"Not all in the world can be done justice through words alone, sometimes sight is all that will do."
-Jim "Hunter" VonBurace
PART TWO
CHAPTER VII
The tavern was silent. All eyes were turned towards the newcomer. The stranger was dressed in a dark blue cloak that covered all but the telltale snout of a Draconian. The scales that were the skin of the Draconian were blacker than night, and shone under the firelight. From under the cloak's hood, one eye, the right, glowed a dark blood red, the other could not be seen.
The dark figure surveyed the room for a while, taking in the expressions of fear and anger directed at him, and seemed to nod in approval. Then he pulled back the hood of his cloak. The left eye was now revealed, pitch black and blind. A deep scar ran from the side of his head, through the left eye, and halfway down his cheek, and in itself told the obvious reason for the blind eye. If it had not been decided by some that the figure was Draconian before, all were certain now, and it had somehow passed into the city unchecked by the guards.
Claws clacked on the wooden floor as the Draconian made his way to the bar, motioning with a clawed hand for an ale. Once he had reached the bar, he placed himself in between an inventor, who immediately cowered away, and a mercenary who was in need of a job. Then the Draconian turned towards the tavern's occupants and grinned. Some were shocked at the creature's actions, because the grin was not menacing as one would suspect, and some started to turn their attention back to their drinks.
The barkeeper came with the mug of ale, but was stopped by the mercenary. Then he reached for the jewel-encrusted hilt of his broadsword. "You are not welcome in this town. I would advise you leave now, while you still have the chance to do so in one piece."
The Draconian eyed the mercenary with his blood red eye and reached for the ale that the barkeeper had brought. "You seem to judge me by others actions. I can prove I am not like them." He took a sip from the mug and set it on the counter, openly showing his immediate dislike of the drink. "Has it not yet occurred to any that I have not made any attempt to disguise myself. I came as myself, hiding nothing. I do not mean any of you harm."
"All of your kind are the same: evil, dark, and murderous. They use trickery and lies to get what they want." The mercenary drew the blade halfway out of its sheath.
"Ah, who is more murderous, a mercenary who kills for money, or a Draconian who kills in war? The only ones I kill now are of my race, and they were the murderers, not I." He gave the mercenary a curt nod and sipped again from his ale, cringing and wondering why he bothered drinking it, considering he had no taste for it. "Now put away your sword and do not force me to defend myself."
The mercenary unsheathed the broadsword and held it at ready. "I will defend these people against the likes of you."
"Very well, strike me, you drunken fool. What will it accomplish besides nothing?" The Draconian turned to face the mercenary and made no motion to defend himself. He caught something in the mercenaries eyes, something familiar, but he could not place it.
The glimmering blade swung around at the Draconian's mid-section, but he had anticipated this and stopped the attack with his hand. He gripped the blade tightly and brought his other fist about. The mercenary, reluctant to let the sword go, tried to pull it from the Bozak but to no avail. The force behind Cyrius' fist, combined with the non-moving position of the blade, snapped the sword in two upon contact. The mercenary growled and stepped back, letting the ruined blade fall to the ground.
"You have no reason to strike me, mercenary, as I have not harmed any of these people. Let me be and I will trouble you not."
"You will explain your presence here, and then leave."
A round of agreement rose in the room, urging the black creature to speak.
Cyrius cocked his head and stared into the mercenary's eyes. He saw something familiar in them. "Very well. My name is Cyrius; I am of Draconian blood, yet I come to aid you. In your town dwell seven or more of my kind, all are wanted for the murder of one of the members of the Dragon Knighthood. I came here in search of one who will help me in killing these seven. If more proof is what you need, then see with your own eyes who sends me." The Draconian lifted a flap on the left side of his cloak, just over the heart. Sewn into the fabric was a dragon patch. As detailed as any could be, it looked as if it would start breathing at any time and fly away. The wings were unfurled and the jaws were gaping at an unseen enemy. The piece itself was made from silver, the eyes from rubies, and the wings from emerald. At this, the room became alive with questions.
"Yes, I was sent here by order of the Knighthood, proof of that claim is right before your eyes. What you see here is genuine. It is the seal of the Dragon Knights."
The tavern was soon divided into those who supported Cyrius [this side numbered very few], those that did not support the Draconian, and those who decided to leave. The mercenary glowered at the Draconian; studying his every detail and taking in anything useful that might help him take the beast down if he proved evil.
"Sir, you are loyal to your town, so I ask you for the help I am seeking. Will you join me?"
"You have destroyed my only sword." The mercenary turned his back to Cyrius.
"Then will you accept this as payment for your services?" Cyrius drew, from under his cloak, a broadsword that had been fashioned from silver, and had a hilt made of gold. Set into the blade was the same dragon seal that was sewn onto Cyrius' cloak. "This blade was fashioned by Elven hands, it is powerful and well balanced. You will never find one quite like it." The mercenary took the blade and examined it. "Unlike your former sword, this can resist the acid blood of some Draconians. I have given you a weapon that is capable of destroying me. Now, will you trust me as I trust you? I seek not your services, but rather your trust and aid in my task."
"You have chosen the wrong man." The grin faded from Cyrius' face and his eyes turned grim as he suddenly recognized what he had seen in the mercenary earlier. "For some things are not as they seem." The mercenary grinned evilly and held the blade at ready.
"Very well," Cyrius drew his own blade, a broadsword of similar design to that which the mercenary now held, yet more richly designed and decorated with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds. "I do believe this tavern should be cleared. Now."
All but three of the tavern's occupants took to Cyrius' words, and left. The other three took to tables at the farthest end of the tavern to watch the fight, and were swigging ale while cheering the fighters on.
"Pyre, show your true self." Cyrius gritted his teeth and tried to sum up his opponent, who was now shifting from the human form of the mercenary, to that of a Draconian.
"You will learn the sting of your own blade." Pyre's silver-gray skin reflected in the sword's silver blade, and his eyes burned like fire. "Today, you will die."
There was a shower of sparks and a loud clang as the two blades met. Pyre had the clear advantage, and was forcing Cyrius back one step at a time. With a soft grunt, Cyrius ducked and rolled under Pyre's blade, and swung in a wide arc at his opponent's knees. Pyre easily stopped the attack with his own blade, and kicked his former teammate hard in the ribs. Cyrius coughed and rolled away. Using the sword, he picked himself up off the floor. It was then that Pyre saw a window of opportunity for a strong attack. The silver blade whistled through the air before coming in contact with Cyrius' side. The cloak, which was still loosely worn, did very little in the way of armor, and the blade dug into his side with ease. Pyre freed his sword and struck again, with the flat of his blade, at Cyrius' stomach. The blow forced the black Draconian to double over. The last thing he saw before blackness over took him, was the golden hilt of the sword.
Cyrius found himself in a dark cave. In front of him, the rock walls seemed to lead on forever to some unknown destination, whereas behind him there was a black nothingness. Without having complete control of himself, he ventured down the long, dark shaft. Soon he found several other Draconians that had materialized out of nowhere accompanied him. Each wielded a curved, wicked looking scimitars and he too found one in his possession. Still lost as to what his task was, he chose to follow the others, yet found he was beyond control of his own actions still. After a long walk, or a short one [he could not tell] the cave opened into a black cavern. Far above his head, the cavern opened up, providing a wide view of the stars and a bright full moon.
The company moved deeper into the cavern and entered another dark cave. Cyrius paused to look behind at the path they had traveled only to find once more a black nothingness. He felt puzzled, yet it seemed the explanation was clear. He turned away from the void to find he was once more in a wide cavern. Unlike the first, this cavern offered no view of the sky, and instead of a skyward opening, the far wall open to reveal a dark, flaming mountain. Next to him was an ancient looking suit of armor and a silver broadsword. In the furthest corner from himself, the Draconian Company was doing battle with a great Snowdragon. Cyrius felt that he was a descendant of this great beast and a sudden urge to aid in its defense overcame him. He dropped his scimitar and grasped the silver sword at his side. The ancient blade felt light and strong in his hand as he lifted it high over his head. The blade burned with the same intensity as the great mountain in the distance; and with a great cry, Cyrius brought it into its first battle in centuries.
The others in the company were caught off guard when the attack came. Three fell before anyone noticed. The head of the company growled a fierce order and four of the larger Draconians broke off the attack on the dragon and turned their attention to Cyrius. The blade in Cyrius' hand burned with a blue flame as the four surrounded him. Before they had a chance to attack him, Cyrius charged the largest of the four and slashed a wide arc in front of him. The large Draconian crumpled before him as the blade carved through his mid-section. To Cyrius' surprise, the blade finished its flight, instead of becoming frozen in the body of the now stone Draconian. Just as he was about to come to his senses, a burst of flame seared his back, and incinerated the three who were advancing on him. The great Snowdragon's mate had returned and was joining in the fight. Cyrius waited to be incinerated by flame from the Snowdragon, but it never came. Instead, she beckoned him. She spoke to him, and though he could not hear her words, he knew what was being said. Then, he turned and side by side with the Snowdragons fought until all of the company, save Cyrius himself, was no more.
