Chapter Ten The Mountain of Flames

The problem with living in a desert isn't the heat. Nor is it just the dryness of the air. A not so small part of the problem is the sand itself, and what it does to temperatures. Sand actually absorbs very little heat; a big part of what makes a desert so hellish during the day is that not only are you contending with the sunlight, but you also have to deal with all the extra sunlight and heat being reflected by the sand. Temperatures then plummet once the sun sets, due to almost zero heat being stored from the day. The long and the short of this paragraph is, you stand equal chances of dying in a desert from heat-stroke and hypothermia. Charming place, isn't it?

Anyway, about the only time of day that a desert is bearable is about five thirty in the evening, when the sunlight is just low enough to keep it from being too hot. It can get a lot better outside of a desert, but you can't hope for a whole lot more than that.

Ashid yawned irritably as the clouds began to gather. He couldn't figure out what the big deal was; sure, Shooting Star was damn near unstoppable, but why worry so much just now? It wasn't as though he hadn't been there for years, and he would continue to be there for years. So why bother?"

Fezzik joined Ashid in cloud-watching for a few moments. "Think we'll get any rain?"

"God, I hope so."

Above, four hundred tons of scale and muscle soared between the upper and lower cloudbanks. Four hundred tons of scale and muscle which happened to be a bit irritated with all the attention that was being paid to his territory. Four hundred tons of scale and muscle which REALLY needed to let off some steam.

And unfortunately, the eleventh foot brigade of Flaim was a convenient enough target for that frustration.

In the six minutes it took for Kashue and his party to finish riding up, they were all but slaughtered.

"Where the devil are all our reserve troops?!"

Orson looked at the patches of black that had once been bone with a detached air that crossed the border on creepy. Ignoring the screams, he focused his hearing towards above for tell-tale whispers and gales. "He's coming back around."

Despite everything that they'd been told about the creature, it wasn't even remotely enough to prepare those fighting for the reality.

Shooting Star went far beyond big. If you want to have some idea of what going up against him would have been like, think of it like this. Take a Komodo dragon (a ten-foot long lizard of the south pacific). Multiply all of its size factors by forty, until its the approximate size of a World War II attack submarine. Now, give said lizard a really bad temper, the capacity for flight at subsonic speeds (if he tries), near invulnerability, the ability to breathe sixty foot wide gouts of fire capable of turning bone into ash in seconds, and a sadistic streak wider than the Gulf Stream.

Now imagine that you're an earth-bound human in plate armor with a three foot long metal stick to fight it with.

Yes, that warm feeling of a little trickle is indeed urine running down your leg.

Most of the soldiers were either running into open ground or suicidally staying put in hopes of hitting it with the ballista and catapults nearby. Kashue's party chose the slightly more discreet path of running like hell into the nearest set of caves. Where they were forced to watch humans transform into six foot clouds of charcoal and dust.

Trent turned to the mouth of the cave, yelling at the top of his lungs, "GET THE FUCK IN HERE NOW!!!!!!!!!"

Fezzik had been one of the two or three that had survived the initial onslaught, and thankful for someone to tell him what to do so he didn't have to think, he turned and charged towards the cave.

Banking lazily in midair, Shooting Star turned to the human who was fleeing in a sensible direction. Pausing just long enough to let him gain a bit of hope that he might actually make it, he sent a burst of flame at him as he made it within twenty feet of Trent's spot.

Crouching their, Trent felt his hold on the assassin start to weaken as Shooting Star mockingly continued circling. The Thunder dragon they'd fought in the depths of the dwarves's great caverns hadn't angered him; it was too stupid to be cruel. This? The damnable lizard was actually enjoying itself. To hell with this.

For the first time in quite a while, Trent chose to completely discard his reason as he gave the assassin free rein. Gathering his legs underneath him, he burst out of the cave to make a break for one of the remaining loaded ballista.

"TRENT, ARE YOU CRAZY?! GET BACK HERE!"

Kashue and Shadam interposed themselves between the two elf women as they prepared to charge after him. "Don't! It's far too risky."

Trent easily cleared the ground to the heavy missile weapon. He didn't actually think that it would make any difference, but he could always hope. He grimaced in pain as he grabbed the firing lever; it had been heated a bit past his preferences, but when the assassin took hold it told pain to go take a hike.

The dragon came by for a last pass at the twit who'd actually run away from cover to face him. Draconic jaws can't frown, but it tried as it saw him. He'd been around for eons; he had a long memory. And this elf was reminding him a bit too strongly of an old fight that had actually scarred him. He silently resolved to eat it rather than just torch it.

