Chapter Six
The Sword of the Dark Emperor
It has been said more than once that War is a ravening beast; that it devours everything in its path and spares none. That war is a flame, which can be controlled by great precautions but if unchecked and unwatched can rage out of control in ways that are nearly unimaginable. Unfortunately, this is true more often than not.
The few Alanian forts that had stood in the way of Beld's advance had been torched and shattered; Kannon's forces long since put to flight. Three nations remained that would oppose the Marmo; the Holy Kingdom of Valis, the Desert Kingdom of Flaim, and the Dragon's Kingdom of Moss. Valis stood between the war machine and the other two; it was forced to bear the brunt of the attacks.
The holy knights of Valis are among the strongest, most respected and feared warriors of their world. This is not due simply to their having a lot of money or something so mundane; most of them earn these distinctions through their skill and long years of training. They simply are that good. Even then, there are limits as to how far a warrior can go on simply skill.
While strong, those warriors who stood against the forces of Marmo were overwhelmed quickly by sheer numbers; what can one man do when besieged by dozens? Most who fought, fought bravely and well, and died from a sword or spear rammed through their back. Ogres, goblins, kobolds; all of them attacked, and hardly any were lost in their rampage across Lodoss.
Beld smiled grimly as the walls of the fortress shattered under a blow from Soul Crusher. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had an excuse to unleash its demonic power. He'd forgotten how much fun it was. Lowering the great sword, he gestured forward into the fiery hell that the place was turning into. "Go, Ashram."
The black knight simply nodded, then charged into the inferno, cavalry flanking him. Beld had little concern over how he did; he knew Ashram quite well, and knew he was a deadly warrior. Truth be told, he was probably deadlier than Beld himself if not for Soul Crusher.
The emperor watched the fire detachedly. "Crushing this place will force Fahn to come to me, face-to-face." His grin widened. Oh, he would relish that meeting.
One of the soldiers of Valis, braver or dumber (or both) than the rest, leapt from one of the battlements a good forty feet up, screaming his battle cry as he brought his broadsword down towards the hulking figure of the emperor.
Beld raised his sword casually, unleashing a pulse of demonic energy. The spherical burst sent the soldier flying, for all that he stood back up readily enough. "Well, so some of you are actually surviving? Can't have that, now can we."
"Damn you monsters..." The knight charged Beld on foot, his sword above his head. He didn't make it far.
Beld carelessly impaled him, disdainfully letting his corpse hit the tarmac. "Soon...soon you will meet your true enemy," he whispered to the unholy blade as it began to sullenly glow violet, shaking lightly in his hand.
Miles away, in the throne room of Castle Roid, Fahn stared as the glow surrounding his sword the Breath of Falis began to intensify as it called its answer to Beld's Soul Crusher. He was drawing closer; it was only a matter of time before the two who had long ago fought to save Lodoss from war would fight to decide its fate. "Beld..."
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Trent stared, oddly detached from the horror in front of him. He could remember the sights of Fortress Myce after its destruction, but this...this was far worse.
The burnt out remains of the village mingled with rubble from retaining walls and barns in the failing light, corpses strewn over the ground. Trent crouched down, seemingly to get a better look but more because he didn't feel the strength to stand. He remembered too much; he'd seen burnt and dying corpses in raids one time too many.
He frowned, his head jerking to the side as he heard groaning. Darting toward the noise, he heaved a flat rock off a man who was quickly moving towards becoming a corpse. "Hey...hang on, okay?"
The man's eyes opened weakly at the dark elf's voice, then closed as slowly. Trent sighed, letting his head fall back to the earth. "Men kill men. Men kill elves, kill goblins, kill ogres. Elves kill, kobolds kill...it never ends, does it."
Deed put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps. War doesn't care about people or status. It devours everything in its path." She gave him a small hug from behind. "All we can do is try to pull its fangs." Trent wordlessly squeezed her hand; he could use the comfort.
"Trent!" Slayn bellowed after the dark elf. "Get back to Valis and make your report! Etoh and I will stay here to help who we can."
Trent frowned. "Sorry, but I wouldn't feel right about just abandoning them all. I don't have your spells or Etoh's power, but I at least know..."
Suffice to say that Deed would have none of that. "Right! We'll get back to Valis as soon as possible." She turned around to Trent, her face shooting to within six inches of his. "Isn't that right?"
Trent coughed lightly (after backing far enough away to make it polite). He'd been told more than once that he was quite intelligent for his race, though his common sense suffered somewhat. Even so, he was at least old enough to know better than to try and talk down the female of ANY species with a head of steam (and it only took him one hundred and thirty two years.) "Right."
Woodchuck shook his head in disgust at the departing elves as they swung into the saddle. Disgust turned to agitation as they sped off. "HEY! Wait for me!"
Slayn chuckled lightly as they left, then turned back to the people around him. A mage's ability to heal combined with slightly more availability than your average priest was what made them so popular. If nothing else, he could help.
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Pirotess gazed calmly into the large fires of the Marmo forces current encampment. It took a bit of self-control to continue with thinking as opposed to watching the oddly gyrating (and thoroughly drunk, she assumed) goblins dancing around while other thoroughly drunk goblins leaned back and laughed at their antics.
Damn it, get out of my head! she thought to herself fiercely as a white- haired visage crossed her mind for the umpteenth time. She grimaced mentally, not letting the expression reach her face. That stupid assassin just had to save her that one time; he just had to intrigue her and spark her curiosity. He just had to prove himself as something other than one of the spineless, arrogant, simpering dark elf males that kept hitting on her who she rather openly despised.