Daylight came and the sun silhouetted the flaming mountain when Cyrius awoke. He had always feared the sun before, yet now he found that the sun harmed him not, and he was also relieved to feel its comforting warmth. He surveyed his surroundings and found that the two great dragons were also awake. They approached him and presented to him a cloak with the dragon's mark, and with two broadswords. One he recognized as that from the last night's battle, and the second seemed to be its equal. Only one, however, bore the dragon's mark. As soon as these were received, the two dragons spoke to him. As before, he could not hear the words said, but knew all that was said. Then his surroundings faded and were no more.
CHAPTER VIII
Archer watched the sun disappear below the horizon. Several fires now become visible in the forest below, reminders of the war that was going on around them. He sighed.
"What do we do now?"
Sariah shook her head as she came up beside him. "I cannot tell you what to do. I have to return to Tryst'n, the caravan I came here with leaves soon and that is the only safe passage from here to there nowadays."
"I thank you for your help."
"I am sorry for what James did, had I known-"
"Do not apologize for another's decision."
"All the same, I do feel I owe you one." She looked out at the fires below. "If only…." She shook her head.
He turned to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You have been a great help. I do hope our paths cross over again. Now, however, I feel I must continue the search on my own."
She smiled at him. "If you wish, I do hope we meet again as well. Good bye Archer, I hope you find what you seek." She took one of the unlit torches at the entrance of the cave, struck it, and waved as she started down the trail.
So do I. Archer waved back.
When she had disappeared from sight, Archer struck up another torch, drew his cloak tighter around him, and retraced the path that took him from his past, the path that led back to the Callystrin home.
The trek back was shorter than he thought it would have been, and Archer stopped for no rest along the entire, four-day journey. When the torch became too short to hold, he smothered the flame and cast it aside. The moon was now shining full and light was no longer a problem.
The night wore on and the moon began its descent. Just as it was vanishing below the horizon, Archer arrived to the path that would lead him straight to the entrance. Nothing had changed since he saw it last, even the feeling of dread he had felt when he was commanding the attack on the den. He stopped at the entrance.
"Aut teh nie…." He looked up at the entrance reflectively, almost mourning the sight of a den void of its once powerful occupants. How different you seem to me now. He took a deep breath and walked into the entrance.
He made his way down the main hall and into the large room where the fight had taken place. He started. The room, which was left looking like a battlefield, unclean and disastrous, now looked cared for and well looked after. Not a single sign that a battle had taken place could be seen. A haunting feeling came over him suddenly, and he journeyed to the den.
Once inside the den, he walked around, casually studying and observing the works of art and decorations that adorned the room. Again, he was surprised. He had expected to find dust and cobwebs, but everything was clean. He came to the painting and stared at it a while. The eyes looked back at him, telling him something, calling him. He reached up and took the painting down. It was heavier than he expected. He brought it up near his face and studied every intricate detail, taking it in and storing it in his memory. A sudden thought came to him and he turned the painting face down, so the back was facing him. Written on the back in a light handwriting were the words "If this should go, my life goes with it."
Archer frowned. The riddle meant nothing to him. He even doubted it was a riddle at all. He set the painting down on the table face down and took a seat next to it. He let a single claw run along a seam in the middle of the canvass that covered the back of the painting. His gaze focused on the seam. He ran a claw along it again. Without thinking, he ripped it open. Inside was a small stack of books arranged in two by two formation, two stacks high. He picked up the book nearest him and opened it to the first page. It was a journal. He set the journal aside and picked up a second. It was a journal as well, only it was written in an elfish alphabet, he could not read it. He put it next to the first. Then he proceeded to check the others.
More than half of the eight journals were in an elfin script, only two had entries in basic, or the common tongue. He picked up one of them and opened it to the first page.
CHAPTER VIV
When Cyrius awoke, he found that two of the three spectators were by his side and were doing there best to tend the wounds inflicted by his battle with Pyre. The one nearest to him grinned when he found that Cyrius was awake.
"Well, how was your rest. I suspect it will be the last for a while if you wish to finish what was started." He turned and spoke to the other man next to him. "James, do you mind getting me some more water?"
Cyrius started to stand until a sharp pain coursed its way through his body forcing him back to the tavern's floor. "Who are you?"
"Charles, me and my friends here are all freelance peacekeepers. Fetching the water is my brother, James, and guarding the door is Christopher. We have all agreed to help you out."
"Oh, that is very kind of you, though I must decline. I was told not to place anyone save me in harms way."
"This is different. We are placing ourselves in harms way for your cause. If you decline we will just carry out the task separate from you."
Christopher spoke from where he was standing by the locked and barred door. "You have no choice. We will join in your quest whether you like it or not."
Cyrius frowned for a moment; then, slowly a grin crossed his face. "Very well. We shall form a small company and go forth together." A yawn escaped from deep within him. "It seems to me, Charles, that I have not had my last rest yet." Without another word, he fell back into a deep sleep.
Once Cyrius had awakened, the company set out through the back door. Following side roads and alleyways, they found there way to the main square. At first James thought they were turning to many heads than was good for them, but once they had reached the center of the town square, Cyrius pulled from a hidden pouch a glowing crystal; and this proved to turn more heads than the person wielding it. The crystal throbbed slowly, but as Cyrius stepped away from the town's center, the throb changed pace. Once the throbbing quickened, Cyrius grinned and started walking in that direction. With each step, the beating crystals pace grew faster until the throb ceased and a steady light radiated from within the core of the crystal. Cyrius took in the surrounding area before taking a long look at the building in front of him.
"You would not mind explaining that crystal, would you?"
"It is a tracking device." Answered Cyrius without turning away from the building. Suddenly the crystal's light faded and the throbbing returned. Cyrius sprung forward and climbed up the buildings wooden walls. He disappeared for about a minute. When he came back, his sword was drawn and he was wiping the blade clean.
"One down."
Cyrius followed the crystal's directions, seldom retracing his steps from a wrong turn. The company passed through alleyways and streets. They even took shortcuts through taverns; the people never bothered them about this. At one point, the crystal lit up and failed to dim its light, despite the lack of anyone around him, save for the three in his company. Cyrius looked puzzled at the crystals actions until the light faded several moments later, though it still bothered him long after. The company tracked the new target through the first half of the day, until they came to a large warehouse. Cyrius then hid the crystal and drew his blade.
"Wait here. I shan't be long." With that, he disappeared through the door.
All was dark inside the warehouse and it took a while for Cyrius' eye to adjust; the blood red light cast by it shone frightfully bright. From somewhere behind him, he heard the shuffling of feet, and then complete darkness fell as the door closed behind him with a loud boom. Cyrius whirled and faced the sound only to find that whomever had shut the door was now moving at a fast pace to his left. He sprung after the sound as swift and silent as a cat; the only sound coming from his cloak as it caught the wind. Just as he felt he had found what he had been hunting, the ring of a steel blade being drawn from its sheath came from the ceiling above. Not long after it was answered by another from behind him. What he had thought was one was in truth two. The blades shone dimly, catching what little light they could, as their wielders advanced for an attack on their unknown intruder. Cyrius crouched and waited; the only thing that was giving away his presence was the gleam of the Elven blade and the glow of his eye; both now glowing red.
The attack came from above rather than from the front. The blade from the ceiling cut through the air and whistled slightly as it searched for a target. All it found was the blade wielded by Cyrius. Cyrius jumped back as soon as the attacker's blade had been deflected, and struck just behind where he thought the blade was. He found only empty air. Acting on instinct he crouched and swung the blade behind him. His luck was better, for the Elven blade carved deeply into something and stayed. A loud shriek filled the warehouse and Cyrius braced himself. Whatever he had struck was Draconian, and since it failed to turn to stone that meant another end would come. He needed not wait long. The blast from an explosion echoed off the walls and Cyrius was pitched forward. Another loud shriek came from his right as the second Draconian charged. Cyrius raised his blade in defense only to find it was missing. He hissed and jumped back, probing the ground for his lost blade. A loud clang and a shower of sparks filled the air in front of his face. He had been spared a painful death by a mere fraction of an inch.
Cyrius groped blindly for a weapon until he clasped his hand upon the hilt of a sword. He knew it was not his, but any defense was better than none. With a loud hiss, he struck out at the dark shadow in front of him. The Draconian sword bit deeply into his adversary and stuck. Cyrius knew it was useless to attempt extracting the blade, which was now stuck in stone. Instead he searched frantically for his blade. He searched for a long while until finding it, but it was also after finding it that he became aware of three pairs of glowing eyes that were watching him. One pair, colored amber, moved towards him while the light cast by them glinted off the metal surface of a blade. The other two, colored green and blue, moved to surround him. Cyrius waited until he saw a moment to attack. Once he found it he charged forward at the amber eyes. The eyes jumped back and swung their blade at him. Cyrius easily parried the attack and swung his blade in a wide arc. As soon as he had done so, the smell of acidic blood filled the room and all three pairs of eyes disappeared.
Cyrius searched the warehouse until nightfall. Finding nothing, he returned to the door through which he had entered. Outside he found the others waiting for him; Christopher was clutching a stained red bandage to his left shoulder.
"Are you hurt badly?" Asked Cyrius, carefully inspecting the wound.
"'Tis nothing, a gift from some of your friends." He answered.
Cyrius simply nodded and removed the crystal from within his cloak. Four of the eight faces shone brightly, while three others blinked off and on rapidly. Cyrius showed nor told the others this. He wished to be the only one to know what it meant.
