Chapter Four The Desert King

Pirotess sighed deeply as she cleaned her rapier blade. These humans were outright pathetic; she knew children of her race who could have equaled them. Untrained, amputee children at that. Honestly, what kind of fool goes charging into battle wearing mirror-shiny armor that flashes and makes every archer focus on him? Who screams like a banshee as they run into battle to try and frighten an enemy (that was what the theory was at least. More often than not it was to suppress a certain bladder reaction.)

Like most of the people of Lodoss, she was aware that the two oldest kingdoms of the land had the least skill when it came to warfare. Like the long-since fallen kingdom of Sorcery Kastuul, they focused on mind rather than body. The problem with that was their lack of the magic that had made it work for the people of Kastuul. The end result? Legions of well- respected scholars and sorcerers who were patently useless when a barbarian or soldier came calling.

Looking around what had been yet another of Kannon's fortresses, she once again wondered how these humans managed to survive. Their short life spans made them so hot-headed and irrational, so prone to excess as they strained to squeeze life for what it had to offer. Not like the High Elves, nor like her people. Not like certain coldly efficient assassins...

She winced slightly, shaking her head. What the hell had been so special about that elf? Okay, he wasn't unattractive. Granted, he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. Um, he also happened to be considered the finest swordsman and warrior her people had produced in the past thousand or so years. Oh yeah, and he was also feared for the fact (and unfortunately not rumor) that he had on around five occasions slipped through supposedly impregnable security and assassinated various high- ranking generals and leaders of the dark elves.

So why had he bothered to save her and her three bodyguards? He supposedly hated his own people with a passion that bordered on insanity. But he'd chosen to help them, four people who had been partners in the conquests that had spurred his other...'removals.'

Pirotess sighed, shaking her head again. She honestly wished she didn't have to bother reconciling these strange feelings. That, or wish that Trent hadn't been someone her duty told her to kill; she would have liked to know what made him the strange creature he was.

--------

Trent was at the moment on his knees before the most powerful monarch in the continent, in a city devoted to the worship of Falis, god of light. Though he personally didn't like the rest of His worshippers, Trent was still a follower of Falaris, god of Darkness.

Which was why he was confused as hell. Oh, he could see himself in this situation, realistically. What he couldn't see was himself in this position without swords at his throat and back and him devoid of any manacles. What he couldn't see was him being thanked as a hero for saving a girl who apparently was the princess of said city devoted to the worship of Light.

"Please, rise to face me." Fahn really would have preferred to do away with this rigmarole of ceremony.

Slayn answered for them as they didn't bother moving. "No majesty, we cannot."

Fahn looked across the six before him, trying to reconcile their motley appearance. That, and wishing he couldn't see the resemblances between them and a group he'd fought with long ago. The tall, frail looking mage. The short, stocky dwarf warrior (which was really easy to find among dwarves.) The young, earnest priest of Falis. The high elf girl. The scruffy looking thief. And lastly, the dark elf assassin/ranger.

"Because of your actions, I have been made fully aware of the situation in our land. More than that, I have been blessed with the safe return of my daughter." His eyes fell on the elf once more. He had never been to close to elves; not out of dislike, they just stayed out of human affairs for the most part. Still, this young man resembled only too well a certain dark elf who had performed a task for him that he hated himself for. "You there, dark elf. What is your full name?"

Trent sighed inwardly. He really hoped no one at court would know about him. "Trent, King Fahn. Trent Shadowlight."

The only sign of recognition proved to be a slight tightening around the eyes. Shadowlight...

--------

Lodoss is set in the south of the world known as Forceria. This means that normal temperature constants of people who live in the north are flipped; its actually colder to the south and warmer in the north. Kind of irritating, really.

In the northwest of Lodoss was the great desert of Fire. The youngest nation on the entire continent made its home their, appropriately enough called Flaim. And as the sun set, three of its riders rode east for Valis.

