Chapter 34:
First Probe

"Vat? Vat is sis? I left you vis direct orders to serve Master Eiku!"

Kre'sar's hood twitched as he replied, "His gloriousness has sent me to armor you in righteousness, the better to slay those who are misguided."

Slit was starting to regret that he had ever become entangled with Kre'sar. He didn't deny the mage's raw ability… but his fanaticism was fast becoming a headache to cope with. He wished that he could just have a straight answer.

"And?"

"His gloriousness wishes that I convey to you of the scheming of non-believers."

"Relays," snapped Slit impatiently. "You're carrying relays. Is sat it?"

"Yes." Kre'sar's tone held a faint note of reproach as though he were wounded that Slit could sum up his mission so callously. He reported, "His gloriousness-"

Slit cut him off there, practically gagging by this point, "His gloriousness?"

Standing stiffly there Kre'sar barked, "Lord Eiku is the soul of the darkness reborn."

Slit sputtered for a moment. Had he had any doubts before hand, he was decided now; Kre'sar was completely mad. Although, it might be useful to be considered the servants a living god… Slit discarded the notion after a bare second of thought.

While being thought to serve a living god might be useful, there was no way that Lord Eiku would be considered as such. That was when Slit frowned, realizing Kre'sar's omission.

"And vat of Lady Mishalea?"

Kre'sar seemed perturbed. "Oh blessed?"

Slit dropped the point. It wasn't too important. He thought… hoped. Kre'sar would bear watching, however. If his insanity led him to cross the lady…

"Vat is your message?"

"There are those non-believers who fear your righteousness. They would strike you down, General."

Slit peered at the mage. "Give me a straight answer."

Kre'sar hissed, "There is one amidst us who covers the falseness of their heart in cries of devotion! The worst sort of heretic! But the darkness shall wash h-"

At that moment a liveried officer ran up shouting, "Supreme General, sir!" His eyes flicked towards Kre'sar for a moment and he added a much stiffer, "General." The officer saluted smartly and then rapped out, "Sir, an enemy force has engaged us some two minutes to the west. They're sheltering in a small outcrop of rocks, sir. Your orders?"

Slit could already taste victory and he relished the flavor. A self-satisfied smirk marred his already considerably ugly features. He ordered, "Bring our forces about! Ve'll give sem fire and steel! Ve'll-"

The officer cut him off. "What of our allies, Supreme General? The relay men are all in place…"

Slit turned a demonic glare on his subordinate. He had absolutely no intention of allowing those fools to steal any of his glory. This was his day. He would defeat the Shining Force. Slit snapped angrily, "Send von courier to Lord Solo. Anoser to General Cameela. Sey are to tell sem sat ve have se situation vell in hand. If ve need further assistance, ve vill send it by vay of anoser man."

The officer didn't look very happy, but he threw a salute. He started away, but Slit grabbed his shoulder. "No. General Kre'sar vill attend to it, and sen report back to me." The mage bowed stiffly. Slit continued, "You vill have se honor of fighting by my side." He started marching off as he commanded the officer, "Inform se oser ranks; ve vill turn about to face sese bold varriors."

The officer's eyes were downcast. He muttered, "Sir, yes sir."

Slit gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, "Do vell here and sere may be a promotion in it!"

---

Eiku glared at Cellion through puffy eyes. The archer sat, ram-rod straight. Breathing shallowly, Eiku clasped his subordinate's wrist. "Two hundred… two hundred riders, dammit. Want them ready. Go. Soon as possible. Catch… catch the others."

Cellion clamped a fist to his chest, bowed, and set off immediately. Eiku struggled not to breathe very hard. Bloody centaur had cracked a couple of ribs with his futile last riposte.

Not so futile. Bastard.

This incapacitation could hardly have come at a worse time… A dry chuckle escaped his lips at that. He probably would have considered it a 'worse' time regardless of when it actually happened.

You got me good centaur.

Now the only thing that he could do was to lie back and play the waiting game. That didn't much bother him, in and of itself; on the contrary, Eiku was not much a one for sleeping. He preferred to lay abed awake, ruminating and polishing his ideas.

But this forced inaction of any kind galled him. He was not comfortable being without the relief of pacing. With an effort, Eiku dragged his mind away from such pointless and mundane matters.

Wounded or not, he had a war to win. The best way to do that was… well, truth be told the best way to win seemed to change hourly. All he could do was to hope he'd set the right threads in motion.

