-amber back to blood red; he was still pissed, but at least now he could retain his reason. She stood, dusting herself off a bit; the indifferent mask was back, and he had a suspicion that it was hurting her more than it hurt him. She fumbled at her neck for a moment; he was startled to see the nine-tailed pendant that he'd let her keep all those months back. She tied it around his neck once more, leaning back to see how it looked against his chain mail. She managed a faint smile. "He was there when you first arrived; he should be there to see you through to the end. His name is Cain."

Yo.

He picked up the pendant, glaring at it without much heat. "How much of everything that's happened were you responsible for?"

Directly? Not much. Indirectly? Most of what happened while you were wearing me.

He snorted. Bloody meddlers, all of them. Rising, he offered a hand-up to Chiffon. "I'm sorry. I really am."

She nodded, but clearly didn't want to say anything else.

There wasn't much left for him to say, anyway.

--------

The rest of the journey through the caverns went off without much of a hitch. Chiffon had apparently become a good enough actress that no one thought to ask her why she was so subdued (though part of that likely had to do with the fact that no one really knew what to expect from her), and Alex...well, let's not beat a dead horse.

There had been one small hitch, but all it had taken was Ashram literally slicing the man's helmet in half to get him to keep his hands to himself.

No, he didn't try to get fresh with Pirotess; he was foolish, not suicidal.

No, the real problem had been the deepest portions of Shooting Star's lair. For all that the massive beast considered itself above all other forms of smaller life, it had at one point been nothing but an egg, a tiny beast, and even then a relatively small creature; one that could be threatened by the little creatures. As such, it had adhered almost religiously to the instincts of a young dragon in the old days; instincts that were hard to ignore even in its current nigh-invulnerability. Its nest and sleeping chamber had been built in the deepest portions of the volcano as was possible.

While the battle would be fought in the largest, most open portions of the cavernous nest, Shooting Star itself (no one had ever been brave or stupid enough to check for gender) spent little time there. When it wasn't out foraging, it spent most of its time either asleep or just lounging in its hoard.

The hoard that they'd had to walk past to get to the nest.

The problem was that dragons sleep on their hoards for various reasons; draconic instinct in their formative years is somewhat klepto-maniacal. They literally CAN'T resist the urge to go out and round up as much gold, silver, jewels, and other sundry artifacts and pieces of art as they can. They HAVE to acquire enough to make a hoard big enough to sleep in, or at least on.

Which meant walking past a pile of gold and jewels big enough for a four-hundred foot dragon to sleep in.

Temptation is an ugly thing, but come on; they're only human.

Though there had been one small, positive note to their trip through there. Greed at the undoubtedly rich rewards they'd get for killing Shooting Star had managed to instill if not courage, then at least devotion to doing the job.

The only problem was that when they found Shooting Star, he wasn't asleep. And unfortunately, he wasn't alone either.

Skurai grinned darkly as he dodged another brutal swing of the tail. He could have at least TRIED to kill Shooting Star while it slept; truth be told, Talatsu had told him outright to do so.

That was at least part of why Skurai had refused to do so. Mostly he'd done so because he was desperate for a good fight. That, and he realized that if he died, Talatsu would be stuck with a master that it couldn't really coerce or irritate. Not to mention one that couldn't have wielded the sword if it had wanted to; he got such a fiendish thrill out of the thought of the thrice-damned sword moldering away in a dragon's hoard.

Still, he'd make the beast earn it. So he dodged and wove, and directed brutal killing strokes at any part of the dragon that came within range.

He had swiftly discovered that wounding the massive dragon, let alone killing it, would be nearly impossible.

The only real targets he'd managed to deal any damage to were the dragon's tail and feet, and both were so heavily armored by scales that in the end, all he'd managed to do was BARELY draw blood on a few lucky strikes.

He'd tried using the tail itself as a path; he was certain that he could tear up Shooting Star's wings if he got close enough, but the one time he'd actually gotten on the beast's tail, it had nearly turned him to pulp against the cavern's roof.

Though it HAD hit hard enough to drive a stalactite through its tail. Lucky, that.

Another blast of fire, came; yellow-hot, it left the stone under his feet soft enough to leave footprints. He dodged easily, and wondered idly what the priest was doing now.

Kashue watched the battle in shock for a moment. He stared as yet another tall, skinny man with long hair showed up wielding a weapon with skill that was beyond anything he'd ever imagined. The man didn't seem to even notice that he was doing things that should have been patently impossible with a four and a half foot blade three inches wide. He also shouldn't have been able to manage standing sixty-foot broad jumps and twenty-foot vertical leaps.

And he shouldn't have been laughing as he went through brutal attack and defense routines that made Ashram...ASHRAM of all people look like a rank amateur.

"Who the hell is that?"

"...Oh god, not him..."

They turned questioningly to the dark elf. "You know him?" Ashram asked.

She swallowed, pale. It had been nearly fifty years...she hadn't seen him since before the demon had risen on Marmo. "It's...it's Skurai. The Cursed Prosecutor."

A snort was her answer. One of the knights hefted the lance of dragon-slaying that he'd been given. "Oh come on, Skurai? The blood-fiend? He's a legend; a fairytale."

Pirotess simply pointed back to the fight.

Skurai easily leap a sweep of the dragon's tail, sword trailing behind him. Unfortunately, being airborne, he was unable to dodge the return swipe. Instead, he braced Talatsu in both hands and rode the impact, riding the force of the impact all the way into the wall that cratered under his feet. Dropping lightly, almost casually back to one of the ledges surrounding Shooting Star's nest, he cocked the sword to one side. "MAGNUM BREAK!"

A sweep of the sword, and dark magical forces followed, cutting a swath of destruction through the caverns powerful enough to crack the Ancient Dragon's scales. Blood had yet to flow, but for the first time in quite literally over a thousand years, Shooting Star had been wounded.

Pirotess glanced back at the knight. She might have smirked at the slack-jawed expression on his face if it had been anyone else. But Skurai...there were very few things in the world malicious enough to make a Dark Elf squirm, but the man...no, not a man. The...'thing' they faced now was something darker and more primeval than a demon.

Ashram growled darkly as he unsheathed Soul Crusher, feeling the spirit within shudder in resonance between Talatsu and the Demon Dragon.

Skurai froze, eyes widening as a familiar energy washed through the cavern.

