Chapter Seven The War of Heroes

Woodchuck sighed blissfully from atop his beige gelding. Here he was, a worthless if self-respecting thief, and he was riding into a battle at the head of the column of the strongest army in the entire continent. His belly was full, he was getting great pay, and he was a hero for saving their princess.

He didn't know what he'd done to make the gods pay up this big, but he wished he could figure out how to keep it coming.

"At the head of the column, in the center of the strongest knights," he quipped. "Doesn't get any better than this."

Deed laughed good-naturedly at him. "I wouldn't be so happy if I were you, Woodchuck. In a battle, this would be the first place the enemy would aim for."

Wood glared at her without too much rancor. "YOU certainly seem confident in yourself."

Deed smiled smugly. "It's very basic tactics."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Trent chuckled. They were riding into a godforsaken war zone, and those two were laughing and sniping at each other. What next?

Fahn frowned as the sound of hooves thudding against the ground alerted him. He didn't relax, despite the rider appearing to be one of his own scouts. "What news from the front?"

Trent groaned to himself as the scout insisted on leaping from his horse to properly prostrate himself before his king. This was war for crying out loud; a little etiquette could be sacrificed.

"My lord, King Kashue's forces have come under an attack by non-humans and are in danger of being overwhelmed!"

Fahn's eyes narrowed as he clenched the reins. "Damn you Beld, using these monsters..."

Trent grimaced as the order was given for them to move out. "Any idea how many goblins and such actually live on Marmo?"

Deed winced. "They're being used as cannon fodder. There could be thousands of them for all we know; TENS of thousands."

Trent urged his horse into a slightly faster clip. Trent had to leave now. The generally quiet and distant dark elf would have little place on the battlefield. The Assassin was needed.

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"HERE THEY COME!!!!!!!"

Kashue snarled openly as another wave of cannon fodder swarmed towards them. His own warriors were doing well, having managed to kill far more than they had lost, but they'd originally been intended as a scout force to make tactical choices. They could fight, and they would, but they simply did not have any chance of winning on their own. They needed support, preferably yesterday.

"STAND FIRM!" the desert king bellowed. "THEY'RE NO BETTER THAN ANIMALS! SCOWL! SHOUT! THREATEN!"

He'd already racked up an impressive kill ratio, as he bisected a kobold. Unfortunately, a big part of a melee battle is that what kills you isn't lack of skill, or weakness, or anything else. More often than not, its just that you can't defend against everything forever.

Clarol smiled as he charged Kashue, as quietly as he could. Killing monarchs generally got one a promotion. Showing remarkable restraint considering how hot-headed he was, he managed to bellow his war cry only at the last minute.

Kashue spun at the shout as the elf brought his rapier downward.

And fell, a heavy javelin sprouting out of his chest.

Above, Jester shook his head from atop his white wyvern. "So even the great mercenary king lacks eyes in the back of his head, eh?"

Kashue smiled in relief. Not only did the knights of Moss have training rivaling that of his own knights or Fahn's, the wyverns they rode tended to attract a lot of attention away from the rest of the fighting.

Jester wheeled and dove his mount, sending it skimming the ground low enough that its talons were able to slice up dozens of soldiers in a single pass.

Oh yes, dragon troops were GREAT.

Miles away, Karla smiled as the battle raged in her crystal ball. It wouldn't be long; soon she'd be ready to end this silly war. All she need do was wait.

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Above the battle, Ashram's forces waited on the cliff tops.

One of the soldiers frowned. "My lord, our scouts report that the main force is drawing near. If we let them join up, we'll be at an even worse disadvantage."

Ashram ignored him for the most part, marking out the little knots of resistance where the better fighters were making a more credible stand. "Our duty is to ensure our prey is in the jaws of the trap and incapable of escape. We will do nothing until then."

Below, Trent winced as he found Kashue. He was in quite good shape; a few dings in the armor, but it didn't even look as though he was wounded. "Hey, what's going on?"

