Chapter Nine The Demon Dragon

With the death of Beld, Marmo had been plunged into bestial anarchy; thought had died in the skulls of the creatures of the island, resulting in a perpetual struggle of ruthless survival of the fittest.

Ashram held Soul Crusher, making him the heir to the throne of Marmo. However, the demon in the blade would only allow itself to be wielded by one stronger than it. Ashram's strength was something that even his most bitter enemies respected, and he could tame the sword. However, it would only allow this after it had been proven.

And none of this could have suited Wagnard better.

Nyara frowned as she regarded the strange priest. A dark elf female just as Pirotess, she had fairly similar looks; five foot four in height, perhaps a hundred pounds in weight, her figure was less voluptuous and a bit more athletic, none of that detracting from her appearance. Her eyes were a pale shade of blue, while uncharacteristically her hair was a bright, wheat blond.

To normal and/or hormonal men of most species, she would have been quite attractive. At least if you ignored the black leather fetish she seemed to have, and her reputation for being a bit hard on the people around her.

(As it was, none of that really matters. It just saves me the time of having to describe her somewhere later in the fic.)

"A sacrifice?"

Wagnard nodded. "Two life forces, bound in one ritual. One, the death of a dark elf of our own land to taint the blood towards our own ends. The other, the immortal soul of a high elf to awaken the vast power sleeping beneath us."

Nyara started at that. "Beneath us...Kardis?!"

Wagnard turned a solemn, if false face to the dark elf. He knew her one weakness, the only person in the world she even considered worth survival. "Do you think that Ashram can make Lodoss his as things stand now."

Nyara winced at that. She would have loved to say that he could, but she wasn't 100% sure. Certainly, he would have a better chance than Beld.

And once he was the emperor, he'd certainly need an empress...

--------

Atop the minarets of Castle Conquera, Ashram stood waiting. Covered totally in his black armor, he seemed unchanged from the diamond-hard general of the war, save one important thing.

Now, he was king.

Soul Crusher stirred restlessly in his grasp. Beld had been a perfect wielder; dark, insane, jealous, and easily manipulated. Ashram? He was far too proud, to pragmatic. He would never allow himself to be ruled by what he considered a mere weapon. HE would master it, make it the manipulated. And the demon was beginning to worry that he would succeed.

Time for another test. Even if the demon didn't like being controlled, if it had to be its controller would be capable of using it, or else. The demon began calling to the wraiths that flocked to the dark island like vultures to a carcass. Soon, they had begun to coalesce into a single, great mass of the dead.

Ashram eyed the growing mass, summoning the demon's power. He knew how powerful the sword was, and more importantly how grudgingly it was giving him power. Wrathfully, he yanked forcefully on the mental reins that gave him the demon's strength, drawing more to him.

The wraith, ignoring the power build up, began circling the outwardly motionless warrior, then dove for him.

Firming his grip, Ashram drew the sword back and slashed home as the ghost streamed around him. The demonic blood rage fought and severed the wraiths's link to this world, forcing it back. Still, it was no simple task to 'cut' apart ghosts like that.

Having succeeded, Ashram allowed himself to collapse to his knees, panting at the exertion as he used the sword to brace himself. He considered glaring at the blade, but decided against it. The sword was similar to himself; it would follow with loyalty, but only after it had decided that the one it followed deserved it.

It would learn, soon enough.

"Can you really master it in time?"

Ashram and the blade simultaneously glared at the interruption; neither one liked, appreciated, or trusted the skeletal priest.

Wagnard smiled as he walked towards them. "Is it really so easy to master Soul Crusher, the sword that was bathed in the blood of the demon himself?"

Ashram allowed his glare to grow colder. "What do you want?"

Wagnard ignored the icy glare, walking towards the edge of the balcony. "In the far northwest of Lodoss lies Demon Dragon Mountain, home to Shooting Star, the demon dragon and the most powerful of all the Ancient Dragons. In his cave, he guards a great treasure, as well as the greatest weapon of all, the Scepter of Domination."