She would have to hunt him down in the near future just to get to know him enough to decide whether or not she should be thinking about him this much. As it was, her head was starting to hurt, and her priorities were rather distorted.
She paused in her thoughts as some human fighter with a livid scar across the bridge of his nose smiled lecherously and began approaching. Oh, Clarol had interposed himself.
And she really could have used a nice target too.
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Ashram gazed purposely across the map imbedded in Beld's campaign table. "An advance party under Kashue's command has been dispatched from Valis." A dagger thudded into the wood of the table, for all that Ashram didn't seem to move when he threw it. "We'll probably meet up somewhere around this area."
Beld leaned slightly forward from his careless sprawl on a campaign seat. He hated Fahn, but he respected him enough to know better than to misjudge his capabilities. And one thing he had was a powerful army. "Ashram...join your forces with the elves and try to circle around their forces."
The black-clad knight frowned. "A sneak attack, my lord?"
Beld shook his head. "If we don't change our tactics, we'll end up in our graves." He raised a hand at the slight setting of Ashram's jaw. He was so controlled you damn near needed a doctorate in psychology and body language to figure out what he was thinking. "Don't think of our losses until now as a sacrifice. They're a shield, just as you will be if you die in combat."
Ashram allowed himself a grin. "As you may be yourself."
Beld grinned, gruffly chuckling. Oh, it was nice to have a few underlings who weren't terrified sycophants; they kept things interesting. Both he and his greatest general paused at the sound of a scuffle outside the tent.
The scarred soldier shook his head, blinking repeatedly as he drew himself up from the ground. "Son of a..."
Clarol gazed at him contemptuously. How dare this human trash even think about such things. "Pirotess is one of the greatest of the dark elf women," he said calmly. "She is not one to dally with human men."
The soldier drew himself to his feet, glaring at the elf. "What? You think that humans aren't good enough?"
Clarol cocked his head to the side at the precise angle for insult. "What, do you think that you're our betters?"
Broadsword cleared its sheath. "You...you son of a bitch!" He started huffing and bellowing as he swung at the elf. Clarol ignored and dodged the strikes with a calculated ease, specifically intended to insult. He spun past one particularly vicious lunge, and planting his foot in the man's backside sent him to his knees. The soldier lunged back to his feet for another attack, but the dark elf had had enough. Rapier in hand, he disarmed him with a quick riposte.
The human fell to his knees as Clarol raised his sword. "Now, you DIE!" He winced as the sword began its down stroke, only to clang off a dagger blade. Clarol drew back as Ashram interposed himself. Sure he was a human, but the black knight was a hell of a lot more dangerous than he was himself.
"Captain!" The soldier crowed. Glaring at the dark elf, he sneered, "think you can just screw with us humans?"
Ashram didn't bother to look as the pommel of his dagger slammed into the soldier's jaw, sending him through a neat grande pirouette before he once again fell to his backside. Ashram glared coldly at the idiot. "Know this. Those who don't know their places don't last long on Marmo. Am I perfectly clear?"
The soldier winced as he checked his teeth. "Yeth thir."
Pirotess turned away from them both as she returned to thought. Humans were a strange race, weren't they.
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Back in Roid, Fahn smiled pleasantly at Trent (I'm pretty sure he did; its hard to tell through all that beard). "So, you've made it back safely. What have you learned of the witch Karla?"
Trent stood up, formalities having been fulfilled. "Wort seemed to know a good deal about her. According to him, we were right to think she was alive during the age of Sorcery, a survivor of Kastuul." His eyes went further away. "Her sole purpose he says, is to 'balance the scales of history,' to ensure that power doesn't ever grow too concentrated. For her methods, King and Thrall alike are her pawns."
Fahn sighed thoughtfully at the statement. "'Pawns of history...' aren't we all."
Kashue strode into the room. "Well, you survived your trials, did you?" Any note of forced joviality was well hidden. "Looks like you're still all in one piece, eh?"
Deed interposed herself between Trent and the King who seemed intent on giving him a bear hug. "You keep this up, 'your majesty,' and he'll BREAK before he has a chance to fight this war."
Fahn bit his lip, grateful for his screen of hair. It would have been unseemly after all to start laughing at the nonplussed Mercenary King. Getting himself under control, he looked back at Trent. "Please, take a look to the side."
Trent shrugged nonchalantly at the display stand there. "I was wondering why that was there. Who's to be knighted?"
Erected on the stand was a set of half-plate armor, all gleaming, mirror- polished steel. Silver and faint lace-work gold glittered along edges, a cruciform imbedded in the chest of the breastplate. Shoulder guards and greaves finished it out, while a sword and shield leaned against the right leg. The last piece proved to be a long, crimson cloak with a golden cross on the back, slung over the left shoulder.
Fahn smiled at him, this time openly. "It is to be yours. If you wish to, I would be honored if you would fight beside me as a Holy Knight of Valis."
Dead. Silence.
Trent froze at that. He'd been appraising the armor and sword, and it was certainly top quality. Not quite what a king would wear, but no knight would ever expect that. Still, a Holy Knight of Valis?! For god's sake, he was a dark elf! He may not follow the Marmo, but he still owed his religious loyalty to Falaris, God of Night and Darkness; he couldn't very well go prancing around in the armor of his God's opposite!
Trent took a deep breath, steadying himself before he answered. "Your majesty, this is an...honor, that I would never presume to expect of you. However, while I ride to fight beside you, I wish to do it simply as who I am; Trent Shadowlight, a dark elf. To be a holy knight is one thing I would never allow myself to consider."