CHAPTER X
"To-day was pleasant, more so than the last few. Some of the fighting has resided; you would be shocked at how quiet the lands are. Stryker has gone to visit the front once more. He is very involved in the war, is Stryker. How I wish I could be there by his side. Well, we all have our individual responsibilities. Earlier to day, I went to our friend's residence in the south. We passed the hours repairing a damaged mosaic that was commemorating the Dragon Knights' fight against the dragons Vertigo and Armageddon during the first Great War, during the first war against Armageddon. The finished work was marvelous; and I believe that the Knights would be pleased with the work, especially Sabre, the one whom is portrayed dueling against Armageddon. Now I am writing while I keep watch and guard over the nest. The day is soon, perhaps in the next month or two, I have lost track of how long I have watched them. My only fear is that they will be brought into a world full of violence and war, and not one of peace. There is one land that is to the west that is peaceful, even now half of our numbers have moved there. I would, but it is too late to move the nest. Even so, I feel that the war will not last long. We are winning, and our numbers are greater ten fold."
Archer skipped ahead a few pages. He knew enough about the war and wished to hear as little of it as he could. He wanted to learn about the family, not the wartime fronts.
"The stars shine bright, and the forest fires brighter. Some seem to spring up without warning, others burn days ere they are extinguished. I am worried, Stryker has yet to return. I would like him here. Not long ago I caught three Draconian scouts, Bozak, they were easily dispatched and no harm was done to the nest. In spite of this, I am worried for the well being of the nest. The scouts showed me how close the war is to the home. For reasons of safety, I have sealed all but one entrance to the den, and I guard the one. Most of my time is spent in thought, though I regret I am not writing down as much as I should."
The writing stopped halfway down the page. Archer turned to the next one. It contained a sketch of a dragon flying upwards, wings spread, head facing straight forward, tail straight behind. The quality was quite good, and Archer was almost tempted to tear the page out and keep the drawing for his self. He thumbed through the pages to find another entry.
CHAPTER XI
With a long day behind them, the four turned towards the night. They set out for the center of town and in search of something to help them sleep. That was all they were thinking of when they found what appeared to be the busiest tavern in town. It was run by two brothers, Paul and Jay, and that was its name. The "Paul 'n' Jay's" tavern. The drinks were cheap and high in quality, and soon all troubles were forgotten by all, save one. Cyrius never touched the drinks in front of him. His mind was preoccupied with the dangers ahead.
He knew his former leader's mind and guessed where he would be without trouble. This was the place. The only problem was that the crystal had become unreliable, no longer able to fulfill the task it had begun. The only reason for this was his three companions. They interfered with the crystal's intricate magic workings. They had revealed who they were to the crystal, and now the crystal knew where they were. Unfortunately, this meant that the crystal would soon have to change, and Cyrius knew not how to change it. That was the dilemma he faced now.
His first decision had been to take all three out at once, but that had become hard. They were masters of deception and were strong. They also worked together in a team. Cyrius doubted they had allowed themselves to become drunk, and that the show they were giving him was no more than an act to throw him off guard. The only possible way this could happen was if the drinks were false.
It struck him so suddenly he almost leapt up to announce it. The drinks in front of them were fake, that meant one of their kind was acting out the part of either Paul or Jay, or even both. Cyrius quickly told the other three he was going to find a stronger drink, and started to make his way through the crowd towards the bar. Occasionally he would glance behind him, or in the reflection of the windows at his companions only to find that they were watching him intently, and no longer in a drunken state. This worried him little, for it proved his theory. Almost without showing, he pulled the crystal out from under his cloak. Three of the facets remained lit, while the other six pulsed rapidly. That meant that three were dead, and six were in the building, including himself. He could end his task tonight. The only problem was finding the other two Draconians. One of them had to be a bartender, and the other could be anyone in the room. That was the only problem. Cyrius did not wish to have an innocent death on his hands. At least not now. He ventured closer to the bar and glanced at his crystal. Three of the faces were pulsating faster; one had gone dark. Slowly, one after another, all went dark, save for four, the three for the dead, and his own. He silently hissed under his breath. The company had left him, proving his assumptions, and now he had lost all trace of the others.
CHAPTER XII
"The days are long, the nights longer. Stryker was home, but only for a brief while. He tells me the fronts are coming closer, and to be prepared to seal the last entrance should the need arise. If I am to do this work must be started on a skyward access to the den. I grow weary as each day passes. The emotional fatigue is tremendous. I almost failed to realize how much could happen over the course of a month. The eggs are almost ready, only another few weeks and they will be ready to hatch. The forest is burned and silent, all of the animals have left. Winter is coming and snow is threatening to fall any day now. The winds are cold and relentless."
Archer set the finished journal down and stretched. He had been reading all day and needed a break. He had learned less than he liked to think he could have, even though he had gone and re-read some of the entries he had skipped. Most of the writing was about the war on the fronts and Celeste's desires to live on an island to the west. He reached for the second journal. The first page was written in elfin, but had a translation in basic beside it.
Still, Still, Still,
Hush all ye here.
That which we all have feared,
Slowly draws ever near.
Open wars with open fronts,
Tears through the lands.
Ripping lives at the seams,
Forever haunting minds.
Still, Still, Still,
Very close, is it now.
The time draws near,
And like a falling tear,
Lives will slip away.
Archer read it twice before going to the next page. The only entry was a repetitious "still, still, still." Puzzled as to why he had not caught this earlier when he was scanning for languages, he continued on. Blank pages followed by a randomly placed "War draws near." or "Still, still, still." Halfway through the journal Archer found a large tear, no doubt caused by a dragon's claw, rendering all but about three pages near the end useless. Two of the three pages were written in elfish, the third and last was in basic.
"Never again will a Draconian set foot in any den that I live in. Only one will pass unharmed. This I swear. My reasons for doing so are thus. Late in the night, a noise stirred me from an unexpected sleep. I checked the nest to find one egg, the one to be my only son, stolen. A second was crushed, the offspring inside killed. Only two remain now, they will be watched without end until they hatch and come to age. I will not allow them to come under any harm, even if the price for this is my life."
CHAPTER XIII
The town mayor looked out at the vast crowd before him. This was the hardest thing he had ever done, and he had yet to do it. This had all started when a dark, tall, cloaked man approached him and warned him of a great danger. This was followed up by another, a tall man who ran a local tavern with his brother, who asked that the first be slain before the townspeople. A tough choice was to be made, and after a long time of thinking, he had decided. Now he needed to tell the town.
"May I please have your attention!" The crowd quieted down. "Four nights ago I was approached by two people. One was a visitor you are all aware of by now; the other was a resident. One advised me to be on guard for a great danger, the other, to slay the first in a public execution. I have since talked to each, listening to their reasons for what they wished and have decided the following: I cannot execute a visitor unless he or she has committed a crime in our town. This has yet to occur. What I have noticed is that the stranger has brought our town good fortune. There will be no public execution and this town is to be placed on alert for one week. I advise you to leave him in peace. Thank you and good day."
The mayor had barely finished speaking when a loud cry rang out amongst the crowd. Stones were lobbed at the stage, which was quickly evacuated. The mayor stealthily made his way to his house and waved at the guard by his gate. The guard nodded and motioned for the mayor to go behind the wall that surrounded his house. Awaiting the mayor behind the wall was Cyrius.
"A good choice, mayor." The Draconian smiled at the startled mayor.
"I have granted you some time. You have a week to do your deeds and then you must leave. If you are not gone by then, you will be hunted. Now leave."
"Good day to you." Cyrius bowed and left, nodding to the guard on his way out.
The mayor watched him leave and frowned. A second cloaked figure approached him from behind.
"I wanted him dead."
"Not everything that opposes you needs to die, Pyre."
"True," The Draconian eyed the mayor. "At least not yet."
The mayor turned and found the two eyes boring into his. "I wish for you to leave as well."
"I am sorry, but I cannot comply." There was a soft ring of metal as Pyre drew the silver sword.
The town soon took a turn for the worst. Riots broke out and stores were constantly looted. The mayor made several appearances and had recently announced that the Shadow Warrior, also known as Cyrius, had attacked him. The Draconian was now wanted for assault, and wanted dead. Hunters and slayers had taken up arms against the hated traveler who had brought nothing but trouble.
Jarred, one of the towns most admired, and feared, executioners had announced a meeting of any and all who wanted to aid in the capture and slaying of the beast. He had announced that the meeting would be held in the old mines in a nearby mountain to help maintain secrecy and security. Almost all made plans to attend.
Cyrius climbed the rock wall. He knew well he could have flown up, but the activity and challenge of the climb allowed him to think. Something had gone dreadfully wrong in the town. He was once welcomed, and now he was hunted. All seemed strange; nothing was what it used to be in the town. He would have left the town had he not felt the urge to finish what he started. That is why he took to the rocky bluffs to the east side of the town.
Cyrius grunted softly as he pulled himself over the top. From up here he could see the entire town. He took up his perch and looked down. Something was not right. Today was as clear a day as there could be, but something was not right. Usually he could see people bustling about below. Now, however, the town was empty. Not a soul was there to be seen. He nervously clicked his claws together and swept his tail side-to-side while pondering the meaning of this. As he was doing so he took notice of the main road and followed it through the town and into the rocky bluffs.