Two of them were dressed well for the desert; pale, flowing garments of light cloth with turbans protecting their heads. The third one was...not. Around six feet tall and impressively muscular, he had chosen to wear dark gray full plate armor under a dark blue cloak. Not the most intelligent clothing choice where dark clothes and metal absorb crazy amounts of heat in a place positively rife with heat and sunlight.

He turned to the side, spotting three flyers in the north. What could have been birds quickly established themselves to be thirty foot long wyverns.

One of the sensible riders drew a crossbow as they appeared ready to make another pass. "Damned filthy beasts!"

"Hold your fire!" he Kashue, the armor-wearer barked. "Take a closer look."

Said closer look revealing tall, slender men riding on meticulously cut leather saddle set at the base of the necks on each of the wyverns. One specifically sporting long shaggy white hair and mustache despite his youthful face. "Why...it's Prince Jester!"

Jester grinned as he brought his dragon closer to the ground, skimming at just over twenty feet. "I pity your horses, having to run all this way to Valis."

The Kashue smiled at the jibe. "Will you be flying far?"

Jester nodded as he began slowly banking to the side. "To the northern frontier! With Mycen! When next we meet, we'll raise a cup together!" With two or three flaps, the great beast began rising to join the other two outriders.

Kashue leaned forward over his horse's neck. So the kingdom of Moss is on the move as well.

The three rode on for hours, eventually making the transition through desert and bare rock to grassland, and from there to the forests of Valis. As they continued their travel, mist began to rise around them. The fact that it seemed to be keeping pace with their horses was unnoticed by the three.

Abruptly, Kashue's horse shied violently in the mist. The other two riders continued on, something keeping them from noticing the loss of their third.

Kashue frowned as his horse seemed to calm down slightly. Slowly, Karla faded into sight before him. "Greetings, my lord Kashue."

His frown deepened. "Who are you?"

"I am known as Karla."

"Karla?" He allowed himself to relax slightly. If she had intended to kill him, she probably would have done so by now. "And what do you want with me?"

Cue the ever-present smile widening. "Perhaps to give you all of Lodoss?"

"What?" Kashue's eyes narrowed as his hand inched to the broadsword at his side. Only to freeze as the same pressure spell she'd attacked Trent with descended on him. He grunted desperately as he tried to draw the sword regardlessly, but she'd learned from her last encounter; don't give an inch.

Kashue's eyes narrowed as he slammed his spurs into the sides of his horse. The war stallion reared in pain, forelimbs flailing as it walked towards Karla.

She was a sorceress. A powerful, ancient one. That didn't make her immortal. Besides which, a horses hooves are strong enough to crack a human skull like an eggshell; enough to kill HER certainly. Just as quickly as she'd arrived, she vanished.

"LORD KASHUE!!!"

The two outriders came charging back; presumably, they had ignored Kashue's being left behind due to Karla and it had worn off with her leave-taking. "My lord, is everything alright?"

Kashue frowned in thought, for the moment ignoring them. He could have become the ruler of all Lodoss, if that woman's words were true. In other words, she'd offered him nearly unlimited power, and all he'd have to do was betray everyone he knew and respected then get himself saddled with paperwork until he eventually died from either overwork or just his muscles decaying with never being able to move beyond a desk. Yeah. Really tough choice.

"It's nothing," he said calmly as he returned to reality. "Let's go!"

--------

Within castle Roid, Slayn smiled genially as he looked around the milling people. Uncharacteristically, his garments were not his normal dull brown cloak and robe. He'd insisted on a robe, but it was instead a white silk garment, the collar and cuffs golden tablet-weaving.

Etoh grinned as well; at heart he was boy enough to appreciate the mill and bustle. "Quite the party, isn't it?"

"All for their morale, I daresay," Slayn agreed. Then he froze as two late arrivals joined the party.