Ashram's eyes widened as he stood up. Even he knew of that weapon; supposedly, it had been held by Falis himself as the ruler. Not even Falaris, the god of all darkness and night had dared to attack until after the scepter had been entrusted to a power for guardianship. "Such a thing..."

Wagnard turned politely helpful. "Is vital to the conquest of Lodoss, is it not?" He began stalking past calmly enough. "He who holds the scepter of domination rules all of Lodoss." He paused before leaving. "You would do well to remember that."

Ashram forced himself back to his feet. "The scepter..." He turned back to the sky, calling the sword for power once more. He was enough of a realist to know that he stood no chance against a creature powerful enough to be trusted with guarding the scepter of Gods. Not unless he became the true Master of Soul Crusher. Training would continue.

Just outside the entrance to the balcony, Wagnard grinned. Oh yes, it wouldn't take long at all.

--------

Pirotess sighed deeply as she watched the battles continue. "For god's sake, what is it with these humans? They've lost thousands in a war less than two months ago, their enemy has absolutely no chance of possibly counter-attacking for decades, and they're still fighting?"

Deed sighed as she watched Trent polish off another opponent who was convinced his armor made him the God of War. "I know, I know. It's just that they're worried. Worried humans generally don't think very well."

Pirotess couldn't really disagree. It had been almost three months since the war ended, about nine weeks since Karla had been dealt with. In the time, she and Deed had managed to go from confrontational to civil to acquaintances to almost friends. It helped to no small extent that not only were they the only two elf females for probably two hundred miles around, but their mutual attraction to Trent was certainly another link.

She paused as a new opponent came forward. "Well, this should be interesting."

Deed blinked in confusion as Kashue stepped forward, giving Trent a piercing grin. As usual, the king was dressed in his gray full-plate armor, a buckler on his left arm and broadsword in his right. Trent was also typically dressed in the black long coat and clothes that he almost slept in; as it was, the only time that either could recall him in anything else was that odd robe during the ball when they'd first arrived in Valis.

Kashue grinned as he regarded the elf warrior. "I thought we came to an agreement, Trent. You're not fighting like that, are you?"

Trent shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I didn't think that I'd be fighting you. Besides, what you want will take a while to prepare for."

Kashue shrugged, equally nonchalant. "I don't mind waiting. You could probably use a little rest, anyway."

Trent glared at him tiredly. "I will get you for this. Just so you know." He turned, sheathing his katana as he went into the weapon's salle.

Deed turned in confusion to the dark elf female. "What's all that about?"

'Tess shrugged. "I haven't the faintest idea."

Five minutes later, Trent came back out.

Jaws dropped.

He'd taken off his jacket but not the black pants and shirt he always wore. This wasn't the stunning part. What shocked the people who at least knew OF him was that he was dressed in half plate armor. Specifically, the half plate armor of a Holy Knight of Valis.

The armor was 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 long, crimson cloak with a golden cross on the back hung from his shoulders.

Trent glared at Kashue as he shrugged the armor around, trying to get it to lie comfortably. "One last time, WHY are we fighting like this?"

Kashue shrugged. "I'm rather sure that the time will come when you can't just go into battle with simple cloth. You need armor, and you'll need to learn how to fight in it."

Trent rolled his eyes as he drew a broadsword; he couldn't fight with his katana in this clunky stove, so he'd opted for the traditional weapon. "In case it's escaped your notice, my defenses are centered around killing the opponent so fast they can't counter."

Kashue shrugged again as he took a ready stance. "To each his own."

Pirotess stared at him as he began sparring with Kashue. After watching how effortlessly he could avoid the attacks of damn near anything else during the war, it was quite a switch seeing him stump around, jarring himself as he blocked the sword strokes with his shield, making occasional counter-attacks. In fact...she giggled despite herself. "He looks like a golem or something, clomping around in that plate."

Deed managed to maintain her dignity for all of eight seconds before she joined the dark elf in laughter. "True, but if nothing else you have to admit that he looks kind of impressive in that armor."