He was about halfway up the trail when he saw a figure climb from a small cave-like opening near the side of the trail. The figure was unmistakably Draconian. He stood and unfurled his wings. He took a quick moment to study the situation ere he drew his sword, caught the wind in his wings, and dove.
The Draconian was caught off guard and his throat slit before he knew Cyrius had entered the cave. Cyrius dropped silently to the ground and unsheathed his blade. The cavern walls around him were bathed in shadow and daylight reached no further than three feet into the cave itself. Ahead he could hear the laughing and shouting of those who he had come to hunt. He grinned, darkness was his friend. The lack of light allowed him to hide and move about unseen. The only problem was in that his eye would glow brightly. To help hide it he pulled his hood over his face. Now he could not see very well at all. He hissed softly.
As he made his way deeper into the cave, he became aware of a faint light ahead, around a nearing turn. The light probably came from the same source as the voices. Cyrius gripped his blade tighter in his hand. It was now his training would come into use. He hoped he did it right. He stopped just before the corner and unsheathed a throwing knife. Then, taking one quick breath he charged.
Three Draconians stood, taken off guard. The nearest fell victim to Cyrius' sword, the furthest to the knife, the third ran. Cyrius unsheathed a dagger and would have given chase had a low chuckle held him where he stood.
Nightstalker. You have returned. I knew I would not be rid of you unless I killed you myself. You make things too difficult.
Cyrius! My name is Cyrius. Pyre, I am through with the likes of you. I guarantee, show yourself and I will be the end of your Night Corps. Try me now, I dare ye." Cyrius threw his hood back and scanned his surroundings.
Cyrius, you have never beaten me, why wait and lose again?
From behind him, Cyrius heard something catch the wind and come closer to him. He ducked as a lit torch flew over his head and slammed into the ground in front of him, exploding and temporarily blinding Cyrius.
Come on, fiend! Try to find me. If you do, I might let you have a chance to live.
Cyrius followed the voice, his blade ready and all senses on the alert.
Find me if you dare.
Cyrius searched frantically for any sign of Pyre but his eye could only see a few inches in front of him. Then for a brief second, he thought he caught a glimpse of something flashing off to his right. He turned to face it. An invisible force drove into him. His only reflex was to hold on to whatever had hit him as he lost his balance and fell backward. Whatever had hit him was suddenly gone. Cyrius stood and took a defensive stance. Darkness was all he could see.
Pyre found a good grip for his feet and hands and hung from the ceiling. Below him, he could see his prey threatening nothing but air. Pyre had to grin; Cyrius was unknowingly nearing a cliff that dropped into an abyss. Pyre had only flown to the bottom once, and it tired his wings out ere he finished the flight back to the top. Almost there, keep walking.
Cyrius paused a moment. Something was not right, he had an odd feeling he was heading the wrong way. He turned and stared hard into the path behind him. Something ran into him, hard. This time he held on to whatever had hit him, and refused to let go. Together they fell over the edge of the cliff.
They were falling fast. More out of instinct than thought, Cyrius opened his wings and let them fill with air. He heard a hiss near his ear as Pyre fell away. It took Cyrius a while to realize he had lost his blade. No sooner had the realization come did the distant sound of metal hitting rock reach his ears.
Pyre stopped his descent and looked up. Over his head, he could see Cyrius. He drew his blade and charged.
Cyrius saw the attack coming and moved to the side. As he was doing this he gripped the hilt of Pyre's blade and flipped into a dive, hoping to pull the blade free.
Pyre felt the blade almost get ripped from his grasp. At the same time he felt it run through something soft and thin. He felt, rather than saw, a large object fall away. Puzzlement held him for a moment until he realized he must have damaged Cyrius' wing. That would render any flying beast flightless. He laughed.
Cyrius held the dive. His eye focused on a faint blue glow below him. As he neared the source of the glow, he could faintly distinguish the shape of a sword, his sword. He reached for it and broke his free fall.
Pyre hissed at the sound of wind being caught by something and looked down. From far below, he could see a faint glow. He roared and dove. The traitor would die to day, and he would see to that!
Cyrius could see perfectly now. He watched as Pyre came down on him, blade ready. He held his own, which, to his surprise had not been damaged by its fall. He waited and watched patiently. The Sivak leveled out of the dive and started on a straight course, sword leading the way. Cyrius just stood and let his sword rest on his shoulder. A grin crossed his face.
Just a while more. He gripped the blade in both hands and brought it out level in front of him. He stood with his side facing the advancing Pyre, waiting. Pyre continued to advance. Cyrius swung the blade back to the shoulder furthest from Pyre and widened his stance. Pyre was almost right where he wanted him.
Now! He stepped back a short step, Placed his weight into his back foot, bent over a little ways, shifted weight to the front foot, and swung the blade at chest level. The steel met Pyre head on. Cyrius tried to hold the blade but it was torn from his grasp as the wounded Draconian continued its flight past Cyrius, and crashed to the ground some distance behind him.
Cyrius could no longer see anything. He ran to where he thought the Sivak had landed but found only his blade.
You won this round, but the war continues. A loud laugh followed it, seemingly from all sides, and then vanished.
Cyrius frowned to himself, sheathed his blade and began the tiring climb back to the top. When he finally came out into the sunlight an icy wind met him. He drew the cloak tighter around him. When the wind was not completely broken near his midsection he glanced down and grinned. A tear ran through half a foot of the fabric.
CHAPTER XIV
Though the threat may have been beaten, the town was forever affected by it. Cyrius almost did not want to return had the summons not come for him. The slightly frightened messenger that had delivered it had told him it came from the Dragon Knights and that alone would keep anyone from killing him. A slight relief, but Cyrius still felt somewhat threatened upon reaching the town. Everywhere doors and windows were shut tight. Whenever someone would pass him a scowl would be on his or her face. None seemed entirely happy to see him, save one.
He was standing in the square, near the tavern that saw the beginning of the previous adventure. It was Gallan.
"You called me, sir?"
"Cyrius, we need the help of you and your friends. Tryst'n is under attack."
CHAPTER XX
Archer set the book aside. The emotion behind the written words could be felt even after years of hiding in a painting. His rage against his brethren, the Draconians, was becoming stronger as the words played through his mind. He made a quick, silent vow that he would, under any circumstances, live to uphold the values of Celeste Callystrin, even at the cost of his life.
He slowly stood, replaced the picture, and prepared to return to the den he now called home. As he walked, deep in thought, memories of the battle against the Callystrin came to mind. He blamed his self for their deaths. The guilt haunted him and hung about him until it took a momentary hold of him and he drew his blade against a burnt tree, sending the charred remains crashing to the ground. It was with this heart and mind that the messenger found him with a summons from Cyrius.
CHAPTER XXI
"The fight for the Tryst'n Fortifications was fierce." Cyrius paused as he glanced back at the pile of ruins. What had once been a powerful fort is now laid to waste. He continued. "The siege lasted for near a month before a small relief group could arrive. The extra help, however, was useless to prevent the raid and eventual takeover of the fortifications. Those killed for the Knighthood's cause included Myriad, a Bozak Draconian who, in his death, brought down a Black Dragon that had been ravaging the east walls of the fort. Also killed, and I regret being the one to break this to you, were Lady Gilldomere and Sir Gallan, both died on the front lines, blades in hand.
"I do regret that I was one of the few that fled the battle, though there was little I could have done. Pyre was there, I could have engaged him, but he was at the heart of the attacking forces and their armies. Nothing could be done for Gilldomere, I am sorry towards her loss, but she died bravely. Take comfort that her killer died soon after her by my blade."
Archer looked away from his friend and surveyed the collapsed walls of the once powerful fort. "It must have been a large attacking force."
"It was, three of our," he stopped. ",their largest combined." Cyrius shook his head.
"I regret not being able to arrive sooner."
"You would have fought bravely, and died." Cyrius sighed and reached into his cloak. When he withdrew his hand, he produced a small red crystal. The eight sides of the crystal were glowing brightly. "I need to leave these lands. Everything I need to leave is here."
"Everything?"
"Not you, you can come if you like."
"I must decline. I still have to find something ere I leave."
"How goes the search?"
Archer shook his head. "Not as well as I would like, though I have found more than I expected."
"I hope you find what you are looking for, friend."
"And I, you."
"Fare thee well." Cyrius turned and began following an old path. "May we meet again."
"May we meet again, friend." Archer watched Cyrius leave until he disappeared in the trees.
CHAPTER XXI
Cyrius walked until his feet were tired. Once they were, he took to the air. He traveled for near two days, always to the west, until he was tired and could go no further. Only then did he stop and rest. Not more than twenty feet was the great sea. The waters were spotted with islands, but it was easy to miss one if you did not know where to go. Cyrius hoped he would head in the right direction. During the siege, he had overheard a conversation about an island to the west of the Mirkilains. Anyone who was dissatisfied with the war, or wished to escape it was going there. Cyrius was tired of the war, and the Mirkilains. Too many memories, the past was haunting him continuously. He was tired.
He rested until he felt he was ready. He knew it would be either his last flight, or the start of a new life. Now was the time to find out. He strode up to the water's edge, let his wings catch the sea air, and lifted off the ground.
