Chapter Eleven
The Wizard's Ambition
Trent was not exactly what you'd call a sentimental person. Nor would gentle really be immediately aplicable. That's the first impression that you'd probably get from him, and he does absolutely nothing to correct it. Heck, he works pretty hard to enforce it.
And yet somewhere along the line, he did something right socially. He'd be damned if he could figure out what it was, but it had been enough to, for the first time in his life, cause some people to feel something stronger than mere tolerance for him. Actually, as near as he could tell it was quite a bit stronger than tolerance.
As if that wasn't enough to rattle him, he'd started reciprocating.
Which is why we currently find our not-so-righteous-or-Just-but-still- pretty-cool-hero standing outside the door to a room shared by an elegant young high elf and a decidedly curvier dark elf. Pausing, he extended his hearing to check their current status (he'd been doing it for the past forty five minutes or so.)
Stabilized, slowed breathing patterns?
Check.
Quiet mumbling with absolutely no possible linguistic interpretation?
Check.
Two different tones for both of above questions, and thus two different people in there?
Check.
Conclusion? They were sound asleep.
Slinking as quietly as he knew how to (and that's pretty damn quiet), he stepped into their elegantly furnished room. When they'd arrived in Kashue's capital city of Akrohd, he'd insisted that they be given the finest guest quarters in the palace. At the moment, Deed and Pirotess were stretched out on a pair of couches, resting from the ordeal of Fire Dragon Mountain and the ride back to civilization.
Perfect. They'd possibly assume him, and probably guess him, but there would be no way to confirm.
Pausing at the end table next to Pirotess's couch, he silently put down a single red rose. Pausing at at the table at Deedlit's couch, he placed a single white one. Where Kashue found roses in the middle of the desert was something he was still working on, but he wasn't exactly going to complain.
Smiling at the two (since they couldn't see it), he turned and slipped away.
Well, tried at least.
"Trent?"
He froze at the quiet voice, somehow being rendered incapable of running like hell as he would have preferred. Instead, he slowly turned to face the high elf.
Deed smiled at him, pausing as she noticed the rose he'd left for her. Said smile didn't widen or brighten, but something happened to it. Trent wasn't 100% sure what, but it kind of scared him and turned his insides into some kind of mush simultaneously.
Sniffing delicately at the rose, she said simply, "thank you."
Trent's self-image ruthlessly forced the part of his head that wanted to start gibbering idiotically/nