Chapter Eight Requiem for Warriors

The term 'checkmate' is derived from an Egyptian phrase. The phrase literally translates to mean, 'the king is dead, long live the king.' In a way, it reflects that nobility is an extremely transient thing, that kings come and go with time and no real stability.

Valis was becoming acutely aware of this fact, with the death of Fahn. Pirotess sighed disconsolately as she watched the court in mourning from an alcove in the rafters. Trent had been accepted; SHE had not.

As it was, she had to admit that she did feel some sympathy for the people in mourning, particularly the new queen, formerly Princess Fiana. She didn't like or understand humans to any large degree, but apparently there were SOME things that were worthwhile concerning them.

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Karla's castle was an old ruin of her bygone age, the Age of Sorcery. Planted firmly in the waters of an old lake, it appeared at first glance a run-down, barely-standing ruin. Aside from the fact that it would most likely survive several hundred more years, the initial impression was quite correct. Once you reach a certain age (beyond human norm, generally) you realize just how pointless it is to worry about appearances. (Bet you wish your parents would reach said age, doncha?)

Slayn sighed as he gazed towards the castle. He and Ghim had been essentially camped out here for the past two weeks, waiting for the others to arrive.

He just wished he knew more about the blasted place or the sorceress inside. His first and only attempt to probe its insides had resulted in the psychic equivalent of stumbling into a wall in the dark. Karla knew they were there. They knew that she knew. She knew that they knew that she knew, and on for all infinity. Which unfortunately left the only uncertain part being what would happen when they fought.

The mage turned to see Ghim carving some kind of comb out of the wood nearby. He'd remembered hearing somewhere that dwarves had some kind of cultural and instinctive compulsion to create, to make things. Judging from the smile pile of fully articulated carvings and such nearby, that was the complete truth. "Is that for her?"

Ghim nodded silently.

"I would have imagined something fancier to be more appropriate."

Ghim paused, setting down his knife. "Look Slayn. This is for Leylia. You don't know Leylia, understand? All you've met so far is Karla."

Slayn sighed quietly as his friend returned to his carving. He hadn't the faintest idea who Leylia was; that was the real problem. He knew Karla, the ruthless manipulative sorceress. This priestess girl who had been so shy and gentle?

Who the hell was she?

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Farther away, the end of the war was being greeted in a manner...more acidic than normal.

"God damn it! As soon as the war ends, we're kicked out like we're the scum of the earth!!"

The speaker proved to be an attractive (if pissed) human female; looking to be in early to mid twenties. She dressed mostly in red; thigh-high boots and short tunic, both trimmed with fur around all the seams. Over her shoulders was some kind of white half cloak that served dual purposes as slight armor. Add an orange cape and a rapier, and that pretty much completes the image. Aside from her clothing, her most striking feature was the short mop of fiery red hair crowning her pale violet eyes.

Shiris spun to her companion, still burning with vitriol. "Well?! Doesn't it just piss you off?!"

Her companion could possibly have been a greater contrast, but I can't see how. Whereas Shiris was a slender woman maybe five six in height, he was well over six feet, thickly corded with muscle that somehow kept the image of lumbering from coming up. His hair was short, shaggy, and brown, his eyes a brown so light they seemed to be red. He wore a chest-plate of scarred bronze and leather armor over pants that were at one point pure white, a green cloak slung over his shoulders. Also opposing Shiris's light rapier, his weapon was a five foot long (the blade was only about three and a half) claymore.

The most striking difference between them was attitude; Orson had barely any emotion whatsoever, giving the image of a tired or sated wild animal as opposed to Shiris's near-perpetual angst.

She blinked in confusion at Orson's lack of response, but shrugged it off. He never reacted to anything; why should this change now for her? "Damn it to hell! That mayor begged us to protect his village, then once the danger was over he couldn't get rid of us fast enough. WHAT THE HELL DID HE THINK MERCENARIES WERE FOR?!"

Orson sighed slightly as she started kicking rocks around. Anger was so stupid; he should know. He froze, his eyes shifting into alertness with surprising speed.

Below the cliff, Trent, Deed, Woodchuck, and Etoh were riding for all they were worth. In trees that the two mercenaries had secreted themselves in, they watched them pass.

"Who are they?"

Shiris shook her head. "Don't know." She began a running commentary as they rode closer. "That one in the lead's a definite warrior, the next one looks like a thief." Her eyes widened in shock as she got a better look. "The ones in the front and back have pointed ears!"