-Jim "Hunter" VonBurace
PART TWO
CHAPTER VII
The tavern was silent. All eyes were turned towards the newcomer. The stranger was dressed in a dark blue cloak that covered all but the telltale snout of a Draconian. The scales that were the skin of the Draconian were blacker than night, and shone under the firelight. From under the cloak's hood, one eye, the right, glowed a dark blood red, the other could not be seen.
The dark figure surveyed the room for a while, taking in the expressions of fear and anger directed at him, and seemed to nod in approval. Then he pulled back the hood of his cloak. The left eye was now revealed, pitch black and blind. A deep scar ran from the side of his head, through the left eye, and halfway down his cheek, and in itself told the obvious reason for the blind eye. If it had not been decided by some that the figure was Draconian before, all were certain now, and it had somehow passed into the city unchecked by the guards.
Claws clacked on the wooden floor as the Draconian made his way to the bar, motioning with a clawed hand for an ale. Once he had reached the bar, he placed himself in between an inventor, who immediately cowered away, and a mercenary who was in need of a job. Then the Draconian turned towards the tavern's occupants and grinned. Some were shocked at the creature's actions, because the grin was not menacing as one would suspect, and some started to turn their attention back to their drinks.
The barkeeper came with the mug of ale, but was stopped by the mercenary. Then he reached for the jewel-encrusted hilt of his broadsword. "You are not welcome in this town. I would advise you leave now, while you still have the chance to do so in one piece."
The Draconian eyed the mercenary with his blood red eye and reached for the ale that the barkeeper had brought. "You seem to judge me by others actions. I can prove I am not like them." He took a sip from the mug and set it on the counter, openly showing his immediate dislike of the drink. "Has it not yet occurred to any that I have not made any attempt to disguise myself. I came as myself, hiding nothing. I do not mean any of you harm."
"All of your kind are the same: evil, dark, and murderous. They use trickery and lies to get what they want." The mercenary drew the blade halfway out of its sheath.
"Ah, who is more murderous, a mercenary who kills for money, or a Draconian who kills in war? The only ones I kill now are of my race, and they were the murderers, not I." He gave the mercenary a curt nod and sipped again from his ale, cringing and wondering why he bothered drinking it, considering he had no taste for it. "Now put away your sword and do not force me to defend myself."
The mercenary unsheathed the broadsword and held it at ready. "I will defend these people against the likes of you."
"Very well, strike me, you drunken fool. What will it accomplish besides nothing?" The Draconian turned to face the mercenary and made no motion to defend himself. He caught something in the mercenaries eyes, something familiar, but he could not place it.
The glimmering blade swung around at the Draconian's mid-section, but he had anticipated this and stopped the attack with his hand. He gripped the blade tightly and brought his other fist about. The mercenary, reluctant to let the sword go, tried to pull it from the Bozak but to no avail. The force behind Cyrius' fist, combined with the non-moving position of the blade, snapped the sword in two upon contact. The mercenary growled and stepped back, letting the ruined blade fall to the ground.
"You have no reason to strike me, mercenary, as I have not harmed any of these people. Let me be and I will trouble you not."
"You will explain your presence here, and then leave."
A round of agreement rose in the room, urging the black creature to speak.
Cyrius cocked his head and stared into the mercenary's eyes. He saw something familiar in them. "Very well. My name is Cyrius; I am of Draconian blood, yet I come to aid you. In your town dwell seven or more of my kind, all are wanted for the murder of one of the members of the Dragon Knighthood. I came here in search of one who will help me in killing these seven. If more proof is what you need, then see with your own eyes who sends me." The Draconian lifted a flap on the left side of his cloak, just over the heart. Sewn into the fabric was a dragon patch. As detailed as any could be, it looked as if it would start breathing at any time and fly away. The wings were unfurled and the jaws were gaping at an unseen enemy. The piece itself was made from silver, the eyes from rubies, and the wings from emerald. At this, the room became alive with questions.
"Yes, I was sent here by order of the Knighthood, proof of that claim is right before your eyes. What you see here is genuine. It is the seal of the Dragon Knights."
The tavern was soon divided into those who supported Cyrius [this side numbered very few], those that did not support the Draconian, and those who decided to leave. The mercenary glowered at the Draconian; studying his every detail and taking in anything useful that might help him take the beast down if he proved evil.
"Sir, you are loyal to your town, so I ask you for the help I am seeking. Will you join me?"
"You have destroyed my only sword." The mercenary turned his back to Cyrius.
"Then will you accept this as payment for your services?" Cyrius drew, from under his cloak, a broadsword that had been fashioned from silver, and had a hilt made of gold. Set into the blade was the same dragon seal that was sewn onto Cyrius' cloak. "This blade was fashioned by Elven hands, it is powerful and well balanced. You will never find one quite like it." The mercenary took the blade and examined it. "Unlike your former sword, this can resist the acid blood of some Draconians. I have given you a weapon that is capable of destroying me. Now, will you trust me as I trust you? I seek not your services, but rather your trust and aid in my task."
"You have chosen the wrong man." The grin faded from Cyrius' face and his eyes turned grim as he suddenly recognized what he had seen in the mercenary earlier. "For some things are not as they seem." The mercenary grinned evilly and held the blade at ready.
"Very well," Cyrius drew his own blade, a broadsword of similar design to that which the mercenary now held, yet more richly designed and decorated with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds. "I do believe this tavern should be cleared. Now."
All but three of the tavern's occupants took to Cyrius' words, and left. The other three took to tables at the farthest end of the tavern to watch the fight, and were swigging ale while cheering the fighters on.
"Pyre, show your true self." Cyrius gritted his teeth and tried to sum up his opponent, who was now shifting from the human form of the mercenary, to that of a Draconian.
"You will learn the sting of your own blade." Pyre's silver-gray skin reflected in the sword's silver blade, and his eyes burned like fire. "Today, you will die."
There was a shower of sparks and a loud clang as the two blades met. Pyre had the clear advantage, and was forcing Cyrius back one step at a time. With a soft grunt, Cyrius ducked and rolled under Pyre's blade, and swung in a wide arc at his opponent's knees. Pyre easily stopped the attack with his own blade, and kicked his former teammate hard in the ribs. Cyrius coughed and rolled away. Using the sword, he picked himself up off the floor. It was then that Pyre saw a window of opportunity for a strong attack. The silver blade whistled through the air before coming in contact with Cyrius' side. The cloak, which was still loosely worn, did very little in the way of armor, and the blade dug into his side with ease. Pyre freed his sword and struck again, with the flat of his blade, at Cyrius' stomach. The blow forced the black Draconian to double over. The last thing he saw before blackness over took him, was the golden hilt of the sword.
Cyrius found himself in a dark cave. In front of him, the rock walls seemed to lead on forever to some unknown destination, whereas behind him there was a black nothingness. Without having complete control of himself, he ventured down the long, dark shaft. Soon he found several other Draconians that had materialized out of nowhere accompanied him. Each wielded a curved, wicked looking scimitars and he too found one in his possession. Still lost as to what his task was, he chose to follow the others, yet found he was beyond control of his own actions still. After a long walk, or a short one [he could not tell] the cave opened into a black cavern. Far above his head, the cavern opened up, providing a wide view of the stars and a bright full moon.
The company moved deeper into the cavern and entered another dark cave. Cyrius paused to look behind at the path they had traveled only to find once more a black nothingness. He felt puzzled, yet it seemed the explanation was clear. He turned away from the void to find he was once more in a wide cavern. Unlike the first, this cavern offered no view of the sky, and instead of a skyward opening, the far wall open to reveal a dark, flaming mountain. Next to him was an ancient looking suit of armor and a silver broadsword. In the furthest corner from himself, the Draconian Company was doing battle with a great Snowdragon. Cyrius felt that he was a descendant of this great beast and a sudden urge to aid in its defense overcame him. He dropped his scimitar and grasped the silver sword at his side. The ancient blade felt light and strong in his hand as he lifted it high over his head. The blade burned with the same intensity as the great mountain in the distance; and with a great cry, Cyrius brought it into its first battle in centuries.
The others in the company were caught off guard when the attack came. Three fell before anyone noticed. The head of the company growled a fierce order and four of the larger Draconians broke off the attack on the dragon and turned their attention to Cyrius. The blade in Cyrius' hand burned with a blue flame as the four surrounded him. Before they had a chance to attack him, Cyrius charged the largest of the four and slashed a wide arc in front of him. The large Draconian crumpled before him as the blade carved through his mid-section. To Cyrius' surprise, the blade finished its flight, instead of becoming frozen in the body of the now stone Draconian. Just as he was about to come to his senses, a burst of flame seared his back, and incinerated the three who were advancing on him. The great Snowdragon's mate had returned and was joining in the fight. Cyrius waited to be incinerated by flame from the Snowdragon, but it never came. Instead, she beckoned him. She spoke to him, and though he could not hear her words, he knew what was being said. Then, he turned and side by side with the Snowdragons fought until all of the company, save Cyrius himself, was no more.