Kashue's frown matched Trent's. The battle had abruptly slackened off once Fahn's main forces had arrived. He assumed that they were pulling back for a new strike, but with all this damnable fog, he couldn't tell a single detail.

Ashram closed his eyes, focusing all his discipline. It wasn't a well known fact, but he and Beld shared a very limited telepathic link; useful in combat, as it made botched commands almost non-existent. My lord, the prey are in the trap.

Eerily replaying the events of a week past, Beld's eyes snapped open. He grinned, and sent the command to his priests. The mist was unnecessary, even detrimental now. He wanted Fahn to know unquestioningly what he was up against.

Fahn's eyes narrowed as he could feel the Breath of Falis vibrating in his sheath. He could feel the powers of Soul Crusher as they fought against his own sword. "Beld..."

Beld smiled as he unsheathed his sword. It was finally time. Thirty years of waiting, and it was finally time. "Fahn..."

Deed's eyes narrowed as the mist began to dissipate. She could feel the pull of the spirits in its movements; unnatural movements. "Trent!"

The dark elf nodded, unsheathing his sword and dagger. "I can feel it. Get ready."

Soldiers began exclaiming in dismay as the mist revealed their position; surrounded, in the bowl of a valley, shear-faced rock cliffs surrounding them. And on every single side, soldiers, goblins, ogres, kobolds, and dark elves; all wearing the regalia of the island of Kardis's death.

Deed called out to Trent in particular and the rest of the army in general as she unsheathed her rapier. "Here they come!"

For reasons that puzzle the heck out of me, dead silence surrounded the field as Ashram, at the head of the party, drew his long sword and held it aloft. Every eye, all twenty thousand of those still living watched as he dropped it to point straight for the mixed forces of the three free nations.

Then, War was unleashed.

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Miles away, Etoh gasped in shock. He knew, somewhere deep inside of him that the battle had begun; he could feel the shock of deaths of those who fought. "Trent...Deed..."

Slayn looked up. Ghim had grudgingly agreed to wait for his own confrontation with Karla until after the war, and was at the moment coiling and braiding rope while he checked over his packs. At loose ends, and with all those who could be healed alive, all they could do now was wait. "Go."

"What?"

Slayn sighed. He could feel the deaths as well, and he knew what would be the outcome; more death. Marmo or Valis winning didn't matter to most mages; all that mattered was that people would die. "There's nothing more we can do here. The battlefield is one of the only places left for you. Go."

Etoh stared at him, then nodded, his resolve firmly in place. Leaping onto his horse, he charged for the south east.

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Deep in the Tower of Moss, Wort stared moodily into the flames crackling in his mantle. Had he allowed himself to, he could likely have felt the heat rolling from the fire, heard sparks and pine knots cracking, seen the rich hues of crimson and gold.

None of that mattered right now. All that mattered was the vision.

Like Slayn, Wort didn't think that Valis or Marmo winning would change anything. Especially not in the long run; neither had created this war. The one who orchestrated the whole thing was in another castle, watching just as he was. She was the one who needed to be considered.

He could see it far too clearly in his mind's eye; the new six heroes confronting Karla in her citadel; the dark elf and the high elf, mage and priest, dwarf and thief.

(Trent) "Why did you do this? Why did you start this stupid war?"

(Karla) "Why, to save Lodoss."

(Trent, snorting) "You honestly think that helping Marmo is going to save Lodoss?"

(Karla) "Should I have aided Valis then?"

(Trent) "WHAT?!"

(Karla) "It makes no difference to me. One side is as good as the other."

Wort allowed himself to return to the present. "That boy...he may be the key..."

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For the most part, fancy swordplay and such is useless in a true battle. Even in old movies and such, the staring down your opponent, the posing, the intricacies of fencing; they all take place in duels. Look once in a while at a real battle; you'll find that it's more a matter of trying not to succumb to bloodlust, slicing and hacking and bashing as fast as possible to try and stay alive. No speeches or billowing capes and glistening armor; it draws far too much attention.