Conversation didn't stop, but it certainly did lull a bit as the two elves arrived. Deedlit was dressed in a gown that would have been more appropriate for a human princess; carefully fitted and tailored in cream white silk, it gave her pale skin and hair a stunning counterpoint; she looked as though she had been carved of warm, living marble. Her normally free hair had been bound up with a dark green ribbon and small turban-like bundle, forming a single bun.

Trent's outfit was decidedly different, a far cry from normal human clothing. Predictably enough, he had chosen dark clothing colors, though cut in an elfin style. He was wearing loose pants in sapphire blue silk embroidered with silver and black vines, a similar shirt on top. Over that, he was wearing some kind of robe-like garment similar to his normal overcoat, though in the same dark blue as his other clothes. It was sleeve- less however, fastened by amber toggles similar to a Chinese tang.

Deed blushed slightly as she descended the stairs, escorted by the dark elf. "I've never worn anything like this before. Does it suit me?"

Fiana seemed to glow in pleasure at Deed's obvious like of the gift. "You look beautiful." She turned, somewhat disapprovingly towards a certain priest of Falis. "If only I could have gotten dear Etoh here to change as well."

Etoh didn't blush, but he certainly started sputtering. "I...I couldn't! I'm a priest after all!"

Fiana's displeasure turned curious. "Do they really teach you at the temple to never take off your robes?" Cue sycophantic tittering from all within earshot.

Slayn shook his head at the mirth, pausing as he noticed Ghim off by himself on one of the balconies. Like Etoh, he had eschewed any new formal clothing; for the most part he seemed to be eschewing any fun whatsoever.

Trent spared a glance towards Slayn as he headed for his grumbly friend. In all honesty, he would have preferred to be there himself; heck, fighting off carrion worms would have been preferable to all this socializing. If not for the fact that Deed had kind of...taken the decision out of his hands, he would have been there anyway, in his old comfortable clothing.

Slayn frowned as he neared the dwarf. Due to their heavy builds and robust constitutions, it takes a lot more to get a dwarf drunk or buzzed than it would a human or an elf. Despite these difficulties, it seemed to the mage that Ghim was well on his way to a drunken daze followed by a grand-daddy of a hang-over. "Ghim..."

The dwarf stared morosely into the distance. It was her. That damned witch... He shook himself out of his almost numb haze as Slayn touched his shoulder. "Wha? Ah, don't worry about me. I've just had a bit too much to drink."

The party continued on for quite some time, before part of the non-social entertainment began. An old, half-blind minstrel took a seat on a stool in front of the throne, an old lyre in his hands. Trent allowed his eyes to close as the music began. He recognized the song; his mother had often sung it to his younger sisters in elvish years ago. Unbidden but not unwanted, the words twisted themselves into the elvish he remembered.

"Six lights had gathered, evermore known as the Six heroes.

One of them a white-garbed knight, holy sword in his hand. Now the king of Valis; his name was Fahn.

One of them a knight, his heart stolen in the conquest of the demon. The emperor of Marmo, his name was Beld.

One of them a dwarf, final ruler of the Kingdom of Stone. Never to be forgotten, his name was Fleve.

One of them a sorcerer, a fountainhead of knowledge. The great sage of Moss, his name was Wort.

One of them a cleric of Marfa, protector of our motherland. The great northern priestess, her name was Neese.

The final one, a warrior of magic, the only flame which had no name to give..."

The rest of the song was interrupted as two burly men in turbans opened the doors, allowing Kashue to stride forward.

Some of the nonplussed party-goers abruptly regained their good humor as recognition dawned. "It's King Kashue!"

Deed's ears drooped somewhat. "Who's that guy?"

Trent whistled appreciatively. "Kashue Arnague the First. The king of Flaim."

Deed's eyes widened as her ears rose to normal position. The name she recognized, if not the face. "Him?"

Trent nodded. "Yep. The mercenary king who united all the desert tribes of Flaim with nothing but a sword." Privately, he wondered what he was doing here, or rather what he was going to do later; it was kind of obvious he was here for the war going on.