Orson allowed himself a frown. "Elves? You think it's Marmo?"

"Could be." She gnawed at her lip in worry. "Damn, they're headed for that village we were supposed to be protecting."

Orson wasn't the type to start rolling his eyes, but come on. Less than two minutes ago bitching about those ungrateful sons of bitches, and now she's oh so terribly worried about them. How very menstrual. "That's not our concern any more."

"That's not the point," she snapped.

Orson readied his blade. He didn't bother arguing with his partner; he couldn't remember the last time he had.

Below, the four riders continued their headlong charge. At least until a pair of throwing knives shot towards them. Trent dodged the blade automatically; Deed with little difficulty. Wood managed to dodge a third, but in the process his horse bucked him off and sent both him and Etoh flying down the cliffs.

Finally rolling to a stop, they found themselves staring at the business end of Orson's claymore. "What the hell..."

Above, Trent readied his own swords. Then Shiris had to butt in. "Orson! I'll leave those two to you!"

Trent's head spun to the voice as the female mercenary launched herself out of the tree. He parried her slash, rolling with the momentum off his horse. Seconds later, he charged her abruptly. His first blow was blocked, but the follow-up from his dagger disarmed her neatly.

She gasped in shock as he shoved her roughly into the cliff face, his dagger at her throat. "Who the hell are you? Soldiers or something?"

Despite the fact that she was kind of helpless, Shiris managed to glare back at him. "Who cares what I am? Marmo scum like you doesn't deserve my name."

Trent startled the daylights out of her by laughing openly. Even stranger, it was a genuine laugh of amusement; no cruelty at all. "Marmo? Tell me something, how many soldiers of Marmo go running around with the priests of Falis?"

"HUH?!"

Below, Orson shifted his attention back to the fight on the cliff top, only to find Shiris pinned and in what seemed to be mortal danger. Certain reactions started to take place in the otherwise placid warrior. Reactions he REALLY disliked.

Seeing his captor's attention elsewhere, Woodchuck made an abortive rush, only to freeze after less than a foot away from his original position. "What..."

Orson was literally glowing with rage, an eerie green light streaming of his expanding muscles. The calm expression on his face was gone, replaced by the face of a bear who's just been waken up by pointed sticks in the middle of hibernation.

I.E, real damn pissed.

Trent sighed as he sheathed his blades. Explaining that he wasn't with Marmo but was a dark elf had once again proven to be a severe pain in the...posterior, but it got her out of his hair, preferably for good. "Look, we've got to be going, so..."

Further comments were shelved as Orson shot over their head, only to neatly crater the ground at where he landed.

Trent coughed nervously at the sight of a demonically glowing Orson. Normal people would have likely peed themselves, but he was a bit too odd to have that kind of reaction. As such, he shifted to his old stand-by; sarcasm. "Eh...I don't suppose you'd believe me if I told you this was all some kind of misunderstanding?"

"Quick! Drop your sword!"

Not one to throw away free advice, Trent yanked out his wakizashi and dropped it on the ground alongside his katana. "Will this work?"

Shiris quickly got off the ground. "No one can stop Orson once he gets angry!"

Trent 'yiped' as he dove to the side, Orson's claymore carving out a gaping cleft in the cliff's faces. "I thought dropping my sword meant he'd stop trying to kill me!"

"TRENT!"

Deed shot between Etoh and the two warriors. "Stop it! I think...I think he's Hyuri!"

Trent ducked under a second vicious slash, really wishing he hadn't heard what Deed had just said. He knew enough about Hyuri to be aware that there was VERY little he could do short of killing the mercenary; pretty hard when you can barely make any attack. He continued dodging for the next minute or so; Orson's raw power was about forty times more than Trent's, but fortunately, he was very slow.

Abruptly Shiris tackled Orson from behind. "Orson! Calm down! I'm fine, alright!"

The possessed warrior struggled against compulsions from within and without; he wanted to KILL. He wanted to protect Shiris more than he wanted to kill (fortunately), so within the next thirty seconds, he had collapsed to the ground, panting and completely drained.

Shiris sighed as she hugged the exhausted warrior. "Orson...you idiot..."

Trent sighed, shaking his head. Shiris's eyes widened as he went for his swords, but as he just sheathed them rather than trying to attack again, she relaxed easily enough. Not bothering to speak to her, he climbed back on his horse.