Deed was a surprisingly proving herself a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. She was over a century in age, and versed in her swordplay for decades. Those that came near her rapier ended up slashed and stabbed to death before they had time to realize she was far from helpless.

Woodchuck had refused a sword. As he'd sensibly pointed out, he had never used one, and was more likely to decapitate the ally next to him than kill the enemy. The result? The thief was currently employing every dirty street-fighting trick he knew in conjunction with his foot-long tempered steel daggers, and was tearing into the warriors around him as easily as the high elf.

Trent? He had been trained from the day he was born as a killing machine; as a hunter by his father, as a murderer by his mother. He didn't shift through the battle, killing those who came near as the press of battle drew them in range. Tanto and katana whirled in long and short arcs as he slipped through the ranks like a shadow; everywhere he passed, opponents fell in pieces.

He paused as he noticed a gap in the battle; neither Marmo nor Valis soldiers fighting save three. Two soldiers were rapidly being turned into cold meat, by a single knight in black, full plate armor. Trent's eyes widened in shock at the sight. Him...It's him. Memory flashed back to fortress Myce, to the dark figure standing atop the blazing ramparts. Trent's eyes went dead as he firmed the grip on his blades.

Ashram was inwardly disgusted. Not by the bloodshed; the youngest people he knew of on Marmo with the luxury of squeamish stomachs were four year olds.

THIS was the strongest war machine in Lodoss? THESE were the greatest and strongest knights his enemies had to offer? If this was the case, he seriously questioned why the Emperor had waited so long before beginning his conquest.

A whisper of motion was his only warning as a new figure shot towards him. His sword whipped up into a vertical guard, deflecting the strike as the figure shot past him, sparks flying from where the blades met. Ashram's eyes narrowed as he recognized the dark elf as the one who'd stared back at him in Alania. "The criminal."

Trent didn't bother talking back, simply shifting his sword to a reverse position, more suitable for unpredictable speed slashes. The two dark figures charged again, longsword against katana as they strove to kill the other.

Ashram allowed himself a very small grin as he shoved the elf back. THIS was a challenge, a worthwhile opponent. Fast, nimble, and absolutely sure in his motions, this was a master of killing. An equal.

Deed's eyes widened as she saw Trent in a duel against someone strong enough to challenge him. Slipping her hand into a pouch near her waist, she hurled a trio of throwing daggers towards the knight.

Pirotess frowned at the sight of Trent and Ashram fighting. She didn't understand what was going on, but apparently he wasn't interested in fighting for Marmo. Of course, this is when she noticed the high elf lobbing daggers. Coming to the predictable (if incorrect) conclusion that she assumed Shadowlight to be a Marmo soldier, she leapt forward, deflecting two of them in short order.

Ashram spared a glance for the last blade, knocking it to the side with his sword. This momentary lapse proved deadly as Trent's dagger interposed itself next to his throat.

Both elven warrior maidens froze at the sight. Each assumed that the other had been Trent's enemy. Each assumed that the fight had ended.

Trent glared coldly at his foe's back. Then, he did the unthinkable. "Stay out of this, Deed." He snapped the dagger away from Ashram's exposed veins and shoved him roughly forward. "You as well."

Ashram spun as he stumbled forward. He stared coldly across the space at Trent for a few moments, then respectfully nodded to him. Trent echoed it, firming his grip along with Ashram's. A second later, they were both back at it, though with a noticeable difference.

Respect.

Ashram hadn't begged, nor would he have. He'd been fully prepared to face death for his actions. Trent could have taken advantage of an outside interference and coldly dispatched Ashram with pure logic. He'd chosen instead to kill him honorably. They would still try their best to kill each other, but they would do so knowing that whoever survived would have earned their victory.

"BEEELLLLDDDDDD!"