(Sighs of relief.)
Fahn nodded. He hadn't really expected him to accept, but the gesture had to be extended.
Outside, Trent and Deed watched from the battlements as Kashue rode off at the head of a large group of his country's light cavalry. Abruptly, they leapt to the side as a throwing dagger managed to imbed itself into the flagstones at their feet. "Who's there?!"
Woodchuck laughed quietly as he stepped from behind the turrets. Deed gaped at him in indignant shock. "Woodchuck?!" She glared at him, the shock fading away. "If this is some kind of joke, it's in very poor taste!"
"Hey, there, don't worry so much. Just seeing what you two can do. This will be your first war, won't it?"
Trent shook his head. "Don't worry so much. I can handle myself quite well."
"No matter how many people you might have to kill?" he asked, his eyes glinting. "After all, once you're on the battlefield, you'll most likely forget all the suffering we saw on the way here. If you can't, you'll be in trouble, cause you won't be able to kill." He turned to stride away. "Helluva choice, isn't it?"
Trent laughed humorlessly, momentarily stopping both of them. "You think I'm going to be a bleeding heart? I haven't the slightest problem killing the people who want me dead."
Deed stared in shock at the dark elf. For the first time since she'd met him, he was behaving like everything she'd been told dark elves were.
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Etoh sighed tiredly as he fed more energy towards one of the less severely wounded villagers. They'd been at this for hours now; Slayn's magic and his cleric's power trying to keep these people alive, and it was getting exhausting. At least no one else has died here, he thought tiredly. He paused as he stopped, frowning. He couldn't recall any stop to the energies; when he paused, Slayn was always healing someone else. So why had everything in the energy planes gone 'quiet?' "Slayn?"
The mage in question was leaning back against a wall, resting as he waited. It didn't take long for his target to arrive. "Where are you going?"
Ghim froze. He'd hoped that no one would notice his staying despite his rather apparent lack of healing skills. Then he'd hoped that Slayn and Etoh would be too busy healing all the people to notice when he took off. Wishful thinking, it seemed.
Slayn rose slowly. "Do you intend to face her yourself?" He could remember Ghim calling Karla Leylia; he could only assume that whatever Karla was, her body was that of the missing priestess. When you're a mage, you get used to such strange things happening.
Ghim winced silently to himself as memories returned. Not of the young girl he'd known, but of the witch, the words he'd heard in his mind when he'd spoken her true name.
"Leylia? Yes, I believe that was what this body was called long ago. Now? Now Karla is all that is left."
"I can't just leave her! I have to do something, damn it!"
Slayn knelt before him, crouching to eye-level. "When the time comes for you to face her, you'll face her with us as well." His hand rose.
"Slayn, what are you..."
Further speech was useless as a faint pulse of mage energy struck Ghim, sending him deeply into sleep.
"Slayn!"
He turned to Etoh as he ran up. "Don't worry. He'll be fine, and he needs his rest." Slayn's eyes turned far away, to the battlefields that would soon erupt across Valis. "We'll all need everything we have to survive this."
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Trent frowned to himself as he entered Fahn's throne room. For someone who has no rank whatsoever, I seem to be spending an awful lot of time in the presence of royalty. Spying the old king, he jogged over. "You wished to speak to me your highness?"
Fahn turned slightly, his expression as unreadable as ever. "The main force of Valis will be departing tomorrow."
Trent nodded. "I'll be accompanying you. I believe that Woodchuck and Deed may come as well."
Fahn sighed. "I don't think I'm going to come back from this alive."
Trent paused as the situation turned serious. After a time of silence, he spoke. "Do you want me to say something like, 'don't think that way, I know you'll come back?' I hope not. Several thousand men are going to die tomorrow; you're just as likely to die in battle as are the nameless foot soldiers."
Fahn nodded. He hadn't expected any comforting lies from him. He preferred his blatant honesty. More to the point, he needed it. "Will you listen to an old story?"
Trent blinked in confusion. "Old story?"
"Of when Valis was not nearly so stable a nation as it is today. Nearly thirty years ago, I and the holy knights were attempting to unify all of Lodoss."
Trent froze. Karla's words... "Unification of all Lodoss?"
Fahn sighed deeply. "I didn't want to do it by force, so I made many treaties and pacts instead. But then..." He paused, his voice involuntarily choking up. "A tribe in what would later become the kingdom of Flaim came to the city. They were being harassed by Shooting Star, the Ancient demon dragon of Fire Dragon Mountain. They...they demanded my daughter Fiana as a sacrifice to try and placate it."
Trent froze in horror. He knew the desert people were ruthless; otherwise you didn't survive that hellish wasteland. But this... "What did you do?"
Fahn sighed. "I tore up the treaty then and there. I refused, and they threatened war. That's when your father came in."
Trent froze again, this time in absolute, total shock. "You. Knew. My. Father?"
Fahn nodded. "What most of my knights considered an unpleasant aspect of our kingdom; Kale served me as a scout and spy who was second to none. He whispered something from behind the throne; I thought at first he'd gone mad." Fahn swallowed as his throat went dry. Dulled by decades, and it still made him nervous. "He told me that he would deal with Shooting Star himself, so I would have no reason to break the treaty. I chose to destroy it from then on; I allowed him to go, but the pact had been severed between myself and that tribe."
Trent breathed very shallowly, seeming to have gone dead. This? This was something he'd never imagined, something he'd never have dared to consider. "What happened then?"