Pirotess shrugged. "I suppose, but he certainly doesn't look happy in it."

Trent grimaced as he fended off another attack of Kashue's his counter- thrust trimming a few whiskers from the desert king's beard. The next exchange had Trent disarmed for a few moments. Rather than concede the defeat, he dropped his shield, ducking under Kashue's next strike and simultaneously knocking his feet out from under him. Not as easy as it looked, incidentally.

Trent shook his head in disgust as Kashue levered himself to his feet, frowning. "Don't you dare try and tell me that a true knight shouldn't stoop to such attacks or something like that. And don't tell me that it's a good trick that will never work in a real battle, because I'm well aware of that. Besides, I never wear armor in a real battle, so stop already."

Kashue rolled his eyes. "What do you have against armor, anyway?"

Trent shrugged as he began to divest himself of the cumbersome steel. "I don't see the point. I remember hearing somewhere that the problem with armor is that you start relying on it, and if you're unarmed it can be dangerous. Not the real reason, but a good point." He sat down to start tugging at his greaves as he continued. "My real reason is that my training has always emphasized putting yourself in positions where you don't need it; make it impossible for your opponent to attack you first."

Kashue grimaced as Trent retrieved his normal armaments for a continuation of the fight. "And when that doesn't occur?"

"Second part of my training your majesty." Trent sighed blissfully as he slipped his katana into its back sheath. "Move fast enough that there attacks look amateurish." He drew his short sword and dagger, gesturing with the tanto. "Another match?"

Kashue was spared the indignity of Trent's further sarcasm by a rider charging into the courtyard, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Kashue's eyes widened as the rider tumbled off his horse, badly injured, and suffering from severe exhaustion. "What happened? Out with it man!"

The courier stared listlessly at the king. "The dragon...Shooting Star..."

The desert king was far from the only one to feel his blood run cold at those words. "Shooting Star...?!"

--------

The beast was enormous.

No one was foolish enough to try and measure the demon dragon, but it was estimated that he was over four hundred feet in length, weighing thousands of tons. The vast demon dragon was a terrifying sight; his red scales were the size of a cottage's roof, inches thick of solid steel-like material. The horned head was perpetually creased in a grin of malevolence, only partly due to the jaw's build. Shooting Star, the red demon dragon was unquestionably evil.

Villagers in the desert villages paused in their daily lives as a cloud seemed to come over them. Pauses turned to screams and flight as the cloud ignited in hellfire hot enough to scorch bone clean of flesh in mere seconds. Acrid smoke of burning thatch and the reek of human meat filled the air as the demon dragon roared in triumph, lording over its strength and its kill...

--------

Slayn's eyes snapped open. Panting and sweating, he stared in the direction of his table, seeing something he had never imagined possible.

Shooting Star had reawakened.

He paused as he heard a knock at the door, composing himself as Leylia entered. He smiled genially at the young woman as she entered, dressed in flowing white robes. "The raiment of a priestess of Marfa...it suits you." He smiled sadly as he noticed the wooden comb topping her long ponytail. "I think that Ghim would have approved."

Leylia bowed her head in silent memory of the dwarf, trying to ignore the memories of Karla killing him.

Slayn sighed as he returned to his thoughts, sparing a few moments to wonder how this slip could have been a witch. Ghim hadn't been lying when he'd told Slayn that he had no idea who Leylia was. Now he knew; she was a gentle, kind, and very sad young woman. Karla had been a cyst on the face of the world.

Leylia swallowed, composing herself. "Slayn, what are your plans now?"

The mage sighed in the apothecary he'd been given by Fiana. Not every mage can boast that the queen herself gave him a permanent residence in Castle Roid. "I don't know. All I know is that the dark cloud that seemed to come over Lodoss during the war has not yet lifted." He stared out the window. "Even now, threats remain. Threats that make Karla and Beld seem as nothing."