The two paused in their mutual attempts to turn the other into a meat by- product. Ashram chose to use this new-found camaraderie to shove Trent out of the way and to charge back into the mist.

The dark elf grimaced at his retreating figure, but let it go. It was actually kind of nice to have a rival. It explained a lot about why Ranma tolerated Ryouga.

He paused, wondering where the hell THOSE names and THAT thought had come from, but was spared further thought as Fahn continued bellowing like a wounded...something.

"BELD! WHERE ARE YOU BELD?! SURELY YOU HAVEN'T FORGETTEN MY FACE THESE PAST THIRTY YEARS!!! BEEEEELLLLLLDDDDDD!"

Normal battle is confusion. Duels are for honor on a field in the middle of a grassy knoll or something. Still, they're not unheard of on battlefields.

Almost eerily, the two sides separated to allow a decent ground for Fahn and Beld to hack each other to bits; the Marmo forces because they had a pretty good idea what would happen to them if they tried to keep Beld from fulfilling his obsession of the past couple dozen years, the Valis forces because when Fahn won, they'd be able to ride back home in triumph, make sentai poses while their eyes glittered, and boast about how great Fahn was on the battle field. Or something.

Deed idly supposed that she should be impressed by the current display of Beld and Fahn striding out to face each other, their chests swaying as they swaggered slowly forward, that black knight serving as Beld's second, Kashue as Fahn's. She turned to check Trent's reaction...

...and nearly had apoplexy as she noticed that scantily clad dark elf female who'd deflected her attack on Ashram standing right next to him. WHAT are they doing?! Why aren't the knights attacking her or something?!

Trent winced imperceptibly. He could FEEL Deedlit's indignation at him not filleting Pirotess. Oy, this wasn't going to be pretty. He walked over towards her, and bent down towards her ear. "Look, she's defecting from Marmo. I'll explain the rest later."

Pirotess's eyes narrowed as she saw him going for what looked to be a nibble or something. It was plain that there was something between the two; honestly, she knew of kobolds who could have probably seen it. So what had the high elf done to make herself attractive?

We now return you to your regularly scheduled duel of titans.

The two kings almost simultaneously drew swords, Fahn's glittering white, Beld's letting loose somber, violet energies. "This is the end...old friend..."

Beld smirked at Fahn's comment. He'd given up caring about the old king years ago; he wanted Fahn dead a lot worse than Fahn wanted him.

Doesn't it just warm your heart?

Their sheaths tossed to the ground at their sides, the two monarchs charged each other, swords raised.

To anyone even remotely sensitive, Soul Crusher and Falis's Breath clanging off each other was an extremely uncomfortable happening. The holy energies given of by Fahn's sword were savagely battling the demon power in Beld's; the clashes gave off surreal hisses and clangs, as though the swords had lives of their own, as though they were trying to kill the sword as opposed to the wielder.

Fahn grimaced as they entered a mutual sword lock. Beld was the stronger by a slight degree; so much of Fahn's time had been taken up in mindless bureaucracy that he'd had little time to train. Still, he wouldn't stop fighting. "Why Beld? Why is this fight our only choice?"

Beld snarled back at him. He was stronger than he'd remembered. "You will not have Lodoss!"

"I never wanted to conquer it, I wanted it simply united!"

"Unification, Conquest; there's no difference!"

The emperor of Marmo shoved Fahn back, his next counter-slash missing closely enough that Fahn's cloak was severed.

Trent winced, idly considering a judicious scalpel somewhere. Not in Beld himself, but maybe in the ground just to trip him. Fortunately for his honor, the choice never materialized.

"Trent..."

The dark elf paused at the deep voice in his mind, one he recognized. "Wort? What the hell are you doing? We're kind of in the middle of a war right now."

"I know that. Trent, this war is as nothing compared to the tragedy yet to come. You must stop Karla."