Fahn's head dropped, his eyes closing. "Reports later indicated that there was some kind of battle in the depths of the volcano Shooting Star laired in. We're not sure what happened, but we do know two things. Kale died in battle against the Demon Dragon, but in doing so he somehow managed to harm that behemoth so greatly that to this day it has not attacked the people of Lodoss." Fahn turned ponderously to Trent, every year making itself known. "In short, my kingdom, my daughter, and for a great time the peace of Lodoss was due to one outcast dark elf willing to die for me."
Trent stared, his surroundings no longer registering. He remembered that day, the last time he saw his father. The sight of him striding away, the memory of that sad smile; and more importantly, the sword he'd been given. "Father..."
Fahn walked away, but spoke nonetheless. "I was powerless. That is not a comforting thing for anyone to feel, a monarch especially. I...have never cursed being King so loudly as I did when I learned of his death."
Trent ignored the words. He knew Fahn was telling the truth; the politician in Fahn had disappeared as he let his emotions free for what could have been the first time in decades. It didn't really make him feel any better though.
Somehow or another, Trent ended up on one of Roid's battlements, deep in thought. At least, that was where Deedlit found him.
Smiling, she skipped across the stones toward the brooding dark elf. She didn't stop until her face was within a foot of his. "Found you." Spinning twice, she unslung a lute from her back, jumping lightly to sit on one of the mahicolations. Smiling at him, she began strumming an odd song, elvish in its haunting tones.
He stared at her as she played. For the first time since he'd met her, he allowed himself to realize just how beautiful she was. He was used to human women, and he found many attractive. Her? She was something else entirely. With the moonlight glinting from almost white hair, almost white skin, she seemed to be some kind of star sprite come down to earth. It was an uncomfortable realization, but he cared for her. "Deed?"
"Hmmm?"
"I want you to stay out of the battle tomorrow."
The music froze as she opened her eyes, not looking in his direction. Calmly, she waited for him.
"Deed..."
"No."
His eyes narrowed in slight anger. "You have no idea whether or not you'll survive tomorrow."
She spun to face him, her own ire clear. "Then why are you going?"
Trent snorted in disgust. "I saw the way you looked at me in Fortress Myce. You know what I am. An assassin. A cold-blooded killer. It's my job to kill and die. That's why I'm willing to fight in this insane battle."
Deed smiled at him. He'd asked because he cared, and he probably didn't realize what he'd left unsaid. "Then I'll guard your back for you. There are hundreds of people who'd want to stab you from behind."
Trent stared at her as she resumed her playing. "Why won't you ever do what I ask?"
"Because if I did, you'd always be alone," she answered succinctly.
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Farther away, Ashram's advance forces had paused. The black knight turned, nodding to Clarol. The dark elf turned and charged ahead, eager for the glory that would soon be his.
Ashram paused as that dark elf woman knelt before him. "I wish to accompany you on this."
He shrugged if off, and spun his horse to follow behind Clarol's ambush party. She would do what she liked; he knew that much.
Pirotess smiled. Clarol would not be the only one to gain glory and honor from this.
Watching from atop nearby mountains, Wagnard grinned insanely at the soon to be battlefield, an unholy crimson light flaring around him. "Soon, Kardis. Soon this battlefield will run crimson with the blood of thousands." He began cackling to himself. "It will be the greatest of all sacrifices to you!"
Deep in Marmo, Narse stirred restlessly. For weeks, the black dragon had felt the powers of his goddess. Many things was he, but patient was not one of them. He wanted to fly, to hunt, to sink his fangs into the last of the dragons and prove his own power. He wanted BLOOD.
Beld slammed the point of his great sword into the ground, feeling it reconnect him to the land he ruled as Emperor. He frowned at Narse's restlessness. "What troubles you? Rest Narse. Your strength is not needed."
The black dragon reluctantly subsided. Kardis had chosen this man to wield the demon's sword. This man was his master, at least for now.
Beld withdrew and sheathed his sword, troubled. "Who? Who would dare to call on Narse?" He felt a shock run through him. "Could it be..." He knew of powers greater than his or the Demon dragon's; could this be one?
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Kashue grimaced as he stared around himself. This blasted mist and humidity was less than comfortable for a ruler of the desert of fire, and it would make the battle...more difficult.
One of his knights rode forward, equally troubled. "We have heard nothing from our advance scouts, my lord. What may have happened to them?" He paused as a shape began to resolve itself in the mist. "Who goes there?"
"It's one of the scouts!"
Kashue watched with narrowed eyes as the scout staggered past him, badly wounded by both sword and arrow. The scout paused a few feet behind the desert king. Abruptly, his face spasmed, his eyes glowing as fangs sprouted and energy erupted in him. He snatched his sword free and turned to charge the king.
Three seconds later, he fell as Kashue's sword rammed itself through his heart.
The mercenary king shook his head in disgust. Fahn was a much better trainer than that. "Using our own troops against us?"
Deeper in the mist, an eerie howling and clattering growls could be heard. He took a deep breath, readying himself for the inevitable battle.
"HERE THEY COME!"
Kashue charged, knights at his back into the teeming masses of goblins and humans. "STAND FIRM! THEY'RE NO BETTER THAN ANIMALS! SCOWL! SHOUT! THREATEN!"
He winced as he charged an ogre wielding a battle scythe. They were outnumbered severely. He could only pray that they would last long enough for Fahn's party to make a difference later in the day.
For now, all he could do was kill.