While he wasn't comfortable with Slit campaigning off under Mishalea's orders rather than his own, at least Cellion had sent that mage after the lizardman. If Cameela tried anything she would fail and be charged with high treason. The prospect brought the shadow of a smile to Eiku's lips.

No, the more he thought on it the more he became increasingly anxious to know what Warderer was up to. Although, all such matters were as good as folly until he knew the best way to draft the report on the current situation to Lady Mishalea.

"Oh, I'm sorry to report, milady, that those prisoners I captured have escaped. I was just going along to interrogate them when there they were just around the corner. I was so shocked that we managed not to recapture them, but I did slay one who gifted me some cracked ribs before dying. The others were more fortunate."

Just thinking of it forced a chuckle past his dry lips. A moment later he was bent over with spasms of pain. He gasped, "Fucking… ribs!"

After settling back into comfortable discomfort he put the issue out of his mind. It would be best not to say anything about the incident until he knew of the results of Cellion's search party. Although perhaps he might be prepared to blame Tarbeck…

Eiku rejected the notion after a moment of thought. Tarbeck knew more than enough to damage him, and anyway, Eiku needed the gaoler. Tarbeck had been the very soul of usefulness thus far. No need to throw away such a useful asset.

He tried to think of what else he would need to work on now. And that left… "Paezorta." His voice was unusually husky, he noted absently.

Another voice, this one high enough to be squeaky replied, "No. I go by a different name."

Hellsteeth!

Eiku started to struggle into a sitting position, his ribs screaming in protest, when something wet flopped over his face. As his last conscious thoughts were fading, Eiku decided that he must be hallucinating.

---

The old man and the girl propped Vankar up against the tree as well as they were able. The drunken centaur's eyes were wide open, his moustache foul from retching and blood seeping from the wound in his back.

Kokichi had set the wound as best he could, but he was far from satisfied with the result. To be sure, adventuring in his youth had taught him how to treat wounds, but he was no healer.

Vankar's head lolled to one side as he rasped "Should have left me. I'm slowing you down."

"Heh, never you mind that. We need your strength."

Vankar's breath came choppy and harsh. "Damn you… old man. I'm dying. No good for it. Hurry up. Save… save the girl."

"No you're not," countered Kokichi. "Heh, I know what I'm doing with that prick in your back."

Vankar's gaze looked slightly glazed. He abruptly shifted the subject. "Earnest… Earnest now. He was the best of us. And how I hated him for it. Walking wine-skin. All I ever was."

"Earnest had his flaws too, heh." It was a weak argument, and Earnest's sacrifice had been, possibly, the saddest thing that Kokichi had ever survived. He knew that the brooding centaur had blamed himself for the death of Karin. Saving them all like that had been atonement for him.

Aye, he thought blackly, and what will be atonement for us?

That was not a question he cared to linger on, however. Vankar's breath fanned his face as the centaur insisted, "Cut me loose. Can't do any good fighting if I'm like this. Promise. Promise me, Kokichi."

"You're not a hopeless case yet! Heh, and what of Lord Max? What of our duty to him and to the girl, heh?"

Vankar gasped, "Damn you." The centaur struggled upright and fell over again. Kokichi reached down, steadying the fallen warrior. The old man found Vankar's eyes again. They were full of fear and a little sadness too. "Damn you," whispered the centaur.

---

"Slit's gone to give the Shining Force battle?" Cameela's voice was numb with disbelief. Perhaps she should have seen this coming. Perhaps not. Cameela had, so far, had only one meeting with lizardman and it was not an experience that she would care to repeat very often.

Mishalea's Supreme General was very tall, very bulky, and very arrogant. She muttered, "Gods, he's drunk on glory."

The courier stiffened. "Have a care how you address the Supreme General, ma… wench."

Cameela might have laughed at that had it not been so pathetic. "Why? If he moves against me then we pull out, distrust is everywhere and the Shining Force is at your throat."

"You… you would not dare."

"Wouldn't I? Perhaps you should speak more softly to me. At a flick of my fingers you will be dead. Men are dropping everywhere in this war."

The courier gaped for a moment and then burst out, "Your judgment is amazing, General!"

Lickspittle.

She raised a hand imperiously, "Take this message back to your master. He is a fool to take so rash a course with his own men without investigating the situation further. This is his battle. I wash my hands of it."

The courier had been growing steadily whiter as the message went on. He bowed, looking slightly numb and sped out of the tent. Cameela leaned back, pensively. She already regretted her outburst a moment ago, but, the courier probably had enough sense not to relay her message accurately. There was some good to be found in that, she supposed.