Shooting Star roared in challenge as it sensed the swarm of insects, insects armed with magical stings. They would die first; then Skurai.

Alex's eyes widened as he watched the tell-tale bulge of throat and cheek. "SCATTER!" Suiting words to actions, he shoved Deedlit ahead, grabbing Chiffon as he dove out of the way of the dragon's fire.

Ashram snarled as he slashed at the dragon's breath, Soul Crusher's protective magic battering into the inferno and cutting a swath wide enough to shield all those left on the ledge. Skurai watched interestedly as the fire died; the rock under their feet was likely scorching to touch and nearly mud-soft from the heat, and yet not one of them backed down.

He hoped they'd live long enough for him to kill.

"Now is our chance."

Skurai turned. "I'd wondered where you had gone off to."

The priest bowed. "You can survive a battle with Shooting Star; I cannot." Facing Skurai, he gestured deeper. "For now, the beast is distracted. Will you help me secure the Scepter?"

Skurai laughed in his face. "I came here to battle the dragon."

"And will the dragon no longer be here when you return?" the Priest asked reasonably. "The others...they are strong, but do you really think they can bring down this beast and leave in the scant minutes it would take you to secure the scepter?"

"I came to slay the dragon."

A rusty chuckle preceded a voice that sounded like jagged blades grating against each other. "No, help the priest Skurai. We came here for the blood, but we also came here to curse Lodoss. Putting the Scepter in the hands of Kardis's priesthood will do that nicely."

Skurai gazed at the mouth adorning Talatsu's pommel for a moment. He knew that he would have to provide the accursed thing with blood, but he had no need to obey the damned thing further than he had to. Still, the priest amused him, and he was right about one thing; Shooting Star would be there for him to murder shortly.

He laughed again. "Lead the way, but make this quick. We've had no blood for too long; it wouldn't do to quench our thirst on you."

--------

Ashram panted for a few moments as he watched the rest of his fellow 'dragon-slayers' scatter to the ledges. Truth be told, he was surprised at how much it had taken out of him to parry the dragon's fire; he doubted that he'd be able to manage too many more of those before the fight was over. He waved aside Pirotess's hands as he used Soul Crusher to push himself to his feet; he could feel her singing in his grasp, and she was all he would ever need to do battle...

He shook his head violently; the sword was getting more than a little presumptuous. Turning back to the Dark Elf, he nodded towards the dragon. "I'm not going to be able to be of much use this far away. Find a way to get me on the beast's back."

She stared at him for a moment, but nodded in the end. Vanishing in a floating leap, she began scaling the walls of the cavern in hopes of finding a good anchor point.

Deedlit's head peeked around a stalagmite as she tried to find a good point to launch some sort of attack. Her magic was largely defensive in nature, or used in divination; she could do a fair bit with Sylph or Undine, but that was almost the extent of what she could contribute to this fight. Her rapier wouldn't stand any chance against those scales, and she doubted that even a point-blank shot from her light horsebow in the dragon's eye would do more than draw unwanted notice.

Sighing in defeat, she turned back to Alex and Chiffon. "I told you this was a bad idea."

Alex shrugged off his robe, revealing a chain mail vest and leather leg armor. "Maybe. Any suggestions?"

Chiffon rose out of her crouch to look at Shooting Star; four hundred feet from nose to tail, and nearly eight thousand tons of flesh and bone. Somehow she doubted that the fire spells she preferred would be of any great use against a creature that chose to live in an active volcano. Though truth be told, she doubted that ANY of her attack magic could make an appreciable dent in the behemoth. "I know some protection spells, some anti-fire spells too. I don't think my magic's going to do any good directly against that."

Alex nodded as he left Achiya behind. He REALLY didn't want to do this, but he doubted he had a choice; he just couldn't see what were essentially magical toothpicks to Shooting Star killing him. For the target he had in mind, the lance would just get in the way; he slung his three-foot chopper back onto his back, and slipped the hafts of a pair of war picks into his belt. Thirty inches in haft, the foot-long heads were sharp, doubled-edged, and curved noticeably downward into a particularly brutal point; they'd been designed to tear through plate armor.

He had a slightly different use in mind for them.

Securing a loop of rope around his arm, he took Achiya back into his hands; for now at least, the lance was fine. "Do either of you know any kind of flight spells?"

Deedlit frowned. "I'm afraid not; elves don't have much interest in flight, and besides, we can rely on our leaps for the most part."

Chiffon shook her head. "I've always relied on a horse; after that flight we took on Jester's wyverns, I've never really wanted to fly again."

Alex suppressed a chuckle; he didn't remember the flight, but according to Woodchuck, just about everyone who'd been conscious for that flight had been sick and miserable. Then he had to suppress the sorrow; that had been the flight to Tarba.

Ignoring it for the time being, he looked around. He couldn't see Ashram, but he could hear him. More importantly, he could see the violet flashes that he knew meant the black knight was trying to blast something into meat paste. Looking around, he checked for Shadam and Kashue; he wanted the knights to survive, but those two were his friends. Grimacing, he spent some soul-time to sharpen his eyesight; he finally noticed the heads of their lances in some of the rock as they tried to find a good way to get onto Shooting Star's body.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the elves. "Chiffon, cast one spell of fire protection on me, and one spell of more general protection. Then you and Deed go over there (he gestured towards the rocks across the cavern) and cast the same spells on Kashue and Shadam. After that, track down any of the other knights you can find and do it again. Got it?"

"What will you be doing?" Chiffon asked.

"Finding my opening," he replied. Chiffon stared at him blankly; he wanted to curse. "It's not over yet, Chiffon; I'm NOT going to die here."

The half-elf nodded a half-second later. Rising to her feet, she closed her eyes, and began chanting softly under her breath as she placed her hands on either side of him. He winced slightly as he felt the magic take hold; he didn't know why, but ever since Karla, he'd noticed that magic had an unpleasant tendency to fail around him at inopportune moments. He could feel the spell take hold; that at least he didn't have to worry about. He just hoped it would last long enough.

Rising to his feet he watched as the two scurried through the scrub. Taking a deep breath, he tried to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.

It wasn't every day you had to leap into the lion's den.

"Lovely girls."

He spun, Achiya snapping towards the voice.

Skurai's eyebrows rose as he parried the thrust. "Excellent reflexes. A normal man would probably be dead by now." He smirked. "No one on Lodoss would call me normal though."