Trent paused, biting back his sarcastic retort (actually, just saving it for late.) "Why stop Karla? She's dangerous, but I don't think she's the kind to make direct confrontations."

"Karla was a native of Kastuul, the legendary Sorcerer's kingdom that ended seven hundred years ago on Lodoss. Having witnessed the struggles that destroyed her world, she is bound and determined to keep it from happening to Lodoss again."

Trent rolled his eyes. "So what, she thinks that stirring up wars is going to save the people of Lodoss or something? Brilliant, Holmes."

He got the distinct impression that he'd irritated Wort. "She is unbalanced with all of her years. She does believe that what she is doing will save the world, by keeping power scattered enough that it can never consolidate in great enough amounts to finish off Lodoss."

Trent paused. "Okay, I guess that makes a twisted, warped kind of sense." He sighed. "Alright, I agree that something has to be done, but what? In case its escaped your notice, I'm quite a bit weaker than Karla, and I'm a warrior, not a mage. So I hope you have a way around her near- invincibility."

"Her circlet. Karla's current guise is indeed Leylia, the daughter of Neese that Ghim searches for. It was not her only body, nor was it the one she wore in our battle against the demon thirty years ago. It is her circlet that is her true form; destroy it, and you will destroy her for good. If not, merely remove it and keep it from finding a new wearer, and she will be contained and harmless."

Trent squeegee blinked at that. "Thirty years ago? So, 'the flame which had no name to give..."

"Trent!"

The dark elf shook his head dazedly, taking a quick look around. Apparently, he'd been in some kind of a trance since Wort's spell had begun. Far enough out of it that Deed and Pirotess had noticed. Speaking of whom... "Uh, you can let go of me now."

The two blinked in confusion. They'd grabbed his arms, hugging them as they called to him. Pirotess had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, though it was nothing compared to Deed's outright blush. The two hastily disentangled themselves, for once ignoring the other's gaff.

Back on the field, the duel continued for almost an hour. Both warriors were very evenly matched; neither one was making any real headway against the other. Beld panted tiredly as he used his sword to support him partially. "Time hasn't really changed us all that much has it, old friend?"

Fahn ignored the 'old friend' remark, firming his grip on Falis's Breath. "I've got enough life left in me to finish you off."

Beld openly laughed at that. "Just what I was thinking." Tightening his own grip, he and Fahn began a simultaneous charge. The two leapt into the air feet before they met, slashing viciously, neither one bothering to try and survive the exchange.

Fahn's sword bit deeply in Beld's shoulder, severing muscle and bone as it buried itself over his collar bone.

Beld's stroke started at the left collar bone and moved down to the right, severing the great artery at the base of Fahn's neck.

They both collapsed following the exchange; Fahn dead as he struck the ground, Beld merely injured severely. Ashram charged forward to his king as he began staggering forward. "My lord!"

Beld looked up tiredly. He was exhausted; from the fight, from the campaign, and more importantly from the blood leak. He was hardly in any shape to fight, let alone defend himself.

Not the best condition to be in when a javelin abruptly materializes from ten thousand feet and hurtles through your chest.

In her castle, Karla smiled in deep satisfaction. The fight and the war had both gone precisely as she'd planned. "Lodoss shall never be conquered, nor shall it be unified."

Wagnard laughed as he viewed the scene from afar. This was perfect; it was only a matter of time now.

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Soul Crusher fell from lifeless fingers, its temporary master and host incapable of restraining any of it. The demonic energies of a Prince of Hell began seeping around the area, interacting with the godly energies of the now masterless Breath of Falis. In the maelstrom of conflicting energies, new forces began to stir; thunder, wind, water, and storm.

Lightning arced out of the sky, into the javelin pinning Beld in place on the field. Seconds later, a tempest erupted.

Kashue immediately took command. "Get under cover, before this storm eats you alive!"

The clash of demon's and god's energy had effects reaching farther than near anyone could have imagined. Five streams of energy raced from the battleground in the center of Lodoss; each with a great power to warn.