Trent allowed himself a feral grin as Shooting Star continued his stoop. Perfect. Yanking back on the lever, he fired the ten foot arrow of solid metal at the great beast, then fell backwards into his own shadow to make a quick getaway.

The arrow went for the beast's eye, but all it took to avoid damage was for Shooting Star to blink as it neared. Then, the gods chose to be nice for once, as the rainstorm that had been building for months finally broke, sending a few million volts of electricity into the pseudo lightning rod in the dragon's eye.

It was not pleased; it was supposed to do the hurting, not the be the one hurt. Giving one last baleful glare to the encampment, it turned and flew away.

Time was one thing it had. An infinite cruel streak was another.

--------

Nyara winced uncomfortably at the rumbling sound of Shooting Star returning to his den. The blasted place only stopped rumbling when the damned reptile was asleep, and even then it wasn't always one hundred percent reliable; minor tremors seemed to love this place.

Ashram smiled quietly as the quiet returned. A creature Shooting Star's size didn't need food; at that kind of size, what could possibly feed it decently? No, its magic was far more than enough to keep it alive and well. Still, even an Ancient Dragon had to sleep. Now was his best, and quite possibly only chance. Loosening his sword beneath his cloak, he began stalking forward.

"Wait."

He paused, glaring irritably at the dark elf woman who'd chosen to tag along a few days ago. He'd recognized her as one of the random flunkies that populated the palace; a warrior, but not too good. "What is it?"

"Our objective is just to retrieve the scepter, right?"

Ashram nodded. "Which will be simple enough once it's dead."

Nyara was hardly the only one to feel their jaw drop. "You don't mean..."

Ashram smiled, drawing Soul Crusher. "This sword hungers for the dragon's blood. Far be it for me to deny it."

Nyara sprang in front of him. "If you want to kill Shooting Star fine, but you'll need the scepter to do that."

Ashram's smile slowly faded into a cold glare. He still didn't understand why she hung around him; he did nothing to encourage her presence. "You doubt my prowess?"

Nyara winced at the unintended slight to his pride. "But..."

"Stand aside."

"No!" Beld was dead and Wagnard a theocratic fool; Ashram was the only real hope left for Marmo. "Only fools and goblins fight battles they can't win."

Ashram's eyes roved to her left bicep, where one of Trent's throwing scalpels had cut a very slight scratch. "Did you know that something so minor as a scratch is enough to kill a person, if given the right conditions?" He stared her in the face. "A person who dwells in Marmo would do well to remember that."

Nyara swallowed nervously, but backed down. She was smart enough to read between the lines; keep this up and she'd be considered expendible.

--------

Deed panted lightly as she charged towards the tent that she shared with Trent and Pirotess. The knowledge that he was sleeping in the same area with two gorgeous women had prompted some raised eyebrows and scads of gossip, but she frankly didn't care. Neither did Tess. Trent? He'd taken to sleeping on the floor in front of the tent's entrance.

She paused as she noticed Pirotess scowling as she waited outside. Entering the tent, she found the reason for it. One she incidentally agreed with.

Trent stared into space wordlessly as Shiris continued to bandage his hands. He'd worn gloves when he'd grabbed the heated iron of the ballista, but it was still enough for light burns. He didn't mind them all that much, but Kashue and Shadam had insisted.

He blinked in shock as Shiris abruptly darted her face forward until it was within inches of his own.

"You know, recklessness like that isn't a virtue." The she-mercenary backed away in thought. "Then again, it might be for you." Standing, she dusted off her hands as she joined him in thought. "Still, I can't help but get the feeling that that thing was just toying with us. Like we were just worms for it to devour."

"Worms have lives too," Deed said quietly from the door, startling them. "The life of a human, the life of an elf, the life of a worm, or the life of a dragon; they're the same." She stared at them. "Life is life!"

Trent sighed as he stood up to head for someplace alone. He paused at the doorway. "You know, some of the warriors were congratulating me on my courage back there. So have you and Kashue, Shiris. Would you mind stopping that?"

Orson raised his head calmly as she blinked in shock. "Um...why?"

A 'look' passed between Orson and Trent before he answered. "Courage is defined by my people as having fear, and ignoring it enough to continue functioning. Me? I just don't care. There's a difference."

Pirotess sighed as he walked out. "Great. He's gone fatalistic on us again."