Alex met those mad eyes and let his own darken. "Why do this? Why help Wagnard?"

Skurai looked surprised. "Oh, you know about all that?" He shrugged, sighing happily. "I live only to kill, Coyote. To give blood to Talatsu, hoping every time that it will be the blood that can satisfy him, the blood to break my curse of immortality." He grinned. "Perhaps dragon's blood is what I needed all along. Why do this you ask? Why not?"

"So you don't give a fuck," Alex replied as he withdrew Achiya. "Where's the scepter?"

"Ask the priest, if you can find him; he ran off the moment he got it into his fingers."

Alex growled as he looked up. "I don't have time for this; go kill him yourself."

He never saw Skurai move. All he knew was that a moment later, blood marred his vision. Spinning, his eyes widened at the sight of Talatsu resting an inch from his eye...his blood marring the tip.

Skurai smirked. "I need blood. Perhaps a dragon's; why not a hero's?" His eyes widened as Achiya's cross-prongs tore open his cheek; if he hadn't dodged, he would have been stabbed through the mouth.

"DON'T. Call me a hero." Alex's next words were drowned by Shooting Star's furious roar; apparently, it had only just noticed that the scepter had been taken. Alex leapt back as he felt more than heard the rocks trembling; a small avalanche fell between him and Skurai; torn from the rocks by flailing dragon's claws. He was still angry, but he knew that he had to deal with the dragon and the scepter first; Skurai would keep, or he would be dead, and either way, it wouldn't be his problem. Dropping Achiya, he leapt for the rocks, and began scaling as high as he could.

Skurai frowned as he watched Alex climb. It wasn't just hat he'd been struck, though that was unusual. No, what concerned him now was Alex's blood, and the peculiarities that Talatsu had tasted.

It passed quickly enough. Leaping back up, he braced against a wall, and with a furious push launched himself towards Shooting Star; precisely which blood he got didn't matter.

He wondered if maybe he needed elf blood; Wagnard seemed to put some stock by it, maybe he should as well.

Pirotess sighed tiredly as she finished attaching the rope to the stalactite. She doubted that Ashram had wanted to climb (she didn't even know if he COULD climb a rope properly in his armor), but this was the best she could do. There certainly wasn't any chance that she could CARRY him onto Shooting Star's back.

She frowned as she noticed the rope going a bit slack...no, just changing. Following the rope with her eyes, she growled in exasperation as she noticed one of the idiot humans was climbing the walls, the end of the rope tied to his waist...wait, not just any idiot human. Only Alex wore his hair in that shaggy mess, though why he didn't have his spear...

Leaping carefully, she managed a long, floating jump down to the wall, easily absorbing the impact. "Put that rope down, that's for Ashram, not you."

He ignored her.

Seething, she drew a dagger. If he thought he could ignore her...

His war pick slammed into the rock behind her neck.

She froze; he could have very easily torn her head off with that blow had he chosen to, and she never saw it coming.

He glared at her as he pulled himself up, using the war pick to provide a handhold. "Move. I have a job to do; go do yours."

She stared at him incredulously as he freed the pick and dug into a new hold. "Ashram needs to get on its back to do serious damage; Soul Crusher can pierce Shooting Star's scales. Those things can't. You need HIM to kill Shooting Star."

"We'll find out," he said as he continued climbing, not bothering to look at the dark elf clinging to the rock face. "I'm not going to cut the rope or anything; it'll be ready for him to use by the time he gets here. Assuming you decide to fetch him instead of arguing with me."

She flushed angrily, but decided duty was more important than a pointless fight now; she could kill him after Shooting Star was dead.

Alex watched her go, and looked down. He was attached to a granite and obsidian rock face nearly three hundred feet above the ground. He was armed with a large, heavy sword and two war picks (which were the only things keeping him attached to said rock face). He was also attached to a length of rope that had been tied to the roof, almost two hundred feet higher than him.

And he was about to jump.

For the record, no, he'd never wanted to go bungee jumping.

Alex was a brave man, normally. He might not admit it, he might not think it, but he was brave; he'd faced hell and been able to keep from blinking. Still, he didn't want to do this. He REALLY didn't want to do this.

So he paused, and he looked, focusing soul-time into his eyes, scanning Shooting Star for injuries, trying to see if he actually had to go through with it.

...Well, they were doing better than they had in the Canon, that was for sure. Shooting Star was actually bleeding quite a bit on the snout, limbs, and tails. Kashue and Shadam had managed to get high enough to put their lances to use, as had the knight selected to carry the third lance. Shadam had lost his; it was still buried in Shooting Star's leg. Kashue was actually clinging to Shooting Star's hide, using the lance still buried in its flesh as a hand hold. Ashram had broken off his assault on Shooting Star's head (it kept trying to eat him) and was dodging slashes, returning them in interest as he headed for where the end of the rope would be. Skurai had managed to work his way onto Shooting Star's back briefly, and left several deep gashes along the spine.

They were nowhere closer to killing it. And it was only a matter of time before Shooting Star lost its temper and decided to just immolate the whole damned cavern.

Swallowing, Alex turned into position; back to the cliff face, legs folded tightly, feet braced against the wall, the hafts of war picks in either hand...

He took a deep breath...

And shoved off from the wall with all his strength.

Gravity eventually overtook his forward momentum, then the tension in the rope offset gravity; he swung, faster and faster towards Shooting Star. Luck was with him; he'd gauged the necessary length of the rope properly, and he was swinging true, not spinning as he went.

He fumbled at the rope with hands and feet in turn as he swung; he needed to hold on, but he couldn't be tied, and he couldn't just slash the rope, or Ashram would never be able to reach it. Granted, Ashram's involvement would be a moot point if this worked, but he believed in contingencies. Besides, he'd given his word to Pirotess.

He bottomed out on the swing; he was at top speed, and beginning the upward half of the swing now. He prayed this worked as he intended. He prayed that his brilliant, insane, inspired, desperate plan worked. He prayed that Shooting Star cooperated with his needs.

Mostly, he prayed that the last part of the plan succeeded, and that he walked out of this alive.

He began to howl.

Shooting Star, angry as it was, primeval as it was, still remained alert. It swung its head up at the howl, and nearly gave the draconic equivalent of a laugh. A gnat had decided to charge him. Smirking diabolically, it whipped its head towards the speeding, falling figure, and opened its mouth.