It has been said more than once that War is a ravening beast; that it devours everything in its path and spares none. That war is a flame, which can be controlled by great precautions but if unchecked and unwatched can rage out of control in ways that are nearly unimaginable. Unfortunately, this is true more often than not.
The few Alanian forts that had stood in the way of Beld's advance had been torched and shattered; Kannon's forces long since put to flight. Three nations remained that would oppose the Marmo; the Holy Kingdom of Valis, the Desert Kingdom of Flaim, and the Dragon's Kingdom of Moss. Valis stood between the war machine and the other two; it was forced to bear the brunt of the attacks.
The holy knights of Valis are among the strongest, most respected and feared warriors of their world. This is not due simply to their having a lot of money or something so mundane; most of them earn these distinctions through their skill and long years of training. They simply are that good. Even then, there are limits as to how far a warrior can go on simply skill.
While strong, those warriors who stood against the forces of Marmo were overwhelmed quickly by sheer numbers; what can one man do when besieged by dozens? Most who fought, fought bravely and well, and died from a sword or spear rammed through their back. Ogres, goblins, kobolds; all of them attacked, and hardly any were lost in their rampage across Lodoss.
Beld smiled grimly as the walls of the fortress shattered under a blow from Soul Crusher. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had an excuse to unleash its demonic power. He'd forgotten how much fun it was. Lowering the great sword, he gestured forward into the fiery hell that the place was turning into. "Go, Ashram."
The black knight simply nodded, then charged into the inferno, cavalry flanking him. Beld had little concern over how he did; he knew Ashram quite well, and knew he was a deadly warrior. Truth be told, he was probably deadlier than Beld himself if not for Soul Crusher.
The emperor watched the fire detachedly. "Crushing this place will force Fahn to come to me, face-to-face." His grin widened. Oh, he would relish that meeting.
One of the soldiers of Valis, braver or dumber (or both) than the rest, leapt from one of the battlements a good forty feet up, screaming his battle cry as he brought his broadsword down towards the hulking figure of the emperor.
Beld raised his sword casually, unleashing a pulse of demonic energy. The spherical burst sent the soldier flying, for all that he stood back up readily enough. "Well, so some of you are actually surviving? Can't have that, now can we."
"Damn you monsters..." The knight charged Beld on foot, his sword above his head. He didn't make it far.
Beld carelessly impaled him, disdainfully letting his corpse hit the tarmac. "Soon...soon you will meet your true enemy," he whispered to the unholy blade as it began to sullenly glow violet, shaking lightly in his hand.
Miles away, in the throne room of Castle Roid, Fahn stared as the glow surrounding his sword the Breath of Falis began to intensify as it called its answer to Beld's Soul Crusher. He was drawing closer; it was only a matter of time before the two who had long ago fought to save Lodoss from war would fight to decide its fate. "Beld..."
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Trent stared, oddly detached from the horror in front of him. He could remember the sights of Fortress Myce after its destruction, but this...this was far worse.
The burnt out remains of the village mingled with rubble from retaining walls and barns in the failing light, corpses strewn over the ground. Trent crouched down, seemingly to get a better look but more because he didn't feel the strength to stand. He remembered too much; he'd seen burnt and dying corpses in raids one time too many.
He frowned, his head jerking to the side as he heard groaning. Darting toward the noise, he heaved a flat rock off a man who was quickly moving towards becoming a corpse. "Hey...hang on, okay?"
The man's eyes opened weakly at the dark elf's voice, then closed as slowly. Trent sighed, letting his head fall back to the earth. "Men kill men. Men kill elves, kill goblins, kill ogres. Elves kill, kobolds kill...it never ends, does it."
Deed put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps. War doesn't care about people or status. It devours everything in its path." She gave him a small hug from behind. "All we can do is try to pull its fangs." Trent wordlessly squeezed her hand; he could use the comfort.
"Trent!" Slayn bellowed after the dark elf. "Get back to Valis and make your report! Etoh and I will stay here to help who we can."
Trent frowned. "Sorry, but I wouldn't feel right about just abandoning them all. I don't have your spells or Etoh's power, but I at least know..."
Suffice to say that Deed would have none of that. "Right! We'll get back to Valis as soon as possible." She turned around to Trent, her face shooting to within six inches of his. "Isn't that right?"
Trent coughed lightly (after backing far enough away to make it polite). He'd been told more than once that he was quite intelligent for his race, though his common sense suffered somewhat. Even so, he was at least old enough to know better than to try and talk down the female of ANY species with a head of steam (and it only took him one hundred and thirty two years.) "Right."
Woodchuck shook his head in disgust at the departing elves as they swung into the saddle. Disgust turned to agitation as they sped off. "HEY! Wait for me!"
Slayn chuckled lightly as they left, then turned back to the people around him. A mage's ability to heal combined with slightly more availability than your average priest was what made them so popular. If nothing else, he could help.
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Pirotess gazed calmly into the large fires of the Marmo forces current encampment. It took a bit of self-control to continue with thinking as opposed to watching the oddly gyrating (and thoroughly drunk, she assumed) goblins dancing around while other thoroughly drunk goblins leaned back and laughed at their antics.
Damn it, get out of my head! she thought to herself fiercely as a white- haired visage crossed her mind for the umpteenth time. She grimaced mentally, not letting the expression reach her face. That stupid assassin just had to save her that one time; he just had to intrigue her and spark her curiosity. He just had to prove himself as something other than one of the spineless, arrogant, simpering dark elf males that kept hitting on her who she rather openly despised.