--------

Wagnard frowned as he continued reading his ancient books, looking for clues. The ritual was strange, but fairly simple. Apparently, one of his predecessors had invested quite a bit of time and effort to make sure that if it was done, it would be done properly and with minimum difficulty. Nice to find someone who was just occasionally helpful.

He paused as he sensed a presence resolve itself behind him in the pillars surrounding the area. "Who's there?"

The figure proved to be a scruffy-looking human male in his late thirties, pale skinned and black-haired. He was dressed in a long black cape and a violet long-tunic, incongruously wearing elbow-length black satin gloves. Wagnard frowned at the figure. He'd never seen him in his life, but there was something familiar about the ornament... his eyes widened. "You?!"

The figure raised a hand in a somewhat positive gesture.

Wagnard snorted disdainfully. "I see. Your eternal soul needs a body to exist." Taking in the scarred and battered appearance, he felt compelled to add, "apparently any trash will do."

"I am Karla," the man who had once been Woodchuck said. "I have no body; I am eternal."

Wagnard chuckled at that, the chuckle swiftly building into a full-throated cackle of evil-genius (TM). "Perhaps you are. Still, even you are no match for the power sleeping beneath the my feet!!!!"

Karla jerked forward as crimson light began streaming from his form. "Kardis?!"

Wagnard's cackle continued. "Not even a seven-hundred year old witch can match the power of Kardis the Destroyer!!!!!"

Karla frowned at him. She wanted to preserve Lodoss. The last thing she needed was the ressurection of the Goddess of Destruction. Still, at least for now Kardis was vesting an interest in the wizard priest, and protecting him too strongly for her to do anything but retreat. "Be wary of this path you have chosen, Wagnard," were her only words as she faded away.

Wagnard disdained her. There were powers greater than Kardis, ones that even she would obey. Then HE WOULD RULE DESTRUCTION ITSELF!!!

(cackle, cackle, bwahahahaha)

--------

Trent paused as he watched Kashue continue re-arming himself for the ride back to Flaim. "So now what?"

Kashue strapped on his broadsword, slinging his blue cape across his shoulders. "I have to return to my people."

Trent nodded. "When do you leave?"

Kashue turned to stare at him coldly. "That is no concern of yours. You're not going anywhere."

Trent laughed openly, and it wasn't a pleasant one. "What, you think you can stop me?"

Kashue paused. "No," he said, "I know that you'll do what you want." He turned to leave. "So I'm going to ask you as a friend not to try and fight Shooting Star. This is a matter for the nation of Flaim."

Trent glared at him. "Shooting Star, the demon dragon, the most powerful living being in Lodoss. You think that one desert nation could possibly be enough? You honestly think that your nation is the only one in trouble if he gets good and pissed? You rile up Shooting Star, and the only thing that's going to be left on all of Lodoss is ash."

Kashue paused. "It is my duty to fight Shooting Star. That's all that matters. Good-bye."

--------

Trent brought his flute away from his lips after a fairly short (compared to what he normally did) self-concerto. Partially because the song was done, mostly because certain people had come by who would most likely try to distract him.

"I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, Trent."

Deed grimaced at the thoughtful dark elf. Actually, brooding, sullen, or pouting seemed a bit more appropriate to her at the moment, but she wouldn't actually say that. "He just doesn't want you harmed."

Pirotess rolled her eyes from further up in a tree at Deed's assurances. "You're joking, right? Why would Trent need protection?"

The elf in question closed his eyes as they seemed a bit more inclined at the moment towards bickering. His own thoughts were turned to his father. According to Fahn, Kale Shadowlight had died fighting against Shooting Star. That didn't actually bother him quite so much; he'd suspected for years that his father had died at the hands of other dark elves or humans; to find out that he'd actually died fighting a losing battle against a raging force of destruction and had done fairly well up until the end made him feel a little bit better about his father dying. Not much, but a little.

It was the fact that his father had done well that bothered him. He knew just how strong and skilled his father was, or at least he thought he did. So how the devil had a dark elf ranger armed with the highest quality unenchanted swords possibly fight an ancient dragon?