In the southwest, a lance of energy struck deeply in the waters, awakening Eibra, the water dragon. Known as the ocean's demon, he had reigned for eons off the coasts, one of five ancient dragons.

In the far northwest of Lodoss, in the great temple of Marfa, the first lance struck Bramd, the ice dragon; oldest, wisest, and gentlest of the five Ancient dragons.

In the north and center, a beam burrowed deeply into a volcano, striking the crimson Demon Dragon, Shooting Star; the undisputed lord of the desert, and the most powerful of all the ancient dragons.

To the west, a beam flared into the mountain caverns of the kingdom of Moss, disturbing Mycen, the golden dragon. Sleek, regal, and flying on wings more befitting falcons than dragons, he alone stood beside Bramd and the Good dragons.

The last beam flew far into the southeast, to the foundations of Castle Conquera. Narse, the black dragon who Kardis herself had chosen to guard her grave, roared as he awoke from his millennia of hibernation. His king was dead. Now, a new power would rise.

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Ashram slumped to the ground besides the corpse of his emperor, ignoring the howling winds and hellish lightning that flared angrily, hungrily around him. The dream of finally leading his people off the hell he called Marmo was destroyed. Beld had the strength of Soul Crusher; none would follow him without challenge. He could lead, but it would be a rabble.

It need not be...

He paused, as he heard a seductive voice. Turning, he stared at where Soul Crusher had fallen from Beld's grasp.

I have power beyond what you can imagine, warrior. Take me, and rule Marmo! Rule EVERYTHING!

Ashram's eyes narrowed as he looked over the blade. It would struggle to take control of him, to rule instead of him. It would seek him as a puppet, as a way to exert its power. He could take it up, and he would rule all Marmo, eventually rule Lodoss. The question was, could he master it? Could he bend the demon sword to his will? Was he stronger than the remnants of a prince of hell?

Firming his resolve, he grasped the carved ebony hilt, and stood. Violet light flared off the sword as it sought control only to rebound from the tempered adamant of Ashram's will. It raged for a few minutes, but in the end subsided. In time, it could learn what it wished. In time, it could master him.

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The storm raged for hours, battering everything in its path. In the end though, its power died down, leaving a barren, rocky plain swept clean of everything but the corpses littering it.

Trent stared moodily at the corpse of Fahn, somehow untouched by the ravages of the storm. He paused, watching Kashue stride away without touching it. "Are you just going to leave him there?"

Kashue paused for a moment. Without looking back, he swung into the saddle of his horse. "The dead lay where they fall. That is the fate of all men. Even kings."

Trent sighed as the king rode away. Turning to his own horse, he withdrew a long, wide piece of red cloth, the cloak from the armor Fahn had offered him. He'd accepted it, but refused to wear it in the end. Only now did it serve any purpose. Kneeling beside the fallen sword Falis's Breath, he slid it into the sheath. Ignoring the murmurs from nearby soldiers, as a dark elf was somehow able to safely handle the holy sword, he wrapped it in the cloak and slung it across his back.

Pirotess watched as he swung onto his horse. "Why are you taking that?"

He paused for a moment. "The people of Valis have lost their king. As Kashue said, his body will remain here. They deserve something they can mourn." Scooting backwards on the saddle, he turned to them. "One of you take that other horse, the other will have to ride with me..." He paused as Deed somehow managed to teleport directly in front of him. The pause turned to a sweatdrop as she stuck her tongue out at a glaring Pirotess. What have I gotten myself into?

Sighing as the dark elf female climbed onto Deed's former horse, he could only reflect that having to deal with two attractive female elves who seemed interested in him (and he was damned if he could figure out why) made fighting a near-immortal, seven-hundred year old, ridiculously overly powerful witch seem a lot less burdensome.

The worst that could happen with the latter would be him dying, after all. With the two elves? He shuddered. Some things, mortal man is not meant to know.