Deed nodded. "He's facing something he doesn't think he can beat. Can you think of any other way he could feel?"

--------

Have you ever had the feeling that someone was trying really, really, REALLY hard to derail your plans? That you must have done something really bad in a past life for your current one to suck so badly? That the gods themselves are taking the time and effort to taunt you just out of pure spite?

That has absolutely nothing to do with the story, I'm just curious.

Anyway, Wagnard was considering starting in that general direction. "So, not only have you failed me to retrieve the elves, but now Nyara has gone haring off to the fire dragon mountain with Ashram?"

Vok winced, but held his peace. It was basically true anyway.

Wagnard unexpectedly laughed at him. "Dark elf in name, but in the end she's still a woman." It was of little concern to him; all this meant was that he'd get the scepter before he got those two elves he needed for his ceremony. The only question left was to wonder what to do with this stupid elf who'd brought him the news. Well, they did say to kill the messenger. "So, can you give me any reason to let you live?"

Vok's head snapped up in shock. "Wha?! But my lord...!"

"Baylos, almighty lord of fiery destruction, come forth. Baylos, almight lord of fiery destruction, come forth!"

Vok barely had time to scream as his body exploded into a massive gout of fire, hot enough to burn everything beyond ash.

Wagnard shrugged, and made a note to have someone come and sweep up what little was left. It wouldn't do to soil Kardis's temple, now would it?

--------

"Back door, huh?"

Shadam nodded. "In the nation of Flaim, there is a legend of a dragon- slayer, the man who would free us from Shooting Star."

Kashue chose to elaborate. After all, he's a main character, Shadam just a supporting one. He HAS to have more lines. "There are two entrances into Shooting Star's lair; the main one at the top of the volcano, and a small cleft in the mountain near the back. That was the one spoken of by the legend of the Dragon Slayer."

Shiris eyed him speculatively. "So, we're going to sneak in to try and fight him? Sounds risky."

"Certainly it's dangerous," Shadam said. "But unlike an all-out frontal assault, not suicidal. However, there is one last part of the legend that needs to be accomplished first." He leaned forward in anticipation. "Three lances that have been possessed by the power of Myrii, the god of war, should help us in our quest to defeat the dragon. The priests are forging them as we speak"

Trent turned to Kashue. "I'm coming with you."

Kashue paused, then abruptly dragged Trent out of his chair by the lapels of his coat. "You want to join us, fine. But no more stupid heroics, got it?" He was starting to get irritated with the elf, and the way he didn't seem to care about his current position was a bit unsettling.

Trent calmly grasped Kashue's hand, then abruply yanked it over and around, using an elbow lock to break his grip and slam him into the table there. "No need to get antsy. Besides which, you're not my king." He released his arm and turned to walk away. "And for the record, my heroics are maniacal, not stupid."

Kashue had picked himself up before that last, and found himself experiencing something he'd never even heard of in his entire life.

A face-fault.

--------

Back in Tarba, Neese was watching her daughter and that odd mage with impeccably veiled amusement. Still, it probably would have been mildly inappropriate to start cackling at the looks being exchanged. Instead, she went for the inscrutable elder look. "So, you are set in your course?"

Slayn nodded. "The witch Karla, the awakening of Shooting Star, this great war; they are related somehow. We must find out how and why."

Neese nodded once, and turned to the side. Primarily because her face was starting to hurt from restraining her ear-to-ear grin. Still, she had her voice under control enough to speak a quick, "Marfa, give us strength."

--------

Shooting Star was not happy.

He'd lived for eons; he'd actually fought alongside Falaris during the war of the gods, over twenty thousand years ago. Roughly eighteen thousand years after that, he'd been entrusted by the high sorcerers and theocrats of Kastuul to guard the scepter of domination, the ultimate force of magic in their world.

They'd chosen perfectly; dragon's were too big and had too unwieldy fore- talons to use the blasted thing.

They'd chosen him because he had been one of the only five dragons to survive the holocaust of the God's War. They'd assumed that because he was the cruelest and most vicious (something he took great pride in, incidentally), he was the strongest. So far, no one had ever managed to find out that Bramd the old hibernating wreck in Marfa's temple was actually the strongest. For dragons, especially the Ancients, age irrevocably translates to their raw power.