Etoh frowned as Trent prepared to just ride off. "What just happened?"

Deed sighed as she went for her own horse. "He's Hyuri, a berserker. Something happened to him in the past that allowed Hyuri, the spirit of rage and insanity to possess him." She continued staring at the two mercenaries. "It's said that where a berserker passes, only corpses remain."

Etoh's eyes widened in horror. One of the old guards at the temple had told him once, a long time ago about facing a berserker. He'd had nightmares about the story for weeks to come.

Trent paused as he rode past. "I'm sorry about all this. Whatever happens, good luck." Shaking his head as the two ignored him, they rode off.

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"I'm sure they're almost here..."

Ghim glared at the attempting-to-be-soothing mage. "Slayn, I'm not waiting any longer. This is my fight, and my quest. I'm the only one who Kar...Leylia might listen to. I have to go." His hand tightened on his axe, his muscles clenching abruptly as Slayn moved forward. "Slayn, so help me if you try that spell again..."

Slayn froze. Dwarves aren't terribly impressive, but only idiots rile them up unnecessarily. He would last all of thirteen seconds against Ghim if he got good and pissed. He backed down.

Ghim nodded calmly for all that his grip stayed tight. "Stay here or come if you wish." He turned and began his journey to the lake.

He was slightly worried as he entered. Not because of the fact he was facing off a damn near goddess level sorceress and he couldn't hit her physically. Well, he was, but he'd been worrying about that for the past few months so it really didn't count. No, what worried him was the fact that there were no traps or sentries; nothing but ruins and old gargoyles and such.

"So, you've come. I wonder, what do you actually hope to accomplish?"

Ghim froze at the lilting, mocking voice. Taking a deep breath, he walked towards the source. He found her waiting in what he imagined was once a throne room of some kind, standing on a raised dais at the end of a long corridor. "Karla...no, Leylia."

Karla laughed mockingly. "Leylia? Yes, that was the name of the girl who's body I wear. Now? Now Leylia's gone. I'm all that's left." She raised an eyebrow speculatively as his eyes hardened. "I wonder, what are you going to do? Are you willing to kill me to free the child?"

Ghim winced at her ultimatum. He'd wondered if there was anything he could fight for, but really he had no chance. All he could do was hope, and pray that he reached the priestess, not the witch.

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Outside, Slayn gnawed his lip worriedly as he felt mage energies begin to build within the castle. He didn't think Ghim was being harmed; there was too little energy, spread to wide to do that. Still, he wanted to help.

Fat lot of good he'd do alone, though. He froze as he heard a very distant rustling, a kind of spastic series of thumps.

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"GRAAAAUUURRGGGGGGGHHHHH!"

Ghim winced in pain as Karla's magic began to pound at him, yanking him through the air like a leaf in a cyclone. "Let...LET HER GO!"

Karla ignored his cries. "You're stronger than I thought. Still, you don't think you'll actually last, do you?"

From behind gritted teeth, Ghim managed to force out a last plea. "If...if it's a body you want, take mine."

Karla sighed. Boring already. "You presume far too much." With a brief burst of energy, she shot him into the air only to let him drop.

From the side of the room, a huge, mostly transparent sphere of greenish light rocketed towards Ghim, snagging him out from his fall all of thirty inches above the ground.

Karla's eyes burst to the side as she looked towards Slayn's raised staff.

And Etoh's holy mace.

And the two sword-wielding elves.

And she smiled.

Trent openly glared at her. "You cut Kannon and Lodoss into ribbons at Beld's side. Why kill him moments before he won?"

Karla's eyes widened in curiosity. "Would you prefer that I had helped Fahn instead?"

Trent's eyes widened incredulously. "WHAT?!"

"It makes little difference to me who I aid."

Trent stared in absolute shock. He'd expected several things from her; this was most definitely not one of them. "You fought as one of the six heroes thirty years ago. You did your best to finish off Marmo. Now you do your best to finish off the rest of Lodoss." Tightening the grip on his sword, he snarled at her, "WHY?!"

Slayn hurled another mage sphere at Karla, this one set to smash as opposed to catch. It was effortlessly defused as it struck her shielding. Even worse, it failed to distract her from Trent and Deed's attack. Both were simultaneously slammed by force walls, sent flying.

Trent was never 100% sure what happened next. The last thing he remembered was the sound of Deed's scream as she bounced across the floor. Conscious thought kind of took the a-train after that.