Her position here was a gratingly uncomfortable one. Mishalea had demanded that this operation be undertaken with such speed that Cameela had not had ample time to further familiarize herself with the tactics of the Shining Force. It made her nervous. Slit and Solo both had had that leisure. Furthermore, if there was to be treachery from either of those two, she would be targeted, she was fairly certain.

Cameela held the center of this network with Solo to the north and Slit to the west. They might equally well fall on each other, but…

More than ever she was also concerned about the attempted hit. Who amongst Mishalea's officers would want her dead? She had offered no offense that she could recall to any of them. Or, was it Mishalea herself who had ordered it? But what purpose would that serve her if she sought to crush the Shining Force? Mishalea was ambitious, not stupid; surely she would see that she couldn't simultaneously wage war on both Zeon and the Shining Force?

And then… there was Odd-Eye. He had been much in her thoughts the last several days. She had been noting many of his finer qualities, a response that was troubling her immensely. Surely, she couldn't be…

But it was as though the moment he had saved her, self-doubts had begun to gnaw at her heart. Cameela genuinely wondered why she had made her life the way it was. She wasn't interested in power for its own sake; she was good at her work and took pride in her accomplishments, but someone with her skills could have easily made an honorable living anywhere in the world. Why did it matter whether or not Zeon ruled with an iron hand?

King Zeon gave me my chance, she reminded herself.

She should be feeling only loyalty to him, she knew. And yet, Cameela wondered.

---

"And so, my dear Harkan, you took your measure of the Lady of Darkness?"

Harkan sat, ram-rod straight in his chair his face stony, and his words lucid. "I would not say that Lord Solo. I had some brief words with the lady."

The general of Iom gestured languidly about his richly furnished tent, "Some brief words once won me a battle. They can be enough to gather a sense, surely?"

Harkan considered the point for a moment before replying. "Perhaps. An intuition is a risky thing though. I would say that she seemed… troubled, my lord. Aye, perhaps a trifle wearied."

Solo mused aloud, "So Mishalea is feeling the steel jaws of her own trap, perhaps? Or, mayhaps she's suffered from some sort of set-back?" He turned his customary smirk upon Harkan. "You've done well, old friend."

"I'm pleased that you're pleased, my lord."

Solo glanced at the leader of his Nar with some curiosity. He would never understand Harkan's loyalty to him, he supposed. Loyalty, honor, duty… such silly concepts. Such foolish ideas. One should be loyal to those that could be useful, that Solo certainly believed. And yet, Harkan was loyal exclusively to him. No, he didn't suppose he'd ever truly understand that.

Aloud he said, "And on to the next matter of business. How is Alshar coming?"

"Your fortress is very nearly complete, Lord Solo."

"Really? Last we spoke on the matter you said there'd been delays."

"There had been, Lord Solo. I attended to them." He added, somewhat unnecessarily, "They were starting to draw attention. When King Warderer visited."

Solo rose from his seat and paced over to the entrance flap. He was not pleased. He'd hoped the building would be delayed a while longer than that. If it was not, however, then it was not. And that necessitated moving his plans forward at a much more rapid pace.

He moved briskly back to his chair and turned to Harkan. "In that case, I want you-"

The tent flap opened and a nervous looking soldier poked his head in. "What do you want?" spat Solo. "I gave orders not to be disturbed."

The man fell to his knees in nervousness as he croaked, "My lord… a… a courier from, ah, Slit. That is General Slit. I mean, Su-"

"Oh shut up," he snapped. "Show the bloody fool in." The man stuttered silently for a moment and then staggered out of the entry way. A moment later, Slit's man marched in, stiff at attention.

Solo rose slowly, fixing the courier with an icy gaze. The man stared straight back as he said courteously, "Lord Solo."

Solo imperiously flicked his fingers. "What does Slit want?" A less courteous response to be sure, but that was to be expected.

The courier, far from perturbed, answered smoothly, "Supreme General Slit wishes to inform you that his forces have come under attack by the Shining Force. In response, he has taken the field against them. At this time, there is no further news of how the battle fares. I am meant to establish communications in the event that the General will need help."

Solo was quickly weighing up his options. The easiest thing would be to do nothing, of course, but he was wary of making a mistake after King Warderer had made that surprise visit… Already the building delays nipped in the bud… Improvising rapidly, he burst into laughter. In between spurts of giggling he gasped, "Haha- oh, that fits- Hahahaha- so… so very-hahaha- perfectly, Hahahaha- doesn't it, haha- Harkan?"