Still, no dragon would ever challenge him; Narse and he fought for the same side, for all that the black dragon was disgusted by him. Eibra was a pansy; he was content raiding fishing boats off the coasts. Bramd was waiting patiently for a time when he'd have to fight again, nursing his strength for one last battle. Mycen? The golden dragon was probably his equal, but was too busy helping the dragon knights of Moss and ruling his own country.

That left the red demon dragon a lot of time to lounge and sleep and hoard and laugh off petty attempts to kill him.

Then that bastard had to show up and actually fight.

The dark elf who'd come had been different; he'd been faster, stronger, and a hell of a lot smarter than most of the glory-mad twits who wanted to slay a dragon. And he'd come pretty close to actually succeeding after a while.

In the end, he'd managed to wound Shooting Star severely enough that it had taken almost twenty years of hibernation to get back to full strength.

It had been the first time in almost twenty thousand years that he'd been harmed, seriously. And then a new dark elf who reeked of his last nuisance had come and dared to hurt him again.

The demon dragon spread his four scaly wings and prepared to lift off. He wasn't about to let him live again. He had blood to spill.

Below him, Ashram withdrew his hand from across his face as the great beast flew off. Watching the swiftly shrinking form of Shooting Star as he flew off, he couldn't help but smile. Any moment now.

He began climbing down towards the deeper reaches of the cavern, only to pause as Nyara chose to butt in once more. "Let me go with you."

Ashram turned a tired glare to the leather-clad elf woman. She'd done nothing but complain and tell him how he didn't stand a chance of doing anything right without her help for the entirety of her stay, and he was getting to viscerally dislike her. "And when you get in the way?"

Nyara dead-panned as she watched him. "Then kill me."

Suited him perfectly.

--------

It had actually taken a lot less time than Trent had expected, but the three lances were completed. The priests had reverently given them to Kashue, who in turn had given one to Trent and the second to Orson. Peering along the length, he had to admit that they'd done a stunning job of forging; he could actually feel divine energies being radiated from the weapons.

Kashue reverently gazed at his own lance. "Spear of Myrii, bite hard and bit deep on your foe. Let the bloodshed finally end with your strength." With no further preamble, the expedition began.

As they continued further through the caverns, Trent's nerves started acting up. All over the place were scorch marks and gashes that hadn't healed in the rock; either Shooting Star got as tempermental in his own lair as he did in the deserts, or they were looking at something a lot older than the dragon.

Shiris sighed as they walked along. For all the hype over the dragon hunt, this was becoming rather boring, just walking all over the place. She paused as they approached a cross-roads in the tunnels. She began heading for the left, only to be stopped by Orson's outstretched arm. Wordlessly, the berserker hefted a fist-sized rock and threw it into the middle of the tunnel, triggering a very nice small avalanche of rocks and stalactites.

Kashue nodded. The legend had been clear on this. "Remember, sometimes the obvious path is the false one."

"Meaning we head down there," Shiris asked, pointing past the fallen rocks.

This proved a bit uncomfortable, as apparently steam vents had been located there, just in case the rock slide didn't finish intruders off.

"Stay still!" Kashue barked as tendrils of steam whipped around them.

Deed sighed in disdain, bringing her hands together in front of her chest. "Sylph, spirit of wind, lend us your strength. Let your power carve a path for those who love you!" Winds began rippling around her, causing the gouts of steam to sway away from them long enough for them to leap out of their epicenter.

"Deed! Get out of there!" Trent bellowed

The high elf winced as she struggled to maintain the spell. Her wind-based shamanism was her strongest gift, but she had limits, and maintaining a powerful spell of protection and moving was far from easy. In the end she managed to leap out of the steam, after summoning one final blast of wind to give her a little extra time.

Back in the encampment, the look-outs started screaming once more as Shooting Star returned. Shadam took instant command in Kashue's absences. "Don't bother trying to fight it! Get under cover, immediately!"

Finally, one of them chose to be intelligent and calm about the mess.

--------

Ashram frowned as they went further into the caverns, pausing as light began to shine from further into the caverns.

He was slightly taken aback when he saw Shooting Star's hoard.

Eric Dickinson wrote a book called 'the flight of dragons,' in which he described and explained certain things about the race. One of the things he explained was their prediliction for gold and treasure. The real reason is due to dragon's fire. Any traditional material used for sleeping on (straw, furs, pine boughs, or anything terribly soft) doesn't last long when the sleeper snores fireballs. The end result is that dragons prefer a bed made of various soft metals; specifically gold, silver, and platinum.

Now just imagine that you're being confronted by enough gold and jewels to form a bed for a dragon that measures around two hundred fifty feet in length when lying down to sleep.