Deed's eyes widened as Trent's speed abruptly quadrupled. He'd always been fast, but this was something else entirely. It was hard to tell what he was doing; all you could really see was a black blur shooting towards Karla, and sprays of sparks after each pass.

Karla's estimation of Trent's abilities raised considerably. He was capable of cold rage; a power increase similar to a berserker's, but with logic completely intact. Not as much raw power as Hyuri, but far rarer and more dangerous. Still, it was little trouble for her. She openly laughed as Trent deflected a trio of low-power mage bolts with his sword. She was even impressed as he flicked a pair of his throwing scalpels towards her through a shadow gate as he charged her.

Trent was bodily shoved away from the barrier as Deed and Slayn simultaneously attacked; Deed with wind spirits, Slayn with fire-bolts. Rebounding from the wall he'd been launched towards, he leapt upward, praying that gravity would give him enough oomph to at least distract her.

Energy flared around him as his sword impacted the shield, then abruptly he fell through as everything seemed to grow misty. He paused as he looked around, wonder in his eyes at the change of scenery. "What is this place?"

Karla's mocking smile slipped towards sadness, the first genuine sadness she'd felt in centuries as she stared at the ruins of castles and flying cities that had been the pride of her world. "This is all that's left of Kastuul."

"Kastuul...the sorcerer's kingdom. YOUR kingdom." Trent paused as he stared at the devastation. "This is how it fell?"

Karla continued looking at the ruins. "My world was shaken to its core by the nearly constant battles to regain the total power and control. One faction rose only to be destroyed by the next. In the end, the insane struggle for total rule ripped my world apart." Karla's eyes hardened. "I swore as the castles fell that I would not allow this to happen to Lodoss." Her voice now turned cajoling. "So I start these little wars to keep the power spread. As long as it does not consolidate in any one place, the destruction will never be complete."

Trent really wished she'd chosen a non-psychological weapon to use against him. Getting the tar kicked out of him was something he could deal with. This? Logic was not something he could defend against all that well.

Karla's hand extended towards him. "Come, aid me. We can save Lodoss, we can save everyone from themselves."

THAT, proved unwise. Trent's innate dislikes of leaders and such asserted itself. "Like Beld?" He laughed harshly as her hand wavered. "Yeah, you helped Beld like this, didn't you?" Trent rose from his crouch, his sword in hand. "If you care so much about Lodoss, why don't you keep the wars apart as well as the power? If you're so f%$#-ing wise, why don't you come up with some option other than senseless slaughter?"

That also proved unwise, as Karla's response proved to be a much stronger mage blast than she'd been bothering with lately, breaking the illusion that had kept them suspended away from the rest.

Deed ran forward to help slow his fall. "Trent, what just happened?"

The dark elf winced. "I believe I made her pissed."

Woodchuck winced. "Ah hell, she's gonna slaughter us before we can get that damn circlet."

Ghim's eyes widened. "Her circlet?"

Etoh nodded. "Wort told us that the circlet's her weak spot. All we have to do is get it off her head, and Karla's gone."

Ghim allowed himself a fierce grin. Finally, something to go at it with the hack and slash. TARGETS!!!!!!!

Karla's ever-present smile had finally been strained past its limit. Her face looked positively demonic as she stared them down, a pale, ghostly blue aura of light blazing like fire around her. "I have no use for pawns who will not allow themselves to be moved." The aura turned to a demonic shade of violet. "Good-bye."

Trent instinctively threw himself in front of Deed as the aura surrounding Karla exploded forward into a river of magical energy. Judging from the raw power that he was sensing and his own extremely limited magical resistances, he figured the very best case scenario would be him sustaining severe, possibly crippling and/or disfiguring injuries while Deed hopefully survived. Worst case scenario? All six of them dying a prolonged, gruesome, and painful death.

Fate, old bitch that she was, decided that he deserved a break (with a rather large incentive (read as threat) from higher powers), and grudgingly gave him a better than best scenario.

Though Trent kind of felt otherwise.

Ghim grimaced in pain as he planted himself firmly in the maelstrom of energy rippling of Karla's form. His axe in front of him, he was barely able to deflect the blast around him enough to keep everyone else alive. Not that he minded all that much; he'd not been joking when he'd promised Neese that he'd find and return Leylia, no matter what the cost. So he'd probably die; so what? He'd lived a long, relatively happy life.