Alex sailed straight into Shooting Star's waiting jaws.

Those jaws snapped shut.

And that was the end of it.

Deedlit stared. There was nothing else she could think to do. She started as she felt Chiffon's hand on hers. Turning, she started again at the peaceful look on Chiffon's face.

The half elf simply turned and looked up towards Shooting Star. "He said he wouldn't die here."

--------

As Wort led them deeper into his tower, Leylia turned to Slayn. Leaning as close as she dared, she whispered, "you met Wort once before, didn't you?"

Slayn nodded almost imperceptibly; Wort's back was to them, but who knew what sort of listening and spying spells the old archmage would have lying around his tower.

"Was he this...well...crotchety the last time you two met?"

Slayn nearly tripped.

Wort smirked where they couldn't see him. He didn't actually have that many spying wards around his tower; most of what he worried about was defeating OTHER wizards' attempts to spy on him. Still, most people forgot that he hadn't always been a sage; he'd gotten his start as a mercenary spy and artillery piece. He hadn't forgotten all of the tricks of the trade; listening on what others didn't want heard was among the easiest spells he knew.

Still, no reason to let them know that, was there?

He let Slayn try to explain WHY they were 'wasting their time' with some crotchety, possibly senile old mage as he led them to his laboratory. He had a lot to tell them (whether they were interested or not), and he had a feeling that some of his magical apparatuses would be necessary.

It didn't take long to arrive. He waved a hand at a few of his less comfortable chairs; not UNcomfortable, just...not as nice as his chair. Anyway, a wave of his hand had them scooting over the floor; he gestured peremptorily for them to sit as he suited his own actions to his suggestion. "So," he asked as he squirmed himself comfortable into his chair, "why are you here?"

Slayn took a deep breath as he tried to compose his thoughts.

Leylia chose to be slightly blunt. "Why are all the mages of Lodoss so uncomfortable?"

Slayn stared at her for a moment, then turned to stare at Wort. If anything, the oh-so-amused expression on his face was worse than anger. Particularly as it asked in not so many words 'why the hell do you need me to tell you?' He decided to elaborate. "We've...well, I," he added at the look Leylia gave him, "have been noticing over the past several months that there has been something...well, agitating the magic-users of Lodoss. Ever since I left Zaxom, to be honest, but at the time I just put it down to the threat of war, or Karla mucking things up. It was only after the war, when things should have been getting calmer that I noticed that things were in fact getting worse."

"Why ask me?" Wort asked; his tone wasn't rhetorical though. "Surely Neese could have told you as much as I could."

Slayn winced. "That's just it; it's not ALL the magic-users of Lodoss, it's just people like you and me. I managed to coax an elf to talk to me, and apparently shamans don't seem to be having too much trouble, and neither do the priests. It's only the sorcerers, the witches, and wizards; those who learn themselves that seem to be affected."

Wort nodded, but chose not to speak. When Slayn and Leylia both remained silent, he mentally shook his head. As the silence began to stretch uncomfortably, he audibly sighed, crooking a finger at one of the books on his shelves. "Slayn, you really ought to be ashamed of yourself. You haven't figured it out already?"

THAT wasn't what he'd expected to hear.

Wort lifted the now-floating book out of the air, and opened it for Slayn. "Slayn my boy, take a look at that, and tell me what you see. What does this tell you?"

Frowning in thought, Slayn accepted the book, and looked over it critically. It wasn't a magic book; surprisingly, it was nothing but an old farmer's almanac. Still, he kept looking; Wort wouldn't have him look if there was nothing to see. He didn't notice any religious festivals or holidays, but farmers didn't often have to mark those out. He checked the seasons, the time and position of the rising sun...he considered the constellations for a moment, but couldn't think of anything in particular...

Wait a minute...time and position of the sun...what about the moon...

Wort smiled grimly at the suddenly pallor on Slayn's face. "In the sixth month of this year, the full moon will rise on the second night. It will then rise again, exactly twenty eight days hence, one week after the summer solstice. And at midnight of that night..."

"A Blue Moon," Slayn whispered hoarsely. The last time one had risen had been thousands of years ago, but every hedge witch, let alone serious sorcerer was told the legends. Because when the Blue Moon rose...

"Wild Magic," Slayn whispered.

Wort simply watched, smiling grimly. A night of wild magic; gods alone knew what would happen to any spellcasters foolish enough to try and wield their art on that night. Surges of Wild Magic could reshape continents; it was said that not even gods could truly control or even resist the wild magic. On Lodoss, the continent birthed in a sea of mad, divine blood...

Wort idly wondered if it might be better to die in his sleep before he had to see that particular night.

Slayn shook his head suddenly. "No, that's not it. If it was just the wild magic, it would have affected every single spell-caster on Lodoss, regardless of the source, not just the arcanists." He looked up, his eyes narrowing suddenly. "There's something else, isn't there Wort? Just like with Karla, there's something you don't want us to know."

Wort eased himself out of his chair; he was almost amused at the sudden wariness in both of their expressions. He'd learned long ago that one of the most effective tools for making people listen to you more closely was to be casual; he'd need that now. He chose to casually study his collection of extra-dimensional storybooks. "Magic is simply potential energy. There's energy everywhere; it flows through all things, it makes everything work the way it does. The energy that we term magic is no different from the force that makes us walk about, the power of sunlight, the flowing water...it's just energy. Magic is just the word we use to describe the art that wields it."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Leylia demanded.

Wort ignored her outburst. "Magic as you and I understand it Slayn, is merely a part of the design of the gods. Long ago, the first sorcerers and scholars discovered the Godsweave. It was the divine plan by which all of nature acted; it determined the nature of our existence. Day and night, the flow of the seasons, life, death, birth...all determined by the Godsweave. They tried to change it to suit them, and the gods Smote them for their audacity. Thus, the first successful sorcerers, those of Kastuul, were the ones who were able to go about it with some subtlety. They crimped the weave enough that, with the right words and the right gestures, they could implement small changes; make a fire show up where it shouldn't, make rocks crumble where they should have stood for ages...all sorts of things. And thus we wizards today scrabble after the leavings of Kastuul and the old magic, because we've all but forgotten how to slip things into the Weave."