She would have to hunt him down in the near future just to get to know him enough to decide whether or not she should be thinking about him this much. As it was, her head was starting to hurt, and her priorities were rather distorted.
She paused in her thoughts as some human fighter with a livid scar across the bridge of his nose smiled lecherously and began approaching. Oh, Clarol had interposed himself.
And she really could have used a nice target too.
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Ashram gazed purposely across the map imbedded in Beld's campaign table. "An advance party under Kashue's command has been dispatched from Valis." A dagger thudded into the wood of the table, for all that Ashram didn't seem to move when he threw it. "We'll probably meet up somewhere around this area."
Beld leaned slightly forward from his careless sprawl on a campaign seat. He hated Fahn, but he respected him enough to know better than to misjudge his capabilities. And one thing he had was a powerful army. "Ashram...join your forces with the elves and try to circle around their forces."
The black-clad knight frowned. "A sneak attack, my lord?"
Beld shook his head. "If we don't change our tactics, we'll end up in our graves." He raised a hand at the slight setting of Ashram's jaw. He was so controlled you damn near needed a doctorate in psychology and body language to figure out what he was thinking. "Don't think of our losses until now as a sacrifice. They're a shield, just as you will be if you die in combat."
Ashram allowed himself a grin. "As you may be yourself."
Beld grinned, gruffly chuckling. Oh, it was nice to have a few underlings who weren't terrified sycophants; they kept things interesting. Both he and his greatest general paused at the sound of a scuffle outside the tent.
The scarred soldier shook his head, blinking repeatedly as he drew himself up from the ground. "Son of a..."
Clarol gazed at him contemptuously. How dare this human trash even think about such things. "Pirotess is one of the greatest of the dark elf women," he said calmly. "She is not one to dally with human men."
The soldier drew himself to his feet, glaring at the elf. "What? You think that humans aren't good enough?"
Clarol cocked his head to the side at the precise angle for insult. "What, do you think that you're our betters?"
Broadsword cleared its sheath. "You...you son of a bitch!" He started huffing and bellowing as he swung at the elf. Clarol ignored and dodged the strikes with a calculated ease, specifically intended to insult. He spun past one particularly vicious lunge, and planting his foot in the man's backside sent him to his knees. The soldier lunged back to his feet for another attack, but the dark elf had had enough. Rapier in hand, he disarmed him with a quick riposte.
The human fell to his knees as Clarol raised his sword. "Now, you DIE!" He winced as the sword began its down stroke, only to clang off a dagger blade. Clarol drew back as Ashram interposed himself. Sure he was a human, but the black knight was a hell of a lot more dangerous than he was himself.
"Captain!" The soldier crowed. Glaring at the dark elf, he sneered, "think you can just screw with us humans?"
Ashram didn't bother to look as the pommel of his dagger slammed into the soldier's jaw, sending him through a neat grande pirouette before he once again fell to his backside. Ashram glared coldly at the idiot. "Know this. Those who don't know their places don't last long on Marmo. Am I perfectly clear?"
The soldier winced as he checked his teeth. "Yeth thir."
Pirotess turned away from them both as she returned to thought. Humans were a strange race, weren't they.
--------
Back in Roid, Fahn smiled pleasantly at Trent (I'm pretty sure he did; its hard to tell through all that beard). "So, you've made it back safely. What have you learned of the witch Karla?"
Trent stood up, formalities having been fulfilled. "Wort seemed to know a good deal about her. According to him, we were right to think she was alive during the age of Sorcery, a survivor of Kastuul." His eyes went further away. "Her sole purpose he says, is to 'balance the scales of history,' to ensure that power doesn't ever grow too concentrated. For her methods, King and Thrall alike are her pawns."
Fahn sighed thoughtfully at the statement. "'Pawns of history...' aren't we all."
Kashue strode into the room. "Well, you survived your trials, did you?" Any note of forced joviality was well hidden. "Looks like you're still all in one piece, eh?"
Deed interposed herself between Trent and the King who seemed intent on giving him a bear hug. "You keep this up, 'your majesty,' and he'll BREAK before he has a chance to fight this war."
Fahn bit his lip, grateful for his screen of hair. It would have been unseemly after all to start laughing at the nonplussed Mercenary King. Getting himself under control, he looked back at Trent. "Please, take a look to the side."
Trent shrugged nonchalantly at the display stand there. "I was wondering why that was there. Who's to be knighted?"
Erected on the stand was a set of half-plate armor, all gleaming, mirror- polished steel. Silver and faint lace-work gold glittered along edges, a cruciform imbedded in the chest of the breastplate. Shoulder guards and greaves finished it out, while a sword and shield leaned against the right leg. The last piece proved to be a long, crimson cloak with a golden cross on the back, slung over the left shoulder.
Fahn smiled at him, this time openly. "It is to be yours. If you wish to, I would be honored if you would fight beside me as a Holy Knight of Valis."
Dead. Silence.
Trent froze at that. He'd been appraising the armor and sword, and it was certainly top quality. Not quite what a king would wear, but no knight would ever expect that. Still, a Holy Knight of Valis?! For god's sake, he was a dark elf! He may not follow the Marmo, but he still owed his religious loyalty to Falaris, God of Night and Darkness; he couldn't very well go prancing around in the armor of his God's opposite!
Trent took a deep breath, steadying himself before he answered. "Your majesty, this is an...honor, that I would never presume to expect of you. However, while I ride to fight beside you, I wish to do it simply as who I am; Trent Shadowlight, a dark elf. To be a holy knight is one thing I would never allow myself to consider."