Trent stared in shock as Ghim somehow managed to wade forward through a barrage of mage energy that should have been stripping his flesh from bone. "What the hell are you doing, you idiotic mole?!"

"TRENT! WAIT!"

The dark elf stared incredulously at Slayn. "Wait?! For what?! In case it's escaped your notice, Ghim's kind of poking death in the eye right now."

Slayn winced at the description, but he was a mage, and thus a realist (for the most part). "Trent, he's the only reason why we're still alive right now." He sighed. "And as he's repeatedly told me, this is his battle. We have no right to interfere in it."

Ghim continued grimly wading towards Karla. "You...are...Leylia. Try...try to...remember!" Faltering, he dropped to his knees. His hand fumbled inside his shirt as he removed the ornately carved wooden comb. "Please...please Leylia, try to remember..."

The witch paused as she looked at the little bauble that the fool thought he could buy her with. Pathetic, really.

Ghim...

Karla's eyes widened in shock. No. No, don't you dare try and wake up now. I am the one in control, not you, little girl.

Despite her mental bravado, Karla was losing the battle to Leylia's care for the grumbly old dwarf. Her former body's personality started to re- emerge, causing the spell to end as Leylia stared towards Ghim.

This proved all the distraction needed. Trent and Deed charged her after hurling throwing knives, Wood's daggers adding to the hail.

Under possible threat of death, Karla's survival instincts and adrenaline surge kicked back in, giving her full control. The knives froze in midair, the elves bounced right off.

Ghim snatched at his axe, and with the last of his strength hurled it at the witch's figure.

Karla might have been able to block it, but Leylia's over-riding shock of being attacked by Ghim broke her concentration just long enough for the flying axe to take the circlet off, not even mussing the hair beneath it.

Karla froze for a moment, then screamed in pain of the violation of being ripped from her vessel. Seconds later, a very bewildered Leylia was all that was left. The priestess's eyes widened in horror at the sight of Ghim laying there, badly injured. She ran to him, stumbling despite herself over the unnecessarily long train of her violet gown. "Ghim!"

The dwarf allowed himself a painful smile as he watched her approach, cradling his head in her arms. "I...missed you." He coughed painfully. "I...I told Neese that I would find you...didn't I..."

Trent stared in shock as the dwarf died. A strangled whisper escaped his lips. "Ghim..."

Deed stared at him in trepidation. He'd stood there, stone-cold when Fahn had died. Now, the cold-blooded assassin was gone as a simple man stared at his dying friend. She prayed that he wouldn't do anything foolish.

Trent could feel the urge to throw back his head and begin howling his despair. It would have been so easy to just let his sorrow out, but he was who he was. An elf, an assassin, and a hunter. Screaming like a dying lamb was not a part of any of those. He was an elf. He would endure. He would suffer, and he would mourn, but he would do it on his own terms. He allowed himself a small, eternally sad smile as he watched Leylia cry. "You did it, my friend. You finished your quest."

Woodchuck shook his head at the display. He'd miss the old dwarf, but they'd never been all that friendly. Oh, he was sorry, but they were sorrier. They should be the ones who could mourn.

Thief...

Woodchuck frowned at the mental voice. Looking around, he paused as he saw Karla's circlet. Pity that thing's cursed. Looks like its worth a lot...

Karla's soul smiled as Woodchuck began staring vacantly. She would never die. She had endured for a long time, and she would continue to endure, because weakness would never end.

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Leylia gazed at the cairn they had erected for Ghim outside of the castle. "Oh Ghim...why did you come? Why did you bother?"

Deed hesitantly touched Trent's shoulder. She hadn't seen so much as a muscle spasm in his face since Ghim had died, and she was starting to worry. She didn't think for an instant that suicide was beyond him; someone had to take care of him. Preferably her, as opposed to that WAY too interested female who'd defected a few weeks ago.

Trent startled her by grasping her hand. "I'm going to miss that grumbly old fellow." He sighed. "But there's a lot I have to finish before we'll get to meet."

Etoh sighed as he watched, then paused, frowning as he looked around. "Wait a minute. What happened to Woodchuck?"

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Miles away, a hooded and black-cloaked figure strode through a howling sandstorm. If you looked closely, you'd see a powerful, penetrating gaze in those eyes, as well as two scars; an x-shaped one on the chin, a straight one on the cheek.

And a circlet on the thief's brows; gold, set with three stones.

Karla had been defeated. It is wondered if she could ever truly die.