--------

On one of the cliffs surrounding the border, Ashram shook his head in disgust. Before him stretched a long line of forts, all log and mud walls with a handful of towers. "Hmph. So these are the supposedly famous border guards of Valis." Sighing in disgust, he unsheathed his sword, letting the moonlight flash along its edge. An instant later, he shot down the edge on horseback, bellowing in his wake, "ATTACK!"

The men below milled like fire ants disturbed from their nest at the inhuman howling of goblins and ogres. "It's them! The Marmo!"

One of the men leapt to the front to meet the charge. Unlike the others he wore gold-trimmed white plate armor, the mark of one of Valis's holy knights. Drawing his sword, he aimed a might slash towards Ashram at the point of the charge.

Said knight ended up nearly bisected as a slash from Ashram cut through everything on his right side from shoulder to below his ribcage. A second knight was just as quickly bisected below the armpits. Ashram didn't bother after cutting down a third; the knights had been the only ones theoretically capable of harming him, as well as the giving him a decent fight (not really; more wishful thinking on his part.) The remaining soldiers would soon be nothing but meat byproducts after the rest of his force struck.

--------

Silver clattered against silver as Fahn and Kashue toasted the alliance. "May we meet again..." Fahn began.

"...Under Falis's divine protection," Kashue said, finishing the traditional toast.

The formalities finished, the ball continued in earnest. Deed smiled pleasantly to some of the other young women gushing on about how pretty she was; 'that dress looks so good on you,' blah-blah-blah, 'what's that ornament on your head made of,' blah-blah-blah...It was more irritating and tiring than anything else. Having negotiated the social equivalent of the Gauntlet, she smiled as she noticed Trent standing off to the side, away from anyone else.

She glided over to his side, sighing. "It's so tiring, just smiling and laughing and talking about nothing, isn't it."

Trent shrugged absently. "I wouldn't know. So far, I've managed to keep from talking to anyone I don't already know."

Deed frowned at that. It had not been what she'd hoped for. She tried again. "How do humans wear things like this all the time? I can barely move. My normal clothing is much nicer, isn't it?"

Trent absently nodded, still just watching the people sway around for no apparent reason.

At this point, 'frown' is no longer sufficient to describe the expression on Deedlit's face. Angry huff is a bit closer, but still inadequate. "HEY!"

Trent jerked at her yell. Having an elf's hyper-sensitive hearing was not always pleasant. "What?"

Deed was still on the verge of bursting veins at his lack of social grace. Thankfully, she ended up flouncing away in a normal angry huff. "Never mind."

Trent sighed. "I can't do anything if you don't tell me what I did, you know."

--------

Within the barracks, Wood was at the moment laughing hysterically. "Whoo- ha-ha! Sorry boys, looks like its my lucky night."

The various soldiers couldn't help but stare in rather comic dismay as he raked in another armful of their pay. How the devil did he keep getting those triple sixes on the dice? It wasn't possible!

Wood tipped the dice one by one into the cup, swirling them joyously. "Round and round they go, a gamblers fiend or a gambler's fortune..." he paused as one swept coins into his purse in preparation to leave. "Hey, cutting your losses while you're ahead?"

The soldier laughed. "I just realized I shouldn't be here. I need to go make sure the dungeon's in order."

Wood glared balefully at him. "A good, dutiful jailor? Huh, won't miss you any..."

Another called to him as he left, "Oy! Say hi to Naba for me, will ya?"

The jailor nodded. "Sure, while his head's still on good terms with the rest of his body."

Wood blinked at that. He'd been in and out of dungeons most of his adult and a fair amount of his child life. Most people got just time in the dungeon to proverbially 'cool their heels' or maybe a flogging. Decapitation was reserved for the real criminals. "Hey, what did this 'Naba' do?"

"Killed his superior," spoke up one.

A second elaborated. "It's all because he's such a mean drunk. He got so wild that his commander tried to stop him. Beat the poor bastard to death without even realizing it."