"What – "

"Priestess, be silent." The conversational tone seemed to shock them both into silence; good. "ALL magic is bound by the Godsweave; shamans merely prod spirits to follow out what they can do within the confines of the weave, and the only difference is that the spirits might not have done it at the time when they did. Clerics and priests ask the gods to do it for them; through communion and prayer, they grow close enough to those who can affect the weave more drastically than they can. Wizards though...we're still trying to be gods ourselves, and make the weave our own, whether we realize it or not. We search for the pure knowledge, for the key to magic, the warp and woof of the Weave. And because of that, we are far more sensitive to the weave, because for us, the input we gain from it is not filtered through the speech of fairies or the interpretation of gods; we feel it PRECISELY as it is." He smiled at Leylia. "Of course, we don't always know what it means; that's the price we pay for our freedom; ignorance. But we always get the WHOLE story."

Slayn frowned. "So what you're saying is that there's something else, something more monumental than a night of wild magic that's affecting this 'Weave,' and that the gods and spirits are trying to keep it some sort of secret?"

Wort sighed. "Regretfully, no. It's not that they're trying to hide it, it's just that they're...well, limited in what they can do about it." He sat again. "The root of the problem is this. EVERYTHING in Lodoss, as well as all of Forceria, is linked to the Weave. Even Fate itself, if you should go so far as to say it. We've had nigh unto an eternity to get used to it; the gods have left the Weave largely alone for eons, which is why our rather 'unnatural' magics still exist and work. Everything was in a nice, complacent rut.

"And then someone dumped something into Lodoss that wasn't a part of the weave, something that could interact with it, but wasn't bound by it. Something that could do the most asinine, insane, unthinkable things that we dare not even IMAGINE, and get away with it because the Weave wasn't there to stop it."

Leylia's eyes widened. "What...what in Marfa's name..."

"Alex."

If Slayn was pale before...if Leylia's eyes had been wide before...

Wort sighed. "It's not the first time that world-walkers, even unknowing ones like Alex have shown up on Lodoss; I've met quite a few. But most of them just chose to quietly fade into the background, or go back home when the opportunity presented itself. This one though...this one had to get mixed up in the thick of things."

Slayn shook his head wonderingly. "I knew he was odd, but...he's not even of this world?"

Wort nodded. "He started out a human being, same as you and me, but where he'll go on this world, and where you and I are going...well, that's another story altogether."

Leylia frowned. "Wait a minute, Alex can't affect the Weave, can he?"

Wort looked up, startled. "He can be affected by it; magic works on him, it just doesn't work quite the same as it does to us."

Leylia shook her head. "No, can he...can he manipulate the Weave? Like a wizard or..." she swallowed. "...like a God?"

Wort stared at her.

And flung his head back and laughed.

Leylia and Slayn stared at the howling mage, before turning helplessly to each other. Slayn looked at her incredulously, mouthing 'a god,' at her. Leylia had the grace to flush in embarrassment; it had just sort of slipped out.

Wort finally got his laugher under control (following a coughing fit). "A god? Oh child, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I haven't laughed like that in years." Shaking his head and still chuckling, he explained. "No, he can't affect the weave, but he's not affected by it the same way that you and I are; it depends on how much he fights it. That novice friend of yours had to heal him quite a bit; I imagine he welcomed that when it occurred. That would work perfectly because he wanted it to work perfectly. Defense spells would probably work well enough, so long as he knew what they did and how; if he wanted them to do one thing that they couldn't, they'd likely start to unravel. Attack spells though...unless he was feeling suicidal, I doubt that they'd work on him properly at all. Oh, they'd hurt, and likely do some serious damage, but not they way they were intended."

Leylia turned sheet white.

Slayn never noticed. "I still don't understand; this makes Alex...well, unique, I suppose, but how does that affect all the mages on Lodoss?"

Wort shrugged as he leaned back into his chair. "Probably all the mages on Forceria, to some degree or another, though they'll just chalk it up to the Blue Moon, same as you. The problem, you see, isn't the Blue Moon, though that's part of it, and it's not really Alex, though he's a part of it." He sighed. "The problem is when the two of them mix. Because you see, the Wild Magic is just that; Wild. It's untamed energy, and it's NOT part of the Weave; if anything, it's something too great to be a part of the Weave. So tell me Slayn, what happens when power that the gods can't control meets someone who the gods can't predict?"

Slayn's eyes widened. Wort nodded. "It's likely nothing; the Wild Magic is no more likely to obey him than anything else; the only difference is that the weave won't be able to try and keep him out of the thick of it. It might not be that bad, but what you and I have been sensing, along with the rest, is the POTENTIAL of what might happen. It's like knowing a storm is coming, and not being able to do anything about it; you have to weather it out, and hope it doesn't kill you in the process. Priests and the like have someone to at least assure them that it'll be alright, but you and me?" He shrugged. "Of course you're going to be nervous." He frowned suddenly. "Child, what in the name of Mycen has got you so afraid?"

"...Soul Reaver..."

Slayn had never imagined that the shrunken, wizened old archmage could move that fast. All he knew was that when those words left her mouth, he shot out of his chair and seized her by the robe.

"Child, you are going to tell me right now where you heard that."

Leylia stared at Wort.

And told them.

Everything.

Slayn stared at her. "Alex is dying?" He might not have always LIKED the crazy little lancer, but...they were friends still. There was a difference between not always liking someone and not caring that their soul was getting ripped apart. His eyes widened. "God's above, he went after SHOOTING STAR in that condition?!"

Wort paled. "Shooting Star? He's awake?" Seeing Slayn's grim nod, he collapsed into his chair. "God's above is right, Slayn." He turned to regard the mage. "Alex told me quite a bit about Shooting Star, and what it would mean when he woke up."

He shook his head. "We're all doomed."

Slayn and Leylia stared, uncomprehending, still caught up in the drama of Alex's imminent demise.

Wort did not wait long to enlighten them.

--------

Some secrets are never meant to be kept forever.

--------

If not for the fact that he would likely have started drowning in rancid saliva, Alex would have said, "This has got to be the dumbest fucking idea I've EVER had."

But between the fact that he was trying to wrestle his way past a slippery tongue that out-weighed him by several metric tons, one capable of crushing an ogre into jelly, and the afore-mentioned rancid saliva, Alex settled for thinking dire things.