He sighed, watching the arguments continue for awhile. "Listen, I'm alright, okay? You don't have to worry so much."

Pirotess gave him an arch look but accepted that for the time being. "Alright, if you say so." She gave him an odd look. "If you're alright, then why are you still so deep in thought?"

Trent considered for a moment, then decided to go ahead and tell her. "Before the last battle, King Fahn told me something about my father I'd never known before."

Deed calmly waited as he paused. "And..." she finally prompted, as he seemed content to let them hang.

"And apparently, my father fought with Shooting Star thirty years ago, and beat him badly enough to keep him in his den up until now."

Dead silence.

Finally, Deed asked. "What did your father do for a living?"

Trent sighed. "That's just it. My father was a ranger; not as good a fighter as me or my mother, but still good enough to trounce just about any other opponent. So how the blazes did he do it?"

Pirotess shrugged. "Um...maybe he caved in a part of the mountain to seal the dragon in?"

Trent slowly turned to her. "My father was a dark elf. He had maybe two hours in the den. Do you honestly think he could shift enough rock in that time to trigger a cave-in capable of sealing off a four hundred foot dragon?" He took her silence for answer enough. "Mom didn't know all that much about him either, but he was no mage. He wasn't an engineer or anything either. It just doesn't seem possible that he could have fought and beaten an ancient dragon, and I'm trying to figure out how he did it."

Deed shook her head. "I don't think that's possible, unless you didn't know something about your father. She shrugged helplessly. "I can't imagine what would have given him that kind of advantage, but he must have had something."

Pirotess scooted closer to him, dropping down a few branches. "Why are you so worried? Are you actually going to try and fight him?"

Trent sighed. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do, and I don't know what my father was capable of. All I do know is that I'm something other than a dark elf. I don't know what I am completely, and it scares me."

--------

Etoh ran out of the castle as Kashue prepared to leave. "You majesty! What did you say to Trent?!"

Kashue sighed at the young priest. Honestly, he did kind of like the dark elf, as well as the priest, but the constant attention that he drew (despite his best efforts to prevent it) got irritating after a while. "To fight his own battles."

"What?!"

Kashue just grinned at that. "Take care, Etoh!"

--------

Elsewhere in Roid, two almost-familiar faces were watching the comings and goings of the huge city.

Shiris sighed as she looked around. "So this is the capitol of Valis, huh? Kind of dreary if you ask me. Not what I expected."

Orson gazed around as well. "Give them time. They've lost their king; its only to be expected that they would need time to heal."

"I suppose you're right." She continued scanning the crowd intently.

Orson allowed himself a very small smile. "Looking for anyone in particular?"

Shiris turned to him in surprise, fighting down a blush. "N-n-no, of course not." She turned to the side to continue watching, resolutely ignoring him. Okay, the elf was handsome. Obviously not stupid. Had some serious connections to extremely powerful royalty. That didn't make him attractive. Certainly not. She'd been telling herself that for some time, and had almost started to believe it.

A figure slipped past them. They couldn't tell a thing what with the huge rain cloak the person wore, nor the other four who joined him shortly thereafter. Then again, this was a bit suspicious considering that there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Shiris turned to Orson in question. He nodded. He'd managed to see just enough of how they walked to recognize the elvish blood. More to the point, they'd learned a little bit about Trent. Specifically that he was a VERY wanted criminal to them.

--------

Deed sighed as she played with some of the native birds. She had found this place weeks ago, some kind of water garden. She had recognized instantly that it hadn't been built by Valis; a ruin of Kastuul. For all its age however, it was somehow in immaculate shape.

The overgrown forests and vines gave the place a primeval look, enhanced by the large, crystalline blue lake. She gazed at the budding flowers in tree and shrub, the greco-roman gazebo in the shallows of the lake, the dancing tree sprites that came at her touch. If nothing else, it was a beautiful place.