Daylight came and the sun silhouetted the flaming mountain when Cyrius awoke. He had always feared the sun before, yet now he found that the sun harmed him not, and he was also relieved to feel its comforting warmth. He surveyed his surroundings and found that the two great dragons were also awake. They approached him and presented to him a cloak with the dragon's mark, and with two broadswords. One he recognized as that from the last night's battle, and the second seemed to be its equal. Only one, however, bore the dragon's mark. As soon as these were received, the two dragons spoke to him. As before, he could not hear the words said, but knew all that was said. Then his surroundings faded and were no more.
CHAPTER VIII
Archer watched the sun disappear below the horizon. Several fires now become visible in the forest below, reminders of the war that was going on around them. He sighed.
"What do we do now?"
Sariah shook her head as she came up beside him. "I cannot tell you what to do. I have to return to Tryst'n, the caravan I came here with leaves soon and that is the only safe passage from here to there nowadays."
"I thank you for your help."
"I am sorry for what James did, had I known-"
"Do not apologize for another's decision."
"All the same, I do feel I owe you one." She looked out at the fires below. "If only…." She shook her head.
He turned to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You have been a great help. I do hope our paths cross over again. Now, however, I feel I must continue the search on my own."
She smiled at him. "If you wish, I do hope we meet again as well. Good bye Archer, I hope you find what you seek." She took one of the unlit torches at the entrance of the cave, struck it, and waved as she started down the trail.
So do I. Archer waved back.
When she had disappeared from sight, Archer struck up another torch, drew his cloak tighter around him, and retraced the path that took him from his past, the path that led back to the Callystrin home.
The trek back was shorter than he thought it would have been, and Archer stopped for no rest along the entire, four-day journey. When the torch became too short to hold, he smothered the flame and cast it aside. The moon was now shining full and light was no longer a problem.
The night wore on and the moon began its descent. Just as it was vanishing below the horizon, Archer arrived to the path that would lead him straight to the entrance. Nothing had changed since he saw it last, even the feeling of dread he had felt when he was commanding the attack on the den. He stopped at the entrance.
"Aut teh nie…." He looked up at the entrance reflectively, almost mourning the sight of a den void of its once powerful occupants. How different you seem to me now. He took a deep breath and walked into the entrance.
He made his way down the main hall and into the large room where the fight had taken place. He started. The room, which was left looking like a battlefield, unclean and disastrous, now looked cared for and well looked after. Not a single sign that a battle had taken place could be seen. A haunting feeling came over him suddenly, and he journeyed to the den.
Once inside the den, he walked around, casually studying and observing the works of art and decorations that adorned the room. Again, he was surprised. He had expected to find dust and cobwebs, but everything was clean. He came to the painting and stared at it a while. The eyes looked back at him, telling him something, calling him. He reached up and took the painting down. It was heavier than he expected. He brought it up near his face and studied every intricate detail, taking it in and storing it in his memory. A sudden thought came to him and he turned the painting face down, so the back was facing him. Written on the back in a light handwriting were the words "If this should go, my life goes with it."
Archer frowned. The riddle meant nothing to him. He even doubted it was a riddle at all. He set the painting down on the table face down and took a seat next to it. He let a single claw run along a seam in the middle of the canvass that covered the back of the painting. His gaze focused on the seam. He ran a claw along it again. Without thinking, he ripped it open. Inside was a small stack of books arranged in two by two formation, two stacks high. He picked up the book nearest him and opened it to the first page. It was a journal. He set the journal aside and picked up a second. It was a journal as well, only it was written in an elfish alphabet, he could not read it. He put it next to the first. Then he proceeded to check the others.
More than half of the eight journals were in an elfin script, only two had entries in basic, or the common tongue. He picked up one of them and opened it to the first page.
CHAPTER VIV
When Cyrius awoke, he found that two of the three spectators were by his side and were doing there best to tend the wounds inflicted by his battle with Pyre. The one nearest to him grinned when he found that Cyrius was awake.
"Well, how was your rest. I suspect it will be the last for a while if you wish to finish what was started." He turned and spoke to the other man next to him. "James, do you mind getting me some more water?"
Cyrius started to stand until a sharp pain coursed its way through his body forcing him back to the tavern's floor. "Who are you?"
"Charles, me and my friends here are all freelance peacekeepers. Fetching the water is my brother, James, and guarding the door is Christopher. We have all agreed to help you out."
"Oh, that is very kind of you, though I must decline. I was told not to place anyone save me in harms way."
"This is different. We are placing ourselves in harms way for your cause. If you decline we will just carry out the task separate from you."
Christopher spoke from where he was standing by the locked and barred door. "You have no choice. We will join in your quest whether you like it or not."
Cyrius frowned for a moment; then, slowly a grin crossed his face. "Very well. We shall form a small company and go forth together." A yawn escaped from deep within him. "It seems to me, Charles, that I have not had my last rest yet." Without another word, he fell back into a deep sleep.
Once Cyrius had awakened, the company set out through the back door. Following side roads and alleyways, they found there way to the main square. At first James thought they were turning to many heads than was good for them, but once they had reached the center of the town square, Cyrius pulled from a hidden pouch a glowing crystal; and this proved to turn more heads than the person wielding it. The crystal throbbed slowly, but as Cyrius stepped away from the town's center, the throb changed pace. Once the throbbing quickened, Cyrius grinned and started walking in that direction. With each step, the beating crystals pace grew faster until the throb ceased and a steady light radiated from within the core of the crystal. Cyrius took in the surrounding area before taking a long look at the building in front of him.
"You would not mind explaining that crystal, would you?"
"It is a tracking device." Answered Cyrius without turning away from the building. Suddenly the crystal's light faded and the throbbing returned. Cyrius sprung forward and climbed up the buildings wooden walls. He disappeared for about a minute. When he came back, his sword was drawn and he was wiping the blade clean.
"One down."
Cyrius followed the crystal's directions, seldom retracing his steps from a wrong turn. The company passed through alleyways and streets. They even took shortcuts through taverns; the people never bothered them about this. At one point, the crystal lit up and failed to dim its light, despite the lack of anyone around him, save for the three in his company. Cyrius looked puzzled at the crystals actions until the light faded several moments later, though it still bothered him long after. The company tracked the new target through the first half of the day, until they came to a large warehouse. Cyrius then hid the crystal and drew his blade.
"Wait here. I shan't be long." With that, he disappeared through the door.
All was dark inside the warehouse and it took a while for Cyrius' eye to adjust; the blood red light cast by it shone frightfully bright. From somewhere behind him, he heard the shuffling of feet, and then complete darkness fell as the door closed behind him with a loud boom. Cyrius whirled and faced the sound only to find that whomever had shut the door was now moving at a fast pace to his left. He sprung after the sound as swift and silent as a cat; the only sound coming from his cloak as it caught the wind. Just as he felt he had found what he had been hunting, the ring of a steel blade being drawn from its sheath came from the ceiling above. Not long after it was answered by another from behind him. What he had thought was one was in truth two. The blades shone dimly, catching what little light they could, as their wielders advanced for an attack on their unknown intruder. Cyrius crouched and waited; the only thing that was giving away his presence was the gleam of the Elven blade and the glow of his eye; both now glowing red.
The attack came from above rather than from the front. The blade from the ceiling cut through the air and whistled slightly as it searched for a target. All it found was the blade wielded by Cyrius. Cyrius jumped back as soon as the attacker's blade had been deflected, and struck just behind where he thought the blade was. He found only empty air. Acting on instinct he crouched and swung the blade behind him. His luck was better, for the Elven blade carved deeply into something and stayed. A loud shriek filled the warehouse and Cyrius braced himself. Whatever he had struck was Draconian, and since it failed to turn to stone that meant another end would come. He needed not wait long. The blast from an explosion echoed off the walls and Cyrius was pitched forward. Another loud shriek came from his right as the second Draconian charged. Cyrius raised his blade in defense only to find it was missing. He hissed and jumped back, probing the ground for his lost blade. A loud clang and a shower of sparks filled the air in front of his face. He had been spared a painful death by a mere fraction of an inch.
Cyrius groped blindly for a weapon until he clasped his hand upon the hilt of a sword. He knew it was not his, but any defense was better than none. With a loud hiss, he struck out at the dark shadow in front of him. The Draconian sword bit deeply into his adversary and stuck. Cyrius knew it was useless to attempt extracting the blade, which was now stuck in stone. Instead he searched frantically for his blade. He searched for a long while until finding it, but it was also after finding it that he became aware of three pairs of glowing eyes that were watching him. One pair, colored amber, moved towards him while the light cast by them glinted off the metal surface of a blade. The other two, colored green and blue, moved to surround him. Cyrius waited until he saw a moment to attack. Once he found it he charged forward at the amber eyes. The eyes jumped back and swung their blade at him. Cyrius easily parried the attack and swung his blade in a wide arc. As soon as he had done so, the smell of acidic blood filled the room and all three pairs of eyes disappeared.
Cyrius searched the warehouse until nightfall. Finding nothing, he returned to the door through which he had entered. Outside he found the others waiting for him; Christopher was clutching a stained red bandage to his left shoulder.
"Are you hurt badly?" Asked Cyrius, carefully inspecting the wound.
"'Tis nothing, a gift from some of your friends." He answered.
Cyrius simply nodded and removed the crystal from within his cloak. Four of the eight faces shone brightly, while three others blinked off and on rapidly. Cyrius showed nor told the others this. He wished to be the only one to know what it meant.