He'd actually PLANNED on this happening. What kind of dumb-shit PLANS on wrestling around inside the mouth of the biggest carnivore the world had ever imagined?

And what kind of dumb-shit goes DEEPER?

He'd sheathed his war-picks early on; he was going to need them later, and they were too unwieldy in the dense, muggy environment he was currently trapped in. He'd instead drawn a pair of heavy-duty stilettos, and was using them to drag himself forward.

He'd wondered at first if Shooting Star would feel it, but the way he saw it, that would have been the equivalent of noting the rasp of individual grains of salt on your food. On a human scale, anyway. As it was, he was just thankful that he hadn't run into any unpleasant surprises in the form of a draconic immune system or digestive enzymes.

At least not yet; he might have been a pessimist, but he was realistic.

It took less than half a minute to drag himself past Shooting Star's tongue, but it was a miserable minute. Even as nerve-dead as he'd become, he STILL felt the phantom-slimy sensation of wading through spit. Grabbing hold of one of the dragon's rearmost teeth, he studied the network of tubes leading downward.

He was pretty sure there should only have been two; the esophagus, and the trachea. Which led him to wonder why there was a third one, as well as several branching clusters that, as near as he could tell, connected to either the esophagus or windpipe.

Shooting Star's mouth opened suddenly; there was a rush of air as it sucked in breath. Cursing, Alex slid towards the back of the mouth, one stiletto disappearing into the depths of Shooting Star's digestive tract, the other one frantically stabbing into the slippery muscle.

What actually saved him was a thick, horny plate of flesh and what looked like scale, descending on top of him as he slid. He involuntarily 'whuff'ed when it hit; it was more than powerful enough to drive the air out of his lungs.

All of that become unimportant as suddenly, the plate of muscle went hot.

He gasped again as he felt a rumble shoot through everything around him. It only lasted a few seconds, but it nearly deafened him. He groaned as the plate lifted; looking around, he was amazed that none of the dragon's mouth was showing signs of damage from what he KNEW had been a blast of dragon fire. Shaking his head to try and get rid of the spots dancing before his eyes, he looked around again. Painful as hell, that fire-breath had ended up lucky for him; he at least knew what was what now.

The back-most tube was apparently the power-source for Shooting Star's fire breath; presumably, those little tubes branching from the front-most tube were linked to the trachea to provide extra oxygen to the fire. More oxygen meant hotter flame, regardless of the source.

Grimacing in distaste at what he had to do now, he sheathed his stiletto, and withdrew his picks. Checking quickly, he made sure that he had everything he needed; two war picks, two daggers, a 30-foot length of rope, and his chopper.

Swallowing, he forced himself to relax, and dove down Shooting Star's esophagus.

He regretted it instantly; mucus lined the walls of the dragon's gullet nearly a foot thick; it wouldn't stop him, sure, but...well, come on. YOU want to go spelunking through barrels of dragon snot?

I thought not.

Forcing away his disgust, he decided against waiting in his descent, slashing first one then another war pick into the sides of the gullet. The mucus blunted his blows a bit, but less than thirty feet into his fall he managed to hook the pick's curved blade into the flesh of Shooting Star's throat. He nearly lost it as he felt a coughing rumble-wriggle course through the neck; apparently, he wasn't THAT nerve-dead. Ignoring it, he waited a bit, and aiming carefully, hooked his other pick into the dragon's throat at arm's length. Another rumble, and he started the dirtiest job.

Securing himself to his picks with the rope, he drew his chopper and stabbed into the throat lining, on what he assumed was the left side of the neck. He ignored the rumbles as best he could; they were still distracting Shooting Star out there, as best as he could tell. It took a while but he managed to hack a four-foot slit into the walls of the esophagus. Taking one last deep breath and playing out the rope secured to his picks, he plunged through the mucus and flesh, deeper into Shooting Star's neck.

He nearly vomited doing it.

His first sensation on passing through was of HEAT. Clearing the gunk out of his eyes, he felt more than saw the great blood vessel pulsing in Shooting Star's neck; the heat coming off of it was amazing. Drawing his toothed daggers, he cut and dragged his way up the length of the blood vessel. Shooting Star shook; did it realize what was to come, or did it merely react to the pain in the neck? Truth be told, it probably didn't matter.

This was it.

Drawing his chopper, he reversed his grip and turned it until the hooked, sharpened back edge of the blade lay towards him. Taking a deep breath, he forced as much soul-time into his body as he could spare, and stabbed.

The first pulse of blood nearly blasted him back into the trachea; if not for the sudden panicked shaking of Shooting Star, it would have. Desperately shaking the blood out of his eyes, Alex forced himself to grab the haft of the blade once more, and heaved himself downwards, dragging the blade after him, cutting deeper and wider. He noticed dimly the spurting; he'd managed to get the carotid artery. Still, he'd said it in Kashue's tent; Shooting Star's sheer mass meant that it would take either a LONG time or a BIG wound to get him to bleed to death, and he couldn't afford any more time.

So he hacked and dragged and twisted; he lost his footing twice from Shooting Star's desperate struggles, but he'd chosen his target with this in mind; this was the one place where Shooting Star couldn't defend itself.

Eventually, he noticed the blood pressure dropping; the spurts were coming more infrequently.

He also noticed that judging from the momentum, Shooting Star was falling.

He grimaced as he tried to haul himself into something that would cushion his fall somewhat.

Of course, even if he survived that, he had to figure out how he was going to get back out.

--------

The thunderous rumble of the massive body collapsing to the stone still echoed in the cavern.

And somehow, despite that rumble, there was a deafening silence in the air.

Kashue stared in awe at the dead dragon; somehow, it seemed larger dead than it had alive, as though its mass had been underscored by its sheer vitality. He nursed a broken arm and more cuts and bruises than he'd had in months; he'd been in better shape after the Valley. Shadam hadn't quite dodged one of Shooting Star's last fire breaths fast enough; he was badly burned, though he'd likely live. Once they got him to a priest...

Ashram stared. Not in awe; he'd grown up in the presence of Narse. He respected the dragon, but it wasn't quite as...novel to him as this great red beast likely was to the desert warriors. No, he stared because he simply couldn't believe that the thing was dead, and that somehow, his rival, his SHOULD BE DIGESTED rival had killed it.