An almost inaudible whisper of steel broke her from her trance as she leapt to the side. The weighted end of a chain struck the branch where she'd been sitting, only to recoil like some kind of striking viper. Landing lightly, she was forced to jerk to the side as throwing daggers imbedded themselves in the trunk. Deciding on the value of discretion, she drew her rapier as two dark elf men resolved themselves in front of her.

Grimacing she began dodging and leaping as they faded in and out, the chains's rattling the only warnings she had as they struck at her.

Why now? Why are all these dark elves coming out of the woodwork NOW?

--------

Pirotess's eyes widened as the cloaked figure threw back her hood. "Nyara?!"

"Oh, you remember me?" The dark elf smiled. "So good to see you again my dear. Now then, will you be coming back with us?" The saber she preferred appeared in her hand. "We can always take you back, if you refuse."

Pirotess grimaced as she began inching her hand towards her rapier. Serves me right for running off into the forest like this.

Nyara sighed mockingly. "Oh dear, you're going to refuse?"

"Please," Pirotess broke in, "no stupid comments. Just fight me already."

"That's your problem, you know. You have no appreciation of the art of speeches."

Nyara proceeded to grant at least one request by shutting up, though her price proved to be a rather open attempt to brain Pirotess.

The dark elf dodged desperately out of the way as the three began attacking her. She spun, hurling a pair of throwing blades at the two dark elf men accompanying Nyara, but they faded out easily, leaving her to continue parrying Nyara's direct attacks. She could have beaten Nyara eventually in a one-on-one fight, or either of the men (she didn't recognize them off the top of her head), but the problem was that dark elves are notorious for shifting the odds in their favor. The worst part is that if positions had been reversed, she knew without a doubt she'd do the same thing.

Contrary to popular belief, out-numbering your opponent isn't dishonorable or dirty fighting, it's just good tactics. At least as long as all you're trying to do is kill or capture an opponent; go for anything else and then it gets dirty.

Pirotess lunged forward in a vicious thrust, only to have Nyara duck and leap out of her path. Over-thrusted, fool! Her temporary gaff was enough for one of the two men to catch her wrists with a chain and jerk her towards one of the oak trees in the forest they'd inadvertantly chosen as their battle ground. The second hurled a pair of chains at her, binding her to the heavy trunk.

She glared at them as Nyara smiled mockingly at her. "Oh dear, it seems you've allowed yourself to get rusty. However could that have happened?"

Pirotess sighed in disgust. "Can you stop simpering and begging for all of five minutes? Just kill me and get it over with. I've fought you before, and I know that the only reason I lost is because of your two little slaves over there. So stop getting a puffed head you moronic cow, and finish what you started."

Nyara glared at her. "That wasn't nice, you know."

Two scalpel-shaped blades slammed into the chest of the farthest away elf, another two striking a seam in the chain with enough force to snap it open. It proved to be enough to allow Pirotess to jerk the chains until they fell off her.

Nyara lunged for her, but Pirotess had already gone to ground. "Hurry up!" she snarled at the other male, leaping after her. He didn't make it more than ten feet before he'd been completely perforated by another trio of scalpel-shaped blades.

Trent allowed himself a mild grin as Nyara twisted desperately out of the way to land on a new branch. As a rule, dark elf women were a lot nastier than the males. Not by nature or anything, it was just that dark elves had a matriarchy for a society; dark elf women were encouraged to be bitches and tyrants. "That wasn't intended to be nice." He paused. "At least I'm fairly sure it wasn't. It's been awhile; that could be a compliment in Marmo for all I know."

Nyara stared in absolute horror. "Shadowlight?!"

"Oh you know me?" Trent waved jauntily. "I'm honored, really I am. Anyway, I'd love to introduce you to my last three scalpels, but I think I'll need them for your other friends. Run along now, little girl."

Nyara glared at him hatefully, but knew better than to try. She'd always assumed the stories about the legendary assassin were over-done, but she wasn't sure. Besides, she had it reliably that he was good enough to fight Ashram to a stand-still, and she KNEW that she wasn't that good.