(Sighs of relief.)
Fahn nodded. He hadn't really expected him to accept, but the gesture had to be extended.
Outside, Trent and Deed watched from the battlements as Kashue rode off at the head of a large group of his country's light cavalry. Abruptly, they leapt to the side as a throwing dagger managed to imbed itself into the flagstones at their feet. "Who's there?!"
Woodchuck laughed quietly as he stepped from behind the turrets. Deed gaped at him in indignant shock. "Woodchuck?!" She glared at him, the shock fading away. "If this is some kind of joke, it's in very poor taste!"
"Hey, there, don't worry so much. Just seeing what you two can do. This will be your first war, won't it?"
Trent shook his head. "Don't worry so much. I can handle myself quite well."
"No matter how many people you might have to kill?" he asked, his eyes glinting. "After all, once you're on the battlefield, you'll most likely forget all the suffering we saw on the way here. If you can't, you'll be in trouble, cause you won't be able to kill." He turned to stride away. "Helluva choice, isn't it?"
Trent laughed humorlessly, momentarily stopping both of them. "You think I'm going to be a bleeding heart? I haven't the slightest problem killing the people who want me dead."
Deed stared in shock at the dark elf. For the first time since she'd met him, he was behaving like everything she'd been told dark elves were.
--------
Etoh sighed tiredly as he fed more energy towards one of the less severely wounded villagers. They'd been at this for hours now; Slayn's magic and his cleric's power trying to keep these people alive, and it was getting exhausting. At least no one else has died here, he thought tiredly. He paused as he stopped, frowning. He couldn't recall any stop to the energies; when he paused, Slayn was always healing someone else. So why had everything in the energy planes gone 'quiet?' "Slayn?"
The mage in question was leaning back against a wall, resting as he waited. It didn't take long for his target to arrive. "Where are you going?"
Ghim froze. He'd hoped that no one would notice his staying despite his rather apparent lack of healing skills. Then he'd hoped that Slayn and Etoh would be too busy healing all the people to notice when he took off. Wishful thinking, it seemed.
Slayn rose slowly. "Do you intend to face her yourself?" He could remember Ghim calling Karla Leylia; he could only assume that whatever Karla was, her body was that of the missing priestess. When you're a mage, you get used to such strange things happening.
Ghim winced silently to himself as memories returned. Not of the young girl he'd known, but of the witch, the words he'd heard in his mind when he'd spoken her true name.
"Leylia? Yes, I believe that was what this body was called long ago. Now? Now Karla is all that is left."
"I can't just leave her! I have to do something, damn it!"
Slayn knelt before him, crouching to eye-level. "When the time comes for you to face her, you'll face her with us as well." His hand rose.
"Slayn, what are you..."
Further speech was useless as a faint pulse of mage energy struck Ghim, sending him deeply into sleep.
"Slayn!"
He turned to Etoh as he ran up. "Don't worry. He'll be fine, and he needs his rest." Slayn's eyes turned far away, to the battlefields that would soon erupt across Valis. "We'll all need everything we have to survive this."
--------
Trent frowned to himself as he entered Fahn's throne room. For someone who has no rank whatsoever, I seem to be spending an awful lot of time in the presence of royalty. Spying the old king, he jogged over. "You wished to speak to me your highness?"
Fahn turned slightly, his expression as unreadable as ever. "The main force of Valis will be departing tomorrow."
Trent nodded. "I'll be accompanying you. I believe that Woodchuck and Deed may come as well."
Fahn sighed. "I don't think I'm going to come back from this alive."
Trent paused as the situation turned serious. After a time of silence, he spoke. "Do you want me to say something like, 'don't think that way, I know you'll come back?' I hope not. Several thousand men are going to die tomorrow; you're just as likely to die in battle as are the nameless foot soldiers."
Fahn nodded. He hadn't expected any comforting lies from him. He preferred his blatant honesty. More to the point, he needed it. "Will you listen to an old story?"
Trent blinked in confusion. "Old story?"
"Of when Valis was not nearly so stable a nation as it is today. Nearly thirty years ago, I and the holy knights were attempting to unify all of Lodoss."
Trent froze. Karla's words... "Unification of all Lodoss?"
Fahn sighed deeply. "I didn't want to do it by force, so I made many treaties and pacts instead. But then..." He paused, his voice involuntarily choking up. "A tribe in what would later become the kingdom of Flaim came to the city. They were being harassed by Shooting Star, the Ancient demon dragon of Fire Dragon Mountain. They...they demanded my daughter Fiana as a sacrifice to try and placate it."
Trent froze in horror. He knew the desert people were ruthless; otherwise you didn't survive that hellish wasteland. But this... "What did you do?"
Fahn sighed. "I tore up the treaty then and there. I refused, and they threatened war. That's when your father came in."
Trent froze again, this time in absolute, total shock. "You. Knew. My. Father?"
Fahn nodded. "What most of my knights considered an unpleasant aspect of our kingdom; Kale served me as a scout and spy who was second to none. He whispered something from behind the throne; I thought at first he'd gone mad." Fahn swallowed as his throat went dry. Dulled by decades, and it still made him nervous. "He told me that he would deal with Shooting Star himself, so I would have no reason to break the treaty. I chose to destroy it from then on; I allowed him to go, but the pact had been severed between myself and that tribe."
Trent breathed very shallowly, seeming to have gone dead. This? This was something he'd never imagined, something he'd never have dared to consider. "What happened then?"