Harkan laughed dutifully along with his master. The courier looked vaguely surprised. Solo, maintaining the mock laughter as best he could, invited the courier to share wine with them. His fortitude was admirable, as he held out for some few minutes. But in the end, the courier gave in. Solo smiled thinly. He had judged the man correctly. Ultimately, this man was of the lower classes and simply couldn't resist taking wine with a lordling. Or feeling like he was being treated as a lordling.

He started off, still trying to be under control, but Solo was careful to keep the man's glass full. He then proceeded to raise his own glass to the courier's health. The courier responded by toasting Solo. Solo then toasted Harkan. Harkan dutifully made toasts of his own. Before long the courier was completely drunk.

He staggered to his feet, perhaps to make a speech. If so, Solo would never know. Nor did he much care. He gave the slightest of nods to Harkan. The lord of the Nar was on his feet suddenly, steel unsheathed and the courier was dead.

Harkan complained, "I don't see what purpose killing this one serves."

Solo smiled coldly. "That's unimportant. Just remember, Harkan. He never came. The communication was never established."

"What communication?"

He smirked at that. "And that soldier. Breaking his discipline. This could be most bad for the morale of our army. We'll have to make an example of him."

Harkan bowed, albeit stiffly, "I'll have him arrested at once."

"Very good… but bide a while longer. We were not finished before this interruption."

Harkan retook his seat. "My lord?"

Solo pressed his attack boldly. "The winds of change are here Harkan. Now. We must move swiftly and ruthlessly if… Iom is to survive." Harkan gazed at him, unblinking. Solo knew that his favored lieutenant obeyed without question, but still… He might well question the orders Solo was about to give. He said abruptly, "The Shining Force will be broken by this blockade. In order for Iom to survive, however, we must strike before the others believe that we shall strike."

"Hence that?" Harkan gestured carelessly over at the body.

"Aye," said Solo. "If we do things this way, then Slit's army will be considerably weakened by the time he crushes the Shining Force. The crux of our plan, however… is assassination."

Harkan considered briefly and then asked, "Cameela?"

And now to toss the dice. "No. Barbara."

Harkan continued to sit, his face unchanged. "Barbara," he repeated flatly.

Solo said quickly, "The only way to assure ourselves of Iom's survival is to know that Mishalea and Zeon will fall on each other first of all. Cameela would have been a good choice, but she's too well protected. By the gods, Barbara's a cripple now! This is the last way in which she can serve our cause. If we kill her and indicate that Mishalea was behind the deed, Zeon will have the excuse he needs to go to fly off the handle! Trust me, I've seen that mere suggestion is enough now…" His voice trailed off.

Harkan slowly rose and walked towards the tent-flap. Before leaving he said curtly, "I do not question your orders, Lord Solo." He paused for a moment. "But I do think that this is a mistake."

---

Hans stared sullenly at the table. He was seated amongst a sea of unfriendly faces. To be sure, they all spoke to him courteously enough, but he could feel the contempt in their eyes.

I ought to have filled my mouth with wine instead of words on the dais, he thought sourly. My big mouth will be the death of me, I swear it.

Queen Koron rapped the table imperiously. Her voice was strong, "We must needs prepare for the darkness ahead. Already, an army sails on us." Her mouth was a hard line. "I will not have Pao smashed and raped by the likes of such. We will draw a line here, a line that will break them."

Luke leaned across the table, "Let's just start with the facts. What sort of military maneuverability do you have?"

Xotho's eyes danced with laughter. "Pao possesses the best mounted horse you'll find. Anywhere."

Hans stared at the warrior with misgiving. Arrogant, proud, vain…

Luke waved that aside, asking intently, "Numbers?"

Koron broke the momentary silence. "The tribes haven't been large; not since King Pao the Overlord hundreds of years ago. We can muster a total of perhaps two hundred."

Xotho's lips twitched derisively. He said nothing though. Torl rubbed his jaw with his fore-finger musing aloud, "We won't be able to have numerical superiority over them, but perhaps…" He made a vague gesture. "We're strongly placed, here in Uranbatol."

Koron shook her head. "Not so strongly placed as all that. Should we stay here… we won't be able to survive a war of attrition, and they'll be able to force their way through the harbor."