Trent shook his head as she ran off. He quickly turned to the non- homicidal dark elf woman at his side. "Come on, we don't have a whole lot of time."

Pirotess blink-blinked in shock. "Um, she's gone. Why not?"

Trent grabbed her hand, yanking her into a fireman's carry. "There are two more of them in the forest. They're going after Deed."

Pirotess eeped as she was yanked into his arms, but she wasn't complaining. Even if it was to go deal with miss lighter-than-thou-art.

--------

Deed gasped as a throwing blade scored a mark on her thigh. She barely managed to leap out of the way of the next chain strike. In midair, the dark elf changed his attack strategy from snapping his chain like a whip to clubbing her with it. The lateral strike scored on her back, knocking her into a tree limb long enough for more chains to bind her securely to it.

Aledha panted as he landed next to her. She'd been a tough fight to bind down; if it had been to the death, they might have won, but this? Who knew?

Vok turned to his erstwhile leader. "What do we do with her now?"

Aledha fumbled around for something in his belt-pouch. "We're to rendezvous with Lord Ashram at Fire Dragon Mountain."

Deed's eyes widened, but she held her peace. So they're the reason for him stirring. Closing her eyes, she began whispering cantrips to Sylph. She needed out, and more importantly needed to warn Valis...among others.

Vok frowned. "Wagnard told us to bring her and the dark elf straight to the temple."

Aledha shrugged. "Nyara left orders that we are not to even consider going anywhere other than to lord Ashram. Orders are orders."

Deed frowned as they continued discussing what to do with her. What temple? Why would they want me and Trent at some temple? She suddenly felt her insides turn to ice. No...that, that's impossible. They couldn't possibly... she swallowed around a throat gone dry. She had a brief flashback to Slayn warning them that it wasn't over. If her fears proved true, it could be over, in the most total sense of the word, in mere days.

--------

Trent gave Pirotess a slightly more uncomfortable look as he continued his head-long rush towards the forests. "Um, can you start running on your own now?"

The she-elf blushed faintly. "Oh. Sorry." Actually, she'd been quite comfortable in his arms and against his chest. He was a lot more muscular than most of the elves she knew; still skinnier than a human, but it was rather impressive.

Trent sighed in relief as she leapt out of his arms to start running alongside him. He could probably have carried her quite a ways; he wouldn't be as much use in the inevitable fight, but that wasn't the point. More to the point, he had been steadily getting more and more uncomfortable with her seeming to snuggle deeper into his arms as time went by. Had she gone any further in THAT regard...well, he would have been a bit more than less useful.

"Where's the fire?"

Trent slowed to a startled halt as he found the odd female mercenary he'd abortively fought a few weeks ago. "Huh? What the hell are you doing here?"

Shiris grinned. "Oh, just here and there." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Come on, she's this way. Orson's watching over her."

Trent winced at the reminder of the berserker who'd come distressingly close to bisecting him in their fight.

The wince became a bit more pronounced at Pirotess's sing-song questioning of who she was.

--------

Orson nodded to the elf as he, Shiris, and some other female elf joined him in the trees. "They've been arguing where to take her," he said without preamble. "One of them demands that they make for fire dragon mountain to rendezvous with Ashram, the other insists they head for some temple under a man named Wagnard's command."

Trent shrugged. "I don't recognize the priest. I'll worry about their little plot after we rescue her." He loosened his katana in one hand. "'Tess, follow me down. I'm going to deal with the chains, you grab Deed."

Aledha gave him a cold glare. "Look Vok, Nyara gave us strict orders. I'll grant that the priest is of higher rank, but answer me this; do you really want to know what Nyara's going to do to us if we disobey her?"

The younger elf blanched as Aledha played his trump card. He was well aware of Nyara's little...preferences. He'd also seen first hand what had been left of the last person to defy her will. "Alright already, we'll go to the mountain."

"No you won't."