Wood's squeegee blink returned, but he shrugged it off. Guy like that, it was probably better he got put down. "Oh well, here we go!" He planted the gambling cup on the table once more, a little too sure in his victory.

The soldiers gasped in outrage as he pulled it off. One of the wooden dice had broken, revealing a lead slug in one side to make sure it always landed as a six. "Why that dirty cheating..."

Wood blanked out the rest of the statement as angry eyes appeared. "Um...uh-oh..."

--------

Within the dungeon, Naba glared morosely around him. He was a hulking brute of a human; he looked to be damn near eight feet tall and probably weighed around four hundred pounds if the paunch and ham muscle was any indication. He didn't particularly look like the shiniest coin in the fountain either, what with his bowl cut and small, piggy little eyes. It wasn't his fault, damn it! So he liked to toss back a few once in a while! So he got a little wild! So he'd accidentally bludgeoned another person into bloody paste! It was that other guys fault! CURSE YOU, CAPTAIN! BECAUSE OF YOU I HAVE SEEN HELL! (1)

His mental rant was cut short as the door to his cell opened. He frowned as he stooped to clear the door. To one side was his jailor, sound asleep. Then he noticed the pretty woman in the black cape in front of him. "Huh?" (sheer genius, isn't he folks?)

Karla smiled. Sometimes, just sometimes, it was far too easy. Thank god for meat-headed goliaths like him. It barely took the tiniest shred of power to properly motivate them for her own little ends.

Naba's already idiotic eyes glazed over as he watched the woman. "Kashue?" Her power flared once more, cutting off any possible other thought (again, far too easily.) "Kashue!"

--------

The unthinking masses, er guests in the throne room continued, totally unaware of what was happening a few dozen feet below them. Deed laughed openly as Fiana attempted roping Etoh into a dance with her. She seemed to be quite taken with the innocent young priest; who knew where that could lead. "I guess they don't teach novices to waltz at the temple of Falis."

She paused as Trent echoed her laughter, her eye once again catching Kashue in his rather barbaric (compared to the other guests) desert garb. At the moment, he was dancing with yet another of the young swooning ladies who seemed so eager to be around him.

Several of said swooning ladies were gushing enthusiastically at his dancing (living vicariously, she supposed). "Ooh, look at King Kashue. As skilled in the dance as he is with a sword."

Deed glared at them for a moment, then decided to show them a bit of elvish grace. Grabbing Trent's hand she began dragging him towards the center of the dance floor. "Come on. We're dancing too."

If he hadn't been dragged like that, he would most likely have face-faulted at that. "What?! But I don't know how to dance!"

Deed didn't even bat an eyelash. "Fine, I'll lead."

Dragging the still vehemently protesting dark elf further, she began easily swirling within the waltz. While no Fred Astaire, Trent knew at the very least enough to put his hands in the relevant spaces; right hand holding her left, his left hand at her waist.

Deed smiled as they began waltzing. "You're not too bad at this."

Trent for the most part was concentrating on several other things; not stepping on her feet, not stepping on the trailing hem of her gown, not touching anything he'd get slapped for, and most importantly of all, not allowing himself to think of how soft and warm she felt in his arms.

That more than anything else.

--------

Deeper in the dungeon, the currently zombified Naba stumped his way up the stairs, a cutlass in hand. He'd killed one guard already, in his escape; not that he noticed. The only person who'd really get his attention was a certain Mercenary King.

Woodchuck winced painfully, hitching at his shoulders and sides. "Bastards. They didn't have to beat me up that badly." He paused as he saw a large, ominous shadow creeping slowly towards the throne room. Spitting to the side, he slipped behind various pillars, tailing the hulk.

-------- In the throne room, Trent proved to be losing the war with his senses. Interestingly, it was the absolutely blissful, mysterious smile on Deed's face that was doing it and not the fact his left hand was inches away from her...