Don't drool.

Still, Ashram actually wasn't all that interested in the gold itself (though he was pretty much the only one there.) At the top of the hoard stood several huge chunks of cheap rock crystal spires; one specifically holding a long, slender objet carved from pure alabaster. Slightly more than five feet in length, the scepter was for the most part a simple shaft of white gemstone. The butt was scrolled and flared to form a cap, similar to the much larger one at the top. Around the orb that finished the top were scrolled lines of rune engravings, while immediately below were engravings of eight women standing and supporting the world, almost a Forcerian Atlas.

"Wait," commanded one of the priests there as Ashram made ready to shatter the crystal chest. Bowing his head, he began intoning, "Divine power buried since ancient times, unleash thy might and let the barriers fall. Divine power buried since ancient times, unleash thy might and let the barriers fall."

The crystal began flickering in a circle at one spot on the side. Cautiously at first, Ashram extended his hand through the crystal until he was able to touch the divine relic. As his hand touched, the scepter flared in brilliant white light, turning the crystal prison to simple motes of dust around it.

Shooting Star froze in his hunt as he felt a great surge of mystical force emanating from the mountain. Cursing himself for a fool, the dragon turned to seek out its lair once more.

Shadam stared in wonder as the beast flew off. "Lord Kashue...please, let your quest be successful."

--------

Unaware of...well, pretty much everything, Kashue stepped through the final cleft in the wall to reach the true part of Shooting Star's lair. As the six of them entered, Deed froze at the lip, her hand darting to her rapier.

"What is it?"

The high elf's eyes narrowed. "Someone else is here."

Trent immediately started scanning the area, cursing himself for not bothering to scan for anything save the dragon. Come on, how much effort does it take to find a dragon THAT big?

Cold, mocking laughter began echoing through the caverns. "Strange place to meet, isn't it oh Great Mercenary King?"

Kashue's eyes widened. "Ashram?!"

Trent snarled at the reminder. "So, the black knight's back. Knew it was too much to hope for that he'd die."

"Ah, the elf is back." The black knight stepped out from behind the rocks, Soul Crusher in one hand, Nyara standing at his side.

Trent winced as more knights appeared from around boulders. "What exactly are you doing here Ashram? Don't tell me you're here for the charming decor."

Ashram laughed openly at him. "What if I told you that it was for the possession of Lodoss?"

Trent unlimbered his katana. "I'd tell you you were an idiot. Fahn, Beld, Karla, Kardis, the sorcerers of Kastuul; everyone who tries that seems to come down with a serious case of dead."

Ashram shrugged. "We'll see who dies then. Simple as that."

The knights chose that moment to attack. There were five of them, not counting the priest of Kardis, Nyara, or Ashram, so in the end it was fairly even. Confident that his companions could handle themselves, Trent dodged a hacking attack to calmly disembowel his opponent. He turned lazily as Ashram chose to fight next. "So, you carry the Demon Sword now? I'm impressed. Guess that makes you emperor instead of just knight. Or have things changed since I left Marmo?"

Ashram smiled. "You seem to have improved a bit since our last fight."

The two dark warriors exploded into motion. Trent winced as the exchanges began with lightning speed. He'd been hoping that Ashram had been too busy trying to master the mystical parts of his new sword to improve in terms of pure skill. Wishful thinking, as he was driven back and forced to play defensively.

His main weakness was his sword itself. He was still faster than Ashram and their relative strengths hadn't changed. The problem was that Soul Crusher could generate fields powerful enough to stop Trent's attacks, while the sword itself could break even his sabers.

This proved enough to give Ashram a chance to disarm him within minutes of the start of their battle.

Taking up where his last comment had left off, Ashram smiled. "But in the end, no match." His sword raised for the final blow.

Thankfully he was distracted by the reappearance of Shooting Star.

Who decided to herald his return with a gout of fire powerful enough to melt granite.

Turning his attention to a far greater threat than the elf (come on, he's just an assassin), Ashram whipped out the scepter to try and calm him down. Instead, the mystical forces at work in the artifact completely deflected the fires, not even singeing his hair.

Shooting Star glared balefully at the knight who'd dared to survive his attack, at least until he noticed the scepter in his hand. That kind of took away his options; he could hate the knight as much as he wanted, but he couldn't touch him, let alone attack him.