The two started as a black-clad figure dropped out of the branches above them. He spun laterally as he dropped, slicing cleanly through the chains binding their captive. As she pushed herself onto her hands, another figure dropped towards her, grabbing the high elf and carrying her down.

"Shit!" Aledha hurled himself after the three of them, only to find Orson waiting at the bottom.

Vok swallowed nervously as his leader got turned into a handful of meat strips. The nervous swallow progressed to somewhere just shy of losing bladder control as he recognized the aura he was facing. "Hy...Hyuri?!"

Shiris grinned. "So even you guys are scared of berserkers? Can't say I blame you. Are you really sure you want to get him mad?"

Vok cursed at her, but in the sibilant language of a dark elf, it kind of loses its impact. He disappeared into the forests, heading back towards Marmo; the priest would be a LOT more understanding, and might actually be willing to protect him for a bit.

Deed turned to Trent. "They're..."

"...at Fire Dragon Mountain, I know." He sheathed his blade as he stared after the dark elf's path. "We're going to help after all, it would seem."

Deed considered for a moment telling him her fears, but let it slide. She was probably wrong. Dear gods, let me be wrong.

--------

If you looked carefully in the canyons east of Flaim, you could find a small knot of riders making for the volcanoes further north.

Ashram stared straight ahead as new reports were made. "So Kashue is coming as well. It seems all of Lodoss now walks a single path, one not dictated by men."

The tall, fierce stallion he rode abruptly stopped, pawing the ground and rearing anxiously. Asrham managed to keep it still after a few moments of its antics, but he was the only one; every horse in the small cavalry group was getting rapidly spooked.

A four hundred foot-long reason chose that time to begin lazily soaring over the canyons. Ashram set his jaw, sending his horse plunging after it. Teeth bared, he whipped out Soul Crusher as he followed. Mere days ago he'd had to fight long and hard to make it obey. Now? Now the glows of the demonic power came readily to his call. He'd been accepted.

Ashram's horse was considered the best in Marmo; he'd rode it when he was only the captain, and the leader of a war party needed a fast, reliable horse more than any king did. Still, there is no creature on land or sea that can match a creature of the air in full flight. It didn't take long for both horse and master to realize it was futile, and slow their headlong rush.

"LORD ASHRAM!!!!" The knights had managed to whip their horses hard enough to over-come their fear of dragons, but it had been a near thing. "Lord Ashram, you mustn't endanger yourself like..." They froze as he raised the sword to stare at the blade.

Ashram allowed himself a smile as he felt hungry licks of power from the blade. "So, you want the dragon's blood, do you. Can you sense a worthy foe? Demon Sword of Darkness?"

The soldiers swallowed nervously as they watched him, all but the last figure in the column. Another of Wagnard's priests, he echoed the Black Knight's smile, though for reasons of his own.

--------

Farther to the east, five horses pounded their way across the sun-set lit desert; three elf riders, two human.

Shiris grinned as they rode. "So, the demon dragon himself, huh? Hope we're not getting in over our heads."

Trent shot back, "you don't have to come. Turn back any time you want to."

Shiris laughed openly at him. "No way! Things are way too interesting around you people. Right Orson?"

The berserker's only answer was a look back to his partner. Trent just shrugged. He wasn't quite stupid enough to pass up free help.

Deed allowed her own horse to slow enough to come abreast of Shiris. "Thank you for helping save me back there."

"Ha! An elf, being polite, there's a first." Shiris grinned to try and take the sting out of her words (as evidenced by Deed's pout.) "This is going to be quite the fight, isn't it?"

Deed smiled warmly, directing her smile to the front of their group rather than the female mercenary. "Don't worry. Once Trent's found a path to walk, he's unstoppable."

Unseen by any of them but Orson, Trent smiled at the comment. It had most likely been intended to be lost in the wind of their passage, but he'd heard all the same. And he would be lying if he said he disliked her attention. Something about the high elf seemed to warm the ice he'd armored himself in for so long.

And for some odd reason, he liked losing that armor.