That thought was ruthlessly crushed along with any others along those lines. Though he did have to admit that he wasn't making as much a fool of himself as he'd feared. Not quite anyway. Guess having a natural agility about four times greater than a human's was worth something at times like this.

Kashue knelt to the floor before his dance partner, suavely kissing her hand. The cultured barbarian image was one that he couldn't seem to shake no matter what he tried; may as well play it to the hilt. In the middle of his farewells before letting a new partner hunt him down, Deed managed to accidentally bump into him.

He turned curiously, an apology on his lips to the two elves. It died as curiosity took its place; he'd never met a dark elf, or any kind of elf before. "So, you're the ones who saved the Princess, aren't you?"

Trent shrugged, his badly frazzled nerves thankful for an excuse to let go of her. "It's hardly what you're thinking, I assure you."

Further talk was forestalled by a very nice cliche known as the damsel-in- distress-E# seventh screech. In case you can't guess, yeah. Naba had arrived. Oh, and he was also covered in a guard's blood. Naturally.

To their credit, the knights didn't hesitate for an instant to get between this madman and the King, as did Trent and Kashue. "Protect the king!"

Naba ignored Fahn, staring listlessly at the two before him. "Kashue?" The desert king's eyes tightened at the inquiry. Naba's eyes gleamed insanely as he raised his sword. "KASHUE!!!"

Trent rolled to the opposite side as Kashue dodged, drawing the short dagger he kept on his baldric. Trent was uncomfortably aware of the lack of his katana. Still, like Kashue he felt that going anywhere unarmed was just plain stupid. He slipped his long dagger out from a concealed opening on his shirt's back. He still had his bracers fully loaded with eight throwing blades, but he couldn't be sure of a chance in this crowded room.

"TRENT!" The dark elf spared a glance to the side, finding Woodchuck with a broadsword in his hands. "Catch!"

Trent winced as the sword came whistling towards him, but caught it anyway. Broadswords are generally an ideal weapon; they reach a good balance between weight and strength; perfect if you're a human. For generally weaker elves, it's a bit clumsy.

As Naba drew up his blade for another attack, Trent leapt towards his shoulders, slamming the heavier blade against Naba's raised cutlass. It proved enough for one guard to toss Kashue another blade and make quick work of the deranged guard with a lateral cut.

--------

"OW! Geez, why can't Falis take it easy on me," Woodchuck grumped to himself as Etoh cleaned off some of the bruises left over from his little gambling excursion.

Etoh clucked to him in disapproval. "Falis has more important people to guard right now."

Deed burst into the room, having changed back to her old long tunic and cape. "Trent!" She paused as she took in his lack of a presence.

"He's off sparring with Kashue," Ghim supplied. "The king seems bound and determined to get the kid catalogued or something." Deed's frown was not lost on him.

--------

CLANG!

SHRANG!

VSSSSHRUANG!

Watered steel clanged and slithered against elven as the two sparred back and forth. Kashue sighed impatiently; he'd chosen full armor to complement the sword and round shield he had. Trent hadn't bothered with armor or shield, and was instead sparring with his dagger in the left hand, his katana in the right. "Stop dodging so much! You'll wear yourself out to quickly!"

Trent snorted disdainfully as he evaded yet another slash, though he did give Kashue credit; he was a master swordsman. Not perfect, but certainly good enough to equal Trent. "I'LL get tired? You need to stop putting so much force in blows that don't connect. Learn to strike full force only in the last fraction of a second before you contact a target."

The two continued sparring for around twenty minutes. True to Trent's words, Kashue was the one who gave up first. On the other hand, he HAD been fighting with about sixty pounds more metal than Trent had bothered with.

They both paused as mist seemed to curl through the room as Karla made yet another appearance. "You."

Kashue turned to the elf. "You know her?"

"She's the one who kidnapped Fiana," he supplied. "And then gave her up without a fight to weaker opponents."