CHAPTER X
"To-day was pleasant, more so than the last few. Some of the fighting has resided; you would be shocked at how quiet the lands are. Stryker has gone to visit the front once more. He is very involved in the war, is Stryker. How I wish I could be there by his side. Well, we all have our individual responsibilities. Earlier to day, I went to our friend's residence in the south. We passed the hours repairing a damaged mosaic that was commemorating the Dragon Knights' fight against the dragons Vertigo and Armageddon during the first Great War, during the first war against Armageddon. The finished work was marvelous; and I believe that the Knights would be pleased with the work, especially Sabre, the one whom is portrayed dueling against Armageddon. Now I am writing while I keep watch and guard over the nest. The day is soon, perhaps in the next month or two, I have lost track of how long I have watched them. My only fear is that they will be brought into a world full of violence and war, and not one of peace. There is one land that is to the west that is peaceful, even now half of our numbers have moved there. I would, but it is too late to move the nest. Even so, I feel that the war will not last long. We are winning, and our numbers are greater ten fold."
Archer skipped ahead a few pages. He knew enough about the war and wished to hear as little of it as he could. He wanted to learn about the family, not the wartime fronts.
"The stars shine bright, and the forest fires brighter. Some seem to spring up without warning, others burn days ere they are extinguished. I am worried, Stryker has yet to return. I would like him here. Not long ago I caught three Draconian scouts, Bozak, they were easily dispatched and no harm was done to the nest. In spite of this, I am worried for the well being of the nest. The scouts showed me how close the war is to the home. For reasons of safety, I have sealed all but one entrance to the den, and I guard the one. Most of my time is spent in thought, though I regret I am not writing down as much as I should."
The writing stopped halfway down the page. Archer turned to the next one. It contained a sketch of a dragon flying upwards, wings spread, head facing straight forward, tail straight behind. The quality was quite good, and Archer was almost tempted to tear the page out and keep the drawing for his self. He thumbed through the pages to find another entry.
CHAPTER XI
With a long day behind them, the four turned towards the night. They set out for the center of town and in search of something to help them sleep. That was all they were thinking of when they found what appeared to be the busiest tavern in town. It was run by two brothers, Paul and Jay, and that was its name. The "Paul 'n' Jay's" tavern. The drinks were cheap and high in quality, and soon all troubles were forgotten by all, save one. Cyrius never touched the drinks in front of him. His mind was preoccupied with the dangers ahead.
He knew his former leader's mind and guessed where he would be without trouble. This was the place. The only problem was that the crystal had become unreliable, no longer able to fulfill the task it had begun. The only reason for this was his three companions. They interfered with the crystal's intricate magic workings. They had revealed who they were to the crystal, and now the crystal knew where they were. Unfortunately, this meant that the crystal would soon have to change, and Cyrius knew not how to change it. That was the dilemma he faced now.
His first decision had been to take all three out at once, but that had become hard. They were masters of deception and were strong. They also worked together in a team. Cyrius doubted they had allowed themselves to become drunk, and that the show they were giving him was no more than an act to throw him off guard. The only possible way this could happen was if the drinks were false.
It struck him so suddenly he almost leapt up to announce it. The drinks in front of them were fake, that meant one of their kind was acting out the part of either Paul or Jay, or even both. Cyrius quickly told the other three he was going to find a stronger drink, and started to make his way through the crowd towards the bar. Occasionally he would glance behind him, or in the reflection of the windows at his companions only to find that they were watching him intently, and no longer in a drunken state. This worried him little, for it proved his theory. Almost without showing, he pulled the crystal out from under his cloak. Three of the facets remained lit, while the other six pulsed rapidly. That meant that three were dead, and six were in the building, including himself. He could end his task tonight. The only problem was finding the other two Draconians. One of them had to be a bartender, and the other could be anyone in the room. That was the only problem. Cyrius did not wish to have an innocent death on his hands. At least not now. He ventured closer to the bar and glanced at his crystal. Three of the faces were pulsating faster; one had gone dark. Slowly, one after another, all went dark, save for four, the three for the dead, and his own. He silently hissed under his breath. The company had left him, proving his assumptions, and now he had lost all trace of the others.
CHAPTER XII
"The days are long, the nights longer. Stryker was home, but only for a brief while. He tells me the fronts are coming closer, and to be prepared to seal the last entrance should the need arise. If I am to do this work must be started on a skyward access to the den. I grow weary as each day passes. The emotional fatigue is tremendous. I almost failed to realize how much could happen over the course of a month. The eggs are almost ready, only another few weeks and they will be ready to hatch. The forest is burned and silent, all of the animals have left. Winter is coming and snow is threatening to fall any day now. The winds are cold and relentless."
Archer set the finished journal down and stretched. He had been reading all day and needed a break. He had learned less than he liked to think he could have, even though he had gone and re-read some of the entries he had skipped. Most of the writing was about the war on the fronts and Celeste's desires to live on an island to the west. He reached for the second journal. The first page was written in elfin, but had a translation in basic beside it.
Still, Still, Still,
Hush all ye here.
That which we all have feared,
Slowly draws ever near.
Open wars with open fronts,
Tears through the lands.
Ripping lives at the seams,
Forever haunting minds.
Still, Still, Still,
Very close, is it now.
The time draws near,
And like a falling tear,
Lives will slip away.
Archer read it twice before going to the next page. The only entry was a repetitious "still, still, still." Puzzled as to why he had not caught this earlier when he was scanning for languages, he continued on. Blank pages followed by a randomly placed "War draws near." or "Still, still, still." Halfway through the journal Archer found a large tear, no doubt caused by a dragon's claw, rendering all but about three pages near the end useless. Two of the three pages were written in elfish, the third and last was in basic.
"Never again will a Draconian set foot in any den that I live in. Only one will pass unharmed. This I swear. My reasons for doing so are thus. Late in the night, a noise stirred me from an unexpected sleep. I checked the nest to find one egg, the one to be my only son, stolen. A second was crushed, the offspring inside killed. Only two remain now, they will be watched without end until they hatch and come to age. I will not allow them to come under any harm, even if the price for this is my life."
CHAPTER XIII
The town mayor looked out at the vast crowd before him. This was the hardest thing he had ever done, and he had yet to do it. This had all started when a dark, tall, cloaked man approached him and warned him of a great danger. This was followed up by another, a tall man who ran a local tavern with his brother, who asked that the first be slain before the townspeople. A tough choice was to be made, and after a long time of thinking, he had decided. Now he needed to tell the town.
"May I please have your attention!" The crowd quieted down. "Four nights ago I was approached by two people. One was a visitor you are all aware of by now; the other was a resident. One advised me to be on guard for a great danger, the other, to slay the first in a public execution. I have since talked to each, listening to their reasons for what they wished and have decided the following: I cannot execute a visitor unless he or she has committed a crime in our town. This has yet to occur. What I have noticed is that the stranger has brought our town good fortune. There will be no public execution and this town is to be placed on alert for one week. I advise you to leave him in peace. Thank you and good day."
The mayor had barely finished speaking when a loud cry rang out amongst the crowd. Stones were lobbed at the stage, which was quickly evacuated. The mayor stealthily made his way to his house and waved at the guard by his gate. The guard nodded and motioned for the mayor to go behind the wall that surrounded his house. Awaiting the mayor behind the wall was Cyrius.
"A good choice, mayor." The Draconian smiled at the startled mayor.
"I have granted you some time. You have a week to do your deeds and then you must leave. If you are not gone by then, you will be hunted. Now leave."
"Good day to you." Cyrius bowed and left, nodding to the guard on his way out.
The mayor watched him leave and frowned. A second cloaked figure approached him from behind.
"I wanted him dead."
"Not everything that opposes you needs to die, Pyre."
"True," The Draconian eyed the mayor. "At least not yet."
The mayor turned and found the two eyes boring into his. "I wish for you to leave as well."
"I am sorry, but I cannot comply." There was a soft ring of metal as Pyre drew the silver sword.
The town soon took a turn for the worst. Riots broke out and stores were constantly looted. The mayor made several appearances and had recently announced that the Shadow Warrior, also known as Cyrius, had attacked him. The Draconian was now wanted for assault, and wanted dead. Hunters and slayers had taken up arms against the hated traveler who had brought nothing but trouble.
Jarred, one of the towns most admired, and feared, executioners had announced a meeting of any and all who wanted to aid in the capture and slaying of the beast. He had announced that the meeting would be held in the old mines in a nearby mountain to help maintain secrecy and security. Almost all made plans to attend.
Cyrius climbed the rock wall. He knew well he could have flown up, but the activity and challenge of the climb allowed him to think. Something had gone dreadfully wrong in the town. He was once welcomed, and now he was hunted. All seemed strange; nothing was what it used to be in the town. He would have left the town had he not felt the urge to finish what he started. That is why he took to the rocky bluffs to the east side of the town.
Cyrius grunted softly as he pulled himself over the top. From up here he could see the entire town. He took up his perch and looked down. Something was not right. Today was as clear a day as there could be, but something was not right. Usually he could see people bustling about below. Now, however, the town was empty. Not a soul was there to be seen. He nervously clicked his claws together and swept his tail side-to-side while pondering the meaning of this. As he was doing so he took notice of the main road and followed it through the town and into the rocky bluffs.