Ashram smiled at the now obedient (if grudgingly) dragon. "So, the scepter commands the dragon as well? Hmmm..." staring down the massive reptile, he divided enough of his focus to begin summoning the full power of an only too happy to oblige demon within his sword.

Nyara attempted to intervene, but the momentary distraction proved just long enough for Pirotess and Leylia to mutually impale her.

Ashram grinned ferally as Shooting Star made several abortive snaps at him. It wanted him dead SOOOOOOOO badly, and it was helpless to fullfil its desires. Soon enough, it would be dead.

Trent considered attacking him, but in the end decided that Ashram would be a far more cultured and beneficial dictator than Shooting Star, and as such was willing to let him finish off the demon dragon.

Fate can be tricky at times. She's not a weaver as many people believe, or at least not a weaver of tapestries and threads of life. She's a story teller, a weaver of fact, fiction, and drama. Thus, when things didn't behave the way she wanted, she inserted what writers like myself call random plot devices. She's far from the only one to do this, but she was the one who did this time.

The plot device in question was to alter the path of some of the deflected fire and such enough to trigger some structural weaknesses in the ledge that Ashram and Trent were standing on. Not much, but enough to make Ashram trip and lose his not-so-secure-in-the-first-place grip on the Scepter of Domination.

Wagnard's priest pounced on the fallen weapon and leapt away with it. "The scepter now belongs to Kardis!" he crowed exuberantly as he disappeared.

Trent winced as Ashram regained his feet long enough to start swearing. Now free of the scepter's compunctions, Shooting Star unleashed a massive surge of fire against the black knight.

On impulse, Trent grabbed him and dove away from the flame blast. Not that running in a normal sense would have worked, but the fire did make some very convenient shadows that he could use.

As it was the first time he'd ever teleported with a second person before, he had no way of knowing that if you weren't the shadow walker that it was the equivalent of having your nervous system ripped out and reassembled...well not that bad actually, but enough to give serious vertigo.

Shooting Star growled low as his prey disappeared. He was at the moment torn whether he was more irritated with that too familiar dark elf or the black knight who'd had the gall to try and control him.

His musings gave Orson his chance. During the fight, he'd been climbing up to the highest available ledge. Leaping off, he put his full weight and the force of a sixty foot fall behind his thrust, ramming the spear into Shooting Star's nasal cavity, one of his few remaining weak spots.

It also gave Kashue enough time to charge and ram his own into the base of the dragon's neck.

Not a good day to be an avatar of a force of unspeakable destruction.

Ashram finally managed to collect himself as Shooting Star's throes started caving in his den. He turned to the dark elf. "Why didn't you just kill me?"

Trent shrugged. "Eh, it's no fun if you just die because of a stupid rock- slide. You deserved to die in battle or as a king, something like that."

Ashram gave him an odd look. "You don't hate me, do you?"

Trent rose to his feet, retrieving his katana. "Not really. I respect you if nothing else, even if you are a ruthless murderer. Then again I'm an assassin, so who am I to talk?"

Ashram rose to his feet, unsheathing his sword. "Get out of here. I'm not finished with that dragon yet."

Trent froze. "Um, in case it's escaped your notice, you don't have the scepter anymore. Soul Crusher is strong, but do you honestly think that it's enough?"

Ashram shrugged. "Perhaps not. But it's my choice. Now leave."

Trent stared at him for a long moment; long enough for Deed and Pirotess to come to drag him away. As he left, he tossed his lance of dragon-slaying to him. "It might be useful." He bowed formally. "We might meet again, under the cloak of divine Falaris."

Ashram blinked in shock at the formal farewell of the knights, then shook it off. So, the elf still follows darkness. Will wonders never cease.

Pirotess gave him a thoroughly confused look as they ran out. "What was all that about? I thought you wanted to kill him."

Trent shrugged. "Not really. I don't want him to have access to the power necessary to rule all of Lodoss, but as far as enemies go, he's one I'd rather have. He's a much better human being than just about anyone else I know who might dislike me."

Deed sighed. "What you told him back there...you still worship the god of night?"

"When I left the dark elf people, it was because of a disagreement with the ruling classes. That and their bad habit of turning men into harem slaves and/or far more degrading posts," Trent answered. "I never gave up everything that was a part of being a dark elf; I'm proud of who I am."

As they ran off, Trent spared a last glance to the still fighting Ashram. "In the end, he was a worthy opponent, a man who didn't just earn my respect, he demanded it." He sighed. Rest well, black knight. May your fight be true, and your sword sharp. Or something of that nature.