"Seems t'me," put in Viktor, "that I've been right successful with fightin' base on geography." He lapsed into silence, stroked his beard and then abruptly roared, "Might we not be able to prepare some sort of advantage in traps and natural qualities of grasslands?" It was a very particular oratorical peculiarity that Hans had previously noted in the miner. He would build up volume in his speeches regardless of the circumstances.

Lieutenant Haiden frowned. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, seems to me-"

Xotho interrupted loudly, "Shouldn't we finish with the muster count, first?"

Jarl spoke quietly. "Indeed. As you know, both Guardiana and Alterone have suffered heavy losses in the fighting thus far. With reinforcements from Manarina and Bustoke stiffening our troops we have, perhaps, a total of sixteen thousand five hundred men at our disposal, all told."

"An impressive force," returned Koron.

Jarl said gently, "Not so compared to the fury that Mishalea will soon throw down on us."

Koron ground her teeth, "Yet we must… must do our duty, no? If we have such powerful numbers then it might well be possible to meet them on the plains. My lords, I would propose a plan. Pao has no cover, but we are here first and we can take up entrenched positions, first."

Luke broke in, "Might I make a suggestion, Your Grace?" Koron nodded her assent. "The overall majority of my forces," Hans clenched his fist at that, "are composed of foot." He took a breath before continuing. "Your warriors fight with spears, I'm told?"

Xotho bridled at that. "And swords," he spat. "We can use any number of weapons with great skill, sir."

Koron didn't even glance at him. "Enough. You know what Lord Luke meant. And yes, my lord. Am I to take it that you entertain a notion to create a front-rank of my horse so as to have an intimidating rank of spears, afforded even longer reach by being mounted…"

Luke continued where she left off, "So that we have the advantage of distance. Our force of mages can be offering cover for the horse so that they won't be neatly picked off from afar, while the foot spreads out to the left and right so as to be on hand once their first charge gets inside of spear range."

Koron nodded, pleased. "I was going to suggest a very similar plan my lord. I bow to your military judgment."

Our judgment, thought Hans. He had learned war from Lord Max and Lord Commander Varios before him, just the same as Luke.

Torl said cautiously, "It has potential…"

Hans snorted. That was like Torl. He was aging and old men tended towards caution as a rule. And that was to say nothing of the lesson he had learned at Alterone.

Viktor started to ask, "What abou-"

Koron said distantly, "There is only one method of the sort of warfare that you encourage on the Pao Plains, Lord Viktor." The miner turned as red as a pomegranate. Koron continued thoughtfully, "A van composed of our horse, the left and right of foot, a back-up force of mages and the center…"

"Aye." Luke sounded pleased with himself. "Torl and Jarl will have the right and left respectively, Lord Otrant, the rear. As for the van-"

"I should take it," announced Xotho.

"No," said Koron. "We must needs leave a small force to defend Uranbatol at all costs. If the enemy gains the fort, the battle is as good as lost for us. I would trust none other than my finest warrior to hold it against such harrowing odds."

"As you say, Your Grace." Hans frowned. Koron seemed oblivious to the edge in Xotho's tone. From all he had seen, Koron had only one thing that Xotho didn't and that was blood. Xotho was strong, well-liked, bold…

It is nothing, he told himself.

Koron continued in tones that brooked no argument. "Lord Luke will take the van."

Luke inclined his head politely. "A great honor, Your Grace."

Koron turned at last to Viktor again. "And you shall take the center."

The miner protested, "I'm not what you want, Your Grace, not me. Couldn't… why not let Lord Hans take it, I-"

Koron smiled. "I have another task in mind for Sir Hans."

Choosing to ignore the slight, Hans contented himself with a slow drawl, "Oh, another task to be sure."

"There is a risk that we shall lose this battle. If that happens…" The little queen clenched her fists hard. "I will not allow Mishalea to gain Pao. I will not allow her army to survive." She glanced at Viktor. "This is what I meant earlier sir." Turning to Hans she asked simply, "Do you recall the plateau overlooking all of Pao?"

"Yes." His tone was cautious.

"On the day of the battle you are to go there with all your gear, I'll see that you have everything prepared."

Hans reddened. "By myself? What can I hope to accomplish so far from the battle?" He was abruptly ashamed of his wine-thickened voice. He had eaten but little all the while drinking more than enough.

Koron ignored the question. "There is one natural advantage we have in our battleground. Grass burns. If, on the day of the battle, all hope is lost it will be to you, Sir Hans, to loose flaming arrows stretching across Pao. If we are defeated then they'll share the funeral pyre."