It was the only possible answer; there were almost no wounds on Shooting Star's body at all. Even the legendary Talatsu, even mighty 'dragon-slaying lances of Myrii...' and yes, even Soul Crusher itself had proven largely ineffectual against Shooting Star's armor and magic.

HOW. HAD. HE. DONE IT?!

"The outside."

The knight started, spinning. He cursed himself for it; he'd recognized the voice, and if anything, that had contributed to his surprise.

Chiffon looked at him unconcernedly, stroking a crow of all things. "What?"

Chiffon watched the hulking corpse raptly; Cyrus said he and Alex were linked, and that he could tell Alex wasn't dead...yet. That was enough for her, and if not quite enough for Deed, enough to give her some hope. "Deed told me about the meeting in the tent; Alex asked you, 'Which side of a dog is the hairiest?'" She looked at Shooting Star. "It's a child's riddle. The answer is the outside."

Ashram glared at her. "What does a child's riddle have to –"

Deed's cry stopped everything.

They watched raptly as something seemed to twitch at Shooting Star's snout; it looked as though the dead dragon was, absurdly enough, going to sneeze. Rather than a sneeze, the hooked end of a war pick came out, grasping the edge of the nostril. Another blood-stained pick followed it on the other side, pulling a tall, lanky, grunting figure dressed in chain mail and leather.

He was completely stained red. Red as Shooting Star itself.

Skurai, observing from a small, secluded outcropping, felt an inexplicable pang of jealousy at the sight, though from Talatsu rather than his own feelings.

Kashue stared, using his lance as a cane to help him towards where Deedlit and Chiffon were helping Alex off the carcass, unmindful of the blood rubbing off on them. "You...you killed it." He swallowed at the dull, crimson gaze meeting his eyes. He shook it off, but still... "How do you feel?"

Alex paused. The rag Chiffon had given him to clean himself with was long since drenched in blood; he dropped it. At least his face was clean. Straightening a bit, he stared at Kashue. "How do I feel?" he asked conversationally. "I was swallowed by a dragon, wrestled with its tongue, waded through a river of draconic spit and snot, swam BACK through its own super-heated blood, and dragged myself out through his nostrils, after carving my way through what looked like a four-hundred-year back-log of old sneezes." The stare became a glare (though a normal one). "How the FUCK do you think I feel?"

Any answer that might have been forthcoming was derailed as Deedlit promptly knocked Alex off the dragon's snout.

He couldn't quite manage a somersault, but he did manage to get his feet more or less under him before he fell on his ass. Turning back, he glared at the elf. "What the hell was that for?"

Deedlit calmly picked up one of his dropped war picks and floated down to him...and smacked him in the head with the haft. "That would have been much more convincing, if you hadn't PLANNED THE WHOLE THING!" She tried smacking him again, but proving that he was NOT an anime protagonist, he learned from his mistake and chose not to let the female lead beat on him.

Or you could just say that he grabbed the haft before it could connect. It's much the same thing.

Deedlit just kept glaring. "'Which side of a dog is the hairiest?' You couldn't have been just a LITTLE bit clearer about what you were planning?"

Soul Crusher slammed into the blade of the war pick still between them. Ashram didn't glare. This was BEYOND glaring, he was currently radiating killing intent dwarfing anything he'd managed against Shooting Star. Ignoring the sudden nervous looks, ignoring the lances and swords now pointing at him, he turned to stare impassively at Alex. "Would someone," he bit out, "PLEASE explain to me what that insipid riddle means?"

Alex batted the sword out of the way with his pick; Ashram was more interested in getting everyone's attention than doing any damage, and the sword returned to its sheath simply enough. Rising to his feet and shucking his bloody armor, Alex explained. "It's a stupid joke; which side of a dog is the hairiest? The outside." Grimacing at the bloody armor, he tossed it aside; he doubted they'd be able to clean it before it started rusting, and he KNEW he'd never be able to wear it again without remembering dragon snot. "By the same token, the side of a dog which is bald is the inside. Applying the same logic to a dragon; which side of a dragon is covered in nigh-unbreakable scales? And which is completely unprotected?" He managed a grin at the incredulous look on Ashram's face; it was obvious when you thought about it. It was also completely ridiculous; no one would ever be stupid enough to do it. "It's the same as any other martial tactic; find out where your opponent is unprotected, position yourself as necessary, and hit him with the biggest blow you can manage." He shrugged. "Thankfully, Shooting Star is...or was, the same as most other dragons. No acid spit or anything like that; he wasn't just unprotected, he was also incapable of defending himself there. It was simply the only way to get in a decisive strike."

Slow clapping met his explanation. It was odd; they knew that Skurai was there, they knew he was a raging homicidal maniac, and yet they still chose not to act as though he was a threat. Post-battle shock, most likely.

He bowed mockingly. "Well done, Coyote. Stupid, crazy, and ruthless; I commend your instincts." He laughed. "I never would have imagined such lively action from a dead man."

One of Kashue's surviving knights' eyes widened; he never would have imagined such a blatant challenge. Yanking out his sword, he set himself...and noticed that no one else was doing anything.

Skurai laughed at him. "Oh, don't worry yourself. I don't fight the dead, and dead blood is worthless to Talatsu."

Now confusion. Alex was too keyed up; still flush with the after-battle rush, he had enough feeling to tense up. Chiffon was completely blank. Pirotess frowned; Ashram's eyes narrowed. He'd had quite enough with enigmatic prompts and such; he'd gotten a lifetime's worth from Karla. Kashue looked on in confusion, Shadam frowned, and Deed...

"What are you talking about?"

Skurai's normally blank eyes widened...then narrowed into a smirk. "Oh, you don't know, do you? None of you do." He shook his head at Alex. "But you know. And Talatsu knows. So Skurai knows too." He grinned; why not? "Talatsu gains his power from blood; he tastes blood, and he takes of that blood all the powers that it held. All of the techniques, spells, and abilities of the source of that blood, he gains. And he also gets all SORTS of little extras; he knows blood lines, family...he can tell me quite a bit from the taste of blood. And your blood tastes dead; I've cut down vampires and zombies with more life in their blood than you have." He smiled as he let Talatsu sink into his shadow; he didn't want a fight at the moment; he'd wait until they were in good enough shape to make it interesting. "'Like a three-month-dead corpse,' he says. That's the taste of your blood." Appropriately enough, considering his topic, it was blood that erupted out of his shadow, swirling about him as the blood magic swept him out of the cavern.