Karla somehow laughed without moving her lips. "Did you enjoy my little distraction?"

Kashue glared at her carefully. "That man? So he was your doing..."

Karla eyed the two of them. She'd have to move quickly if at all; Kashue was far too stubborn and pragmatic, and Trent was becoming suspicious of the events around them; he wouldn't take anything she did at face value. "Aid me. We must save Lodoss. Let me be your ally..."

Kashue's glare turned into a frown. Her lack of a specific addressee wasn't lost on him. Just a warmonger, nothing more. He pulled back his arm and hurled the broadsword at her. "Begone, witch!"

The blade froze in midair about two feet away from her. "As you wish. Take care of the path you've chosen..." She laughed openly as the sword reversed itself to lance into the ground at his feet. "...my great mercenary king." Her laughter continued echoing for quite a while after she'd disappeared.

Trent frowned at the space where she had been. "What's her game?"

Kashue shook his head, though he ended up not answering as the wind began rushing outside the window. Rhythmically at that.

The guards gaped in what had to have been a first for Roid, or damn near any place in all of Valis; the sight of a wyvern landing in the middle of the royal courtyard. Jester quickly leapt from the saddle at the base of the winged dragon's neck. "I am Prince Jester of the kingdom of Moss! I must speak with King Fahn immediately!"

In the king's main council room, the various ministers, generals, and monarchs gathered to here Jester's report. Which gave Trent ample time to wonder just why the hell they'd included HIM in this little council of war.

Fahn turned to him. "According to what you've seen, their forces are not limited to humans?"

Well, that does explain a bit. I'm one of the only people who've already been in engagements so far. He ended up just nodding.

Jester aped his gesture. "We can confirm that as well. The northern border has fallen."

Kashue swallowed uncomfortably. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news my lord, but there is another concern entirely."

Fahn paused at the mention of Karla. "An ancient witch?"

The loremaster/archmage of Valis nodded. "She is spoken of in the legends of Kastuul, the fallen kingdom of Sorcery."

"So not only ancient, but a legendary witch." Fahn sighed deeply. Honestly, being the king sucked.

The mage continued. "Wort, the sage of Moss may know something of her."

"Wort? He lives far to the northwest. It is a long and dangerous journey to reach him. Who is to go there?"

"I'll go," Trent supplied from the shadows. He got a bit of a perverse thrill from a few of the generals jumping; he liked hiding, and it never failed to make him smile startling people.

Fahn felt an overwhelming sense of deja vu at his...volunteer. "Are you sure that you wish to make this journey?"

Trent destroyed the drama and tension of the moment (quite deliberately, I assure you,) by snorting in disdain. "You honestly think I want to be in the middle of a war camp where I'll most likely end up getting attacked by some twitchy new recruit as a spy? The trip to Wort's tower is going to be a great deal safer for me."

Kashue nodded. The elf was good at fighting; he stood the best chance of making it there and back alive. Not to mention the five others who would probably end up accompanying him.

--------

Beld smiled as he overlooked the hills of Valis's borderlands. The point of his sword thudded into the ground as he rested it there like a walking stick. "Fahn...I haven't forgotten you these past thirty years." An unholy, violet glow began to radiate from the blade, engulfing Beld as it streamed from him as well. "Just as the ground trembles before me, so will you and your beloved Valis. Fahn..."

In the heart of Roid, in Fahn's bedroom no less, a similar reaction was taking place. Set next to the door was the old armor stand that held Fahn's gear from the long ago war against the demon. In its sheath, his Great Sword, Falis's Breath quivered and rattled. Fahn sighed as he neared it. He'd expected as much. Taking the sword into his now abandoned throne room, he slipped it from its sheath as he sat there. Holding it aloft in the moonlight, it glowed a luminous, pearlescent white as though it had been forged from a star, and still retained its cold light.

He let it lay across his lap as his thoughts went towards its opponent, and equal. "Beld..."

(1). Couldn't resist. Sorry, really I am.