He was about halfway up the trail when he saw a figure climb from a small cave-like opening near the side of the trail. The figure was unmistakably Draconian. He stood and unfurled his wings. He took a quick moment to study the situation ere he drew his sword, caught the wind in his wings, and dove.
The Draconian was caught off guard and his throat slit before he knew Cyrius had entered the cave. Cyrius dropped silently to the ground and unsheathed his blade. The cavern walls around him were bathed in shadow and daylight reached no further than three feet into the cave itself. Ahead he could hear the laughing and shouting of those who he had come to hunt. He grinned, darkness was his friend. The lack of light allowed him to hide and move about unseen. The only problem was in that his eye would glow brightly. To help hide it he pulled his hood over his face. Now he could not see very well at all. He hissed softly.
As he made his way deeper into the cave, he became aware of a faint light ahead, around a nearing turn. The light probably came from the same source as the voices. Cyrius gripped his blade tighter in his hand. It was now his training would come into use. He hoped he did it right. He stopped just before the corner and unsheathed a throwing knife. Then, taking one quick breath he charged.
Three Draconians stood, taken off guard. The nearest fell victim to Cyrius' sword, the furthest to the knife, the third ran. Cyrius unsheathed a dagger and would have given chase had a low chuckle held him where he stood.
Nightstalker. You have returned. I knew I would not be rid of you unless I killed you myself. You make things too difficult.
Cyrius! My name is Cyrius. Pyre, I am through with the likes of you. I guarantee, show yourself and I will be the end of your Night Corps. Try me now, I dare ye." Cyrius threw his hood back and scanned his surroundings.
Cyrius, you have never beaten me, why wait and lose again?
From behind him, Cyrius heard something catch the wind and come closer to him. He ducked as a lit torch flew over his head and slammed into the ground in front of him, exploding and temporarily blinding Cyrius.
Come on, fiend! Try to find me. If you do, I might let you have a chance to live.
Cyrius followed the voice, his blade ready and all senses on the alert.
Find me if you dare.
Cyrius searched frantically for any sign of Pyre but his eye could only see a few inches in front of him. Then for a brief second, he thought he caught a glimpse of something flashing off to his right. He turned to face it. An invisible force drove into him. His only reflex was to hold on to whatever had hit him as he lost his balance and fell backward. Whatever had hit him was suddenly gone. Cyrius stood and took a defensive stance. Darkness was all he could see.
Pyre found a good grip for his feet and hands and hung from the ceiling. Below him, he could see his prey threatening nothing but air. Pyre had to grin; Cyrius was unknowingly nearing a cliff that dropped into an abyss. Pyre had only flown to the bottom once, and it tired his wings out ere he finished the flight back to the top. Almost there, keep walking.
Cyrius paused a moment. Something was not right, he had an odd feeling he was heading the wrong way. He turned and stared hard into the path behind him. Something ran into him, hard. This time he held on to whatever had hit him, and refused to let go. Together they fell over the edge of the cliff.
They were falling fast. More out of instinct than thought, Cyrius opened his wings and let them fill with air. He heard a hiss near his ear as Pyre fell away. It took Cyrius a while to realize he had lost his blade. No sooner had the realization come did the distant sound of metal hitting rock reach his ears.
Pyre stopped his descent and looked up. Over his head, he could see Cyrius. He drew his blade and charged.
Cyrius saw the attack coming and moved to the side. As he was doing this he gripped the hilt of Pyre's blade and flipped into a dive, hoping to pull the blade free.
Pyre felt the blade almost get ripped from his grasp. At the same time he felt it run through something soft and thin. He felt, rather than saw, a large object fall away. Puzzlement held him for a moment until he realized he must have damaged Cyrius' wing. That would render any flying beast flightless. He laughed.
Cyrius held the dive. His eye focused on a faint blue glow below him. As he neared the source of the glow, he could faintly distinguish the shape of a sword, his sword. He reached for it and broke his free fall.
Pyre hissed at the sound of wind being caught by something and looked down. From far below, he could see a faint glow. He roared and dove. The traitor would die to day, and he would see to that!
Cyrius could see perfectly now. He watched as Pyre came down on him, blade ready. He held his own, which, to his surprise had not been damaged by its fall. He waited and watched patiently. The Sivak leveled out of the dive and started on a straight course, sword leading the way. Cyrius just stood and let his sword rest on his shoulder. A grin crossed his face.
Just a while more. He gripped the blade in both hands and brought it out level in front of him. He stood with his side facing the advancing Pyre, waiting. Pyre continued to advance. Cyrius swung the blade back to the shoulder furthest from Pyre and widened his stance. Pyre was almost right where he wanted him.
Now! He stepped back a short step, Placed his weight into his back foot, bent over a little ways, shifted weight to the front foot, and swung the blade at chest level. The steel met Pyre head on. Cyrius tried to hold the blade but it was torn from his grasp as the wounded Draconian continued its flight past Cyrius, and crashed to the ground some distance behind him.
Cyrius could no longer see anything. He ran to where he thought the Sivak had landed but found only his blade.
You won this round, but the war continues. A loud laugh followed it, seemingly from all sides, and then vanished.
Cyrius frowned to himself, sheathed his blade and began the tiring climb back to the top. When he finally came out into the sunlight an icy wind met him. He drew the cloak tighter around him. When the wind was not completely broken near his midsection he glanced down and grinned. A tear ran through half a foot of the fabric.
CHAPTER XIV
Though the threat may have been beaten, the town was forever affected by it. Cyrius almost did not want to return had the summons not come for him. The slightly frightened messenger that had delivered it had told him it came from the Dragon Knights and that alone would keep anyone from killing him. A slight relief, but Cyrius still felt somewhat threatened upon reaching the town. Everywhere doors and windows were shut tight. Whenever someone would pass him a scowl would be on his or her face. None seemed entirely happy to see him, save one.
He was standing in the square, near the tavern that saw the beginning of the previous adventure. It was Gallan.
"You called me, sir?"
"Cyrius, we need the help of you and your friends. Tryst'n is under attack."
CHAPTER XX
Archer set the book aside. The emotion behind the written words could be felt even after years of hiding in a painting. His rage against his brethren, the Draconians, was becoming stronger as the words played through his mind. He made a quick, silent vow that he would, under any circumstances, live to uphold the values of Celeste Callystrin, even at the cost of his life.
He slowly stood, replaced the picture, and prepared to return to the den he now called home. As he walked, deep in thought, memories of the battle against the Callystrin came to mind. He blamed his self for their deaths. The guilt haunted him and hung about him until it took a momentary hold of him and he drew his blade against a burnt tree, sending the charred remains crashing to the ground. It was with this heart and mind that the messenger found him with a summons from Cyrius.
CHAPTER XXI
"The fight for the Tryst'n Fortifications was fierce." Cyrius paused as he glanced back at the pile of ruins. What had once been a powerful fort is now laid to waste. He continued. "The siege lasted for near a month before a small relief group could arrive. The extra help, however, was useless to prevent the raid and eventual takeover of the fortifications. Those killed for the Knighthood's cause included Myriad, a Bozak Draconian who, in his death, brought down a Black Dragon that had been ravaging the east walls of the fort. Also killed, and I regret being the one to break this to you, were Lady Gilldomere and Sir Gallan, both died on the front lines, blades in hand.
"I do regret that I was one of the few that fled the battle, though there was little I could have done. Pyre was there, I could have engaged him, but he was at the heart of the attacking forces and their armies. Nothing could be done for Gilldomere, I am sorry towards her loss, but she died bravely. Take comfort that her killer died soon after her by my blade."
Archer looked away from his friend and surveyed the collapsed walls of the once powerful fort. "It must have been a large attacking force."
"It was, three of our," he stopped. ",their largest combined." Cyrius shook his head.
"I regret not being able to arrive sooner."
"You would have fought bravely, and died." Cyrius sighed and reached into his cloak. When he withdrew his hand, he produced a small red crystal. The eight sides of the crystal were glowing brightly. "I need to leave these lands. Everything I need to leave is here."
"Everything?"
"Not you, you can come if you like."
"I must decline. I still have to find something ere I leave."
"How goes the search?"
Archer shook his head. "Not as well as I would like, though I have found more than I expected."
"I hope you find what you are looking for, friend."
"And I, you."
"Fare thee well." Cyrius turned and began following an old path. "May we meet again."
"May we meet again, friend." Archer watched Cyrius leave until he disappeared in the trees.
CHAPTER XXI
Cyrius walked until his feet were tired. Once they were, he took to the air. He traveled for near two days, always to the west, until he was tired and could go no further. Only then did he stop and rest. Not more than twenty feet was the great sea. The waters were spotted with islands, but it was easy to miss one if you did not know where to go. Cyrius hoped he would head in the right direction. During the siege, he had overheard a conversation about an island to the west of the Mirkilains. Anyone who was dissatisfied with the war, or wished to escape it was going there. Cyrius was tired of the war, and the Mirkilains. Too many memories, the past was haunting him continuously. He was tired.
He rested until he felt he was ready. He knew it would be either his last flight, or the start of a new life. Now was the time to find out. He strode up to the water's edge, let his wings catch the sea air, and lifted off the ground.