Alex swallowed; he couldn't afford to let the Flowing Soul fade right now...he was reacting again, and it was killing him. He watched Deed turn, saw the betrayal in her eyes.

He wanted to die at that moment. He wished that he hadn't crawled out of Shooting Star's maw.

"So you did die against Karla. Or you came close enough." She shook her head. "So what does that make you now?"

"Deed..."

She leapt back, blurring. "Don't touch me." Three floating leaps later, she was heading out of the cavern.

Alex collapsed. He'd always planned on dying at the end, but he'd wanted it to seem like it was some sort of sacrifice; he'd be dead, he wouldn't care about a heroic reputation then. But he'd been desperate not to let her know before.

Soul Crusher whined through the air.

It wasn't mind, body, or even truly soul that moved him then; something stirred deeply, and Alex's body swayed under the murderous cut before launching itself to its feet, just in time for the return stroke of Soul Crusher to catch the dagger that had found its way into his hands somewhere along the way, and send him flying back onto his ass.

He stared incredulously at Ashram even as he wondered where that had come from; it wasn't the flowing soul, and his body didn't HAVE proper reflexes anymore; where had THAT come from? "What?"

Ashram snorted. "You little girl. You're just going to let it end like THAT? What, no fight to survive from the Coyote?" He smirked diabolically. "No heroic 'love conquers all?'"

Ashram staggered back, his hand flying to his cheek; a line of blood trickled down from where Alex's dagger had hit him. Alex's eyes were burning, hotter and hotter, but in a color they'd never seen. Brown had become red, red had become violet...and now the baleful color had deepened, until a dark, hungry blue stared back.

"Heroic?" Achiya somehow snapped into his hands. "Don't you EVER!" Achiya flared, rust and blood. "Use that word to describe me again." His eyes blazed at everyone there for a moment, but only for a moment; they faded back to brown quickly enough. Still, it had been enough.

Ashram watched Alex charge the walls, bounding and dragging himself up the coarse stone in turns; it had been disgusting seeing him fold like that over some idiot girl. He would be damned if he'd allow that.

However...

Chiffon started as she found Soul Crusher leveled at her face. Ashram ignored the sudden fear in her eyes; he didn't care. "You didn't react when Skurai told us that Alex was a dead man."

"Dying, not dead," she whispered.

"Dying then. You knew. You know exactly what's going on." His eyes glittered. "I want an explanation." Soul Crusher Roared for a moment, blasting the half-elf off her feet even as it sent the rest of them sprawling. "Now."

He frowned when the tip of Kashue's lance was laid across his sword. He glared at the desert king, and was impressed despite himself at how readily Kashue met his glare.

Kashue forced the blade down. "I'm not going to let you question her at sword-point. Not in my country, and doubly not her; my men owe her our lives." His glare didn't waver as he helped Chiffon back to her feet. "I am, however, finding myself VERY annoyed at being kept in the dark." His eyes hardened. "You ARE going to explain this."

Chiffon gathered up Alex's dropped picks and daggers silently, not deigning to notice the glares directed at her by the two warrior kings. "It's going to be a very long story, and we don't have all that much time." She wrapped the weapons in her cloak and started towards the cave entrance. "I can tell you while we walk." She looked at Pirotess, and nodded to one of the wounded. "Help him."

Pirotess' eyes widened but at a curt nod from Ashram, she grudgingly went over. Though her help amounted largely to beating the man with the flat of her rapier when it looked like he wasn't going to keep up.

Ashram was one of the last to leave the cavern; he paused a long time to survey the devastation. Kashue paused as well, waiting for the Emperor of Marmo. Courtesy dictated as much. "Something troubling you?"

Ashram 'tched' as he looked over the bulk of the dead dragon. "What's not troubling about this situation? My greatest rival and possible ally in the unification of Lodoss is dying, my high priest is plotting behind my back and carry the greatest magical artifact in the history of Forceria, and I am floundering about in the dark." Kashue frowned at the 'ally' comment, but ignored it for the time.

Ashram laughed harshly, bitterly. "I find myself questioning everything, and oddly enough, my greatest fear is also my one comfort." He swept one hand out over Shooting Star's bulk. "My sword, one of the two Great Opposing Swords, the blade that was bathed in the heat blood of a demon, was useless against that thing. Talatsu, a blade said to be feared by the gods was even less. And your three enchanted dragon slaying lances of myrii, created by an entire brotherhood for the sole purpose of slaying this beast, foretold in legend, were in the end almost completely superfluous." He shook his head. "No, we owe our lives to one man who had steel, recklessness, and cunning on his side." His hand clenched. "And my hard-won symbol of Imperial Sovereignty tries to seduce me to its power in the face of my...inadequacy." He barked a laugh. "And yet, that knowledge might well be what turns the tables in my favor against Wagnard." He smiled grimly. "After all, my greater magic was useless; who's to say that Wagnard's scepter will be as dangerous as he thinks it to be?" With a sweep of his cape, he exited the cavern.

Kashue watched him for a moment, then turned back to stare at the carcass. Ashram's words were profound, and no small comfort to a fighting man, any fighting man who put his faith in steel, strength, nerve, and experience over witchcraft. However, his mention of Soul Crusher's birth disturbed him. After all, bathing in the blood of a demon had been enough to create a weapon powerful enough to slay armies and turn fortresses to rubble (if one was willing to work hard enough).

He thought of those blood-drenched war picks, and tried to consider just how much more powerful Shooting Star had been than that demon. And he had to wonder, would the blood stop at changing those weapons?

He remembered only too well the sight of Alex emerging, drenched head to toe in the blood of Shooting Star's death.

To be continued...

Author's Notes: Well, I finally managed to get this chapter where I wanted it. Hopefully this will be enough to keep you happy for a bit as I start working on the next chapter; I'm planning three more full chapters before this fic is done, plus a short epilogue.

Then it's on to the next chapter in the Chronicles of Murphy: Evangelion, Full Metal Alchemist, and the disturbing similarities therein. In which it gets far bigger and more complicated than we ever thought it would be.

Preview of the next Chapter: Not really a preview. Sorry. But in case you're wondering, Alex and Deedlit are finally going to hash it all out; all the lies, all the stories, all the feelings. And of course Wagnard shows up to muck it all to hell...