Fahn's head dropped, his eyes closing. "Reports later indicated that there was some kind of battle in the depths of the volcano Shooting Star laired in. We're not sure what happened, but we do know two things. Kale died in battle against the Demon Dragon, but in doing so he somehow managed to harm that behemoth so greatly that to this day it has not attacked the people of Lodoss." Fahn turned ponderously to Trent, every year making itself known. "In short, my kingdom, my daughter, and for a great time the peace of Lodoss was due to one outcast dark elf willing to die for me."
Trent stared, his surroundings no longer registering. He remembered that day, the last time he saw his father. The sight of him striding away, the memory of that sad smile; and more importantly, the sword he'd been given. "Father..."
Fahn walked away, but spoke nonetheless. "I was powerless. That is not a comforting thing for anyone to feel, a monarch especially. I...have never cursed being King so loudly as I did when I learned of his death."
Trent ignored the words. He knew Fahn was telling the truth; the politician in Fahn had disappeared as he let his emotions free for what could have been the first time in decades. It didn't really make him feel any better though.
Somehow or another, Trent ended up on one of Roid's battlements, deep in thought. At least, that was where Deedlit found him.
Smiling, she skipped across the stones toward the brooding dark elf. She didn't stop until her face was within a foot of his. "Found you." Spinning twice, she unslung a lute from her back, jumping lightly to sit on one of the mahicolations. Smiling at him, she began strumming an odd song, elvish in its haunting tones.
He stared at her as she played. For the first time since he'd met her, he allowed himself to realize just how beautiful she was. He was used to human women, and he found many attractive. Her? She was something else entirely. With the moonlight glinting from almost white hair, almost white skin, she seemed to be some kind of star sprite come down to earth. It was an uncomfortable realization, but he cared for her. "Deed?"
"Hmmm?"
"I want you to stay out of the battle tomorrow."
The music froze as she opened her eyes, not looking in his direction. Calmly, she waited for him.
"Deed..."
"No."
His eyes narrowed in slight anger. "You have no idea whether or not you'll survive tomorrow."
She spun to face him, her own ire clear. "Then why are you going?"
Trent snorted in disgust. "I saw the way you looked at me in Fortress Myce. You know what I am. An assassin. A cold-blooded killer. It's my job to kill and die. That's why I'm willing to fight in this insane battle."
Deed smiled at him. He'd asked because he cared, and he probably didn't realize what he'd left unsaid. "Then I'll guard your back for you. There are hundreds of people who'd want to stab you from behind."
Trent stared at her as she resumed her playing. "Why won't you ever do what I ask?"
"Because if I did, you'd always be alone," she answered succinctly.
--------
Farther away, Ashram's advance forces had paused. The black knight turned, nodding to Clarol. The dark elf turned and charged ahead, eager for the glory that would soon be his.
Ashram paused as that dark elf woman knelt before him. "I wish to accompany you on this."
He shrugged if off, and spun his horse to follow behind Clarol's ambush party. She would do what she liked; he knew that much.
Pirotess smiled. Clarol would not be the only one to gain glory and honor from this.
Watching from atop nearby mountains, Wagnard grinned insanely at the soon to be battlefield, an unholy crimson light flaring around him. "Soon, Kardis. Soon this battlefield will run crimson with the blood of thousands." He began cackling to himself. "It will be the greatest of all sacrifices to you!"
Deep in Marmo, Narse stirred restlessly. For weeks, the black dragon had felt the powers of his goddess. Many things was he, but patient was not one of them. He wanted to fly, to hunt, to sink his fangs into the last of the dragons and prove his own power. He wanted BLOOD.
Beld slammed the point of his great sword into the ground, feeling it reconnect him to the land he ruled as Emperor. He frowned at Narse's restlessness. "What troubles you? Rest Narse. Your strength is not needed."
The black dragon reluctantly subsided. Kardis had chosen this man to wield the demon's sword. This man was his master, at least for now.
Beld withdrew and sheathed his sword, troubled. "Who? Who would dare to call on Narse?" He felt a shock run through him. "Could it be..." He knew of powers greater than his or the Demon dragon's; could this be one?
--------
Kashue grimaced as he stared around himself. This blasted mist and humidity was less than comfortable for a ruler of the desert of fire, and it would make the battle...more difficult.
One of his knights rode forward, equally troubled. "We have heard nothing from our advance scouts, my lord. What may have happened to them?" He paused as a shape began to resolve itself in the mist. "Who goes there?"
"It's one of the scouts!"
Kashue watched with narrowed eyes as the scout staggered past him, badly wounded by both sword and arrow. The scout paused a few feet behind the desert king. Abruptly, his face spasmed, his eyes glowing as fangs sprouted and energy erupted in him. He snatched his sword free and turned to charge the king.
Three seconds later, he fell as Kashue's sword rammed itself through his heart.
The mercenary king shook his head in disgust. Fahn was a much better trainer than that. "Using our own troops against us?"
Deeper in the mist, an eerie howling and clattering growls could be heard. He took a deep breath, readying himself for the inevitable battle.
"HERE THEY COME!"
Kashue charged, knights at his back into the teeming masses of goblins and humans. "STAND FIRM! THEY'RE NO BETTER THAN ANIMALS! SCOWL! SHOUT! THREATEN!"
He winced as he charged an ogre wielding a battle scythe. They were outnumbered severely. He could only pray that they would last long enough for Fahn's party to make a difference later in the day.
For now, all he could do was kill.