There was dead silence at this pronouncement. Doubtless more than a few people were shocked or outraged at her drastic suggestion. A slow, contemptuous smile formed on Hans's face. "You want me to burn your fucking fields?"

Her eyes were hard. "If the need is great enough."

There was another lengthy silence. Xotho looked at Hans curiously, a speculative expression on his face. Torl broke the stillness abruptly. "A splendid task for you Sir Hans. You are eminently suitable for it."

He stiffened at the slight. It was true, he was probably the best marksman they had, but he knew what this really was.

Wretch. I saved your fucking town.

The boyish shout rang out then. "Your Grace!" Koron looked vaguely surprised as Alain rose to his feet, arrogant, bold, and handsome. "If it please Your Grace, I will assist Lord Viktor in his command of the center."

Viktor seemed completely lost. He gaped at Hans. "But what about-"

Koron ignored him. "You… yes. You will make a suitable replacement if Lord Viktor would refuse the command. He may conduct a special division of his own."

Hans reddened in anger. Where had he made so many enemies? Alright, if they did lose the battle he could understand that Koron would desire to make it a pyrrhic victory for the enemy, but this was little more than excuse to pack him off to where they could forget he was even in the battle.

He studied that sea of pale, cold faces. For once he managed to keep his anger from spilling out. Koron looked smug, Torl well-satisfied and Alain was manfully trying not to gloat. Only Jarl had the decency to clear his throat. "Your Grace, Sir Hans-"

She interrupted him immediately, "Will be in charge of one of the most important aspects of this battle. Is there anything else to be said my lords?"

Hans's mouth twisted. He managed, "Would Your Grace consent to allowing me to speak with my colleague, Lord Luke? Alone?"

She nodded decisively, "If that is your wish." She left the room, the others quickly following. Torl, Haiden, Alef and Otrant didn't even spare him a glance. Viktor shoved him playfully as he said loudly, "Go get 'em, eh?"

As Jarl passed he nodded politely. "My condolences."

Finally the two of them were alone. Hans waited, but strained silence was his only answer. Finally he snapped, "She means to slight me."

"It's an honorable-"

"Dammit Luke! You're my friend. You should have looked out for me a little better." His words came choppy and harsh. "I can… I'm generous. Loyal to my friends. I've proven I'm no craven and surely my wits have to count for something!"

Luke's voice was thick with disgust. Or was it despair? "You haven't given these people cause to love you Hans. You mocked Torl and bungled the job in Alteron-"

"Don't you say that," roared Hans. "I saved Alterone!" He lurched to his feet, shouting, "But you! You take the credit for everything. You send me off to do nothing but chaperone Alain, who hates me now! You claim that all Torasu was good for was serving you?"

At that, Luke was up on his feet, his fist swinging. Hans caught the blow, a glancing one close to his left eye. He staggered backward, staring resentfully at Luke. Luke, however, flinched. He extended his hand. "I'm… sorry. I should not have done that. That was… that was not lordly." There was something sad and small and lost in his eyes.

Hans slowly rose to his feet, feeling ashamed. But there was nothing more to say.

---

They were in full retreat. The thought was bitter to Ian. He hadn't expected them to break through the blockade, but a defeat at this juncture could crush morale, soundly.

Running backward, he ducked beneath a swiping blade, taking a swing at the nameless soldier's legs as he did. The man screamed at the impact. He sobbed, "Yield. I yield sir. Yield!"

Ian was back upright, and that was when the axe crashed a hairsbreadth from his face. He took another step back as Slit screamed demonically, "You!"

It took Ian a moment to recognize him, but he was no less startled by the revelation. Slit had improved vastly since that day Cellion had captured Ian. Ian noted a liveried officer running alongside the lizardman, and at that, took his chance.

Still moving backward he jerked his blade straight out, into the officer's bowels. It would be a horrible death, but Ian was in a hurry. The man fell into Slit's path tripping the Supreme General up. Slit's heavy tail cracked around to the side, whipping the man out of the way as the lizardman jerked convulsively bringing his axe down in a heavy, futile blow, which wiped out the officer's life.

And in a moment, the chance that had brought Ian together with that foe melted away and the swordsman was running again.

He killed more as he ran, but there was only one truth to Ian, stark, terrifying and desolate. The vaunted Shining Force, champions of the light, protectors of the peasantry, voices of justice… the Shining Force had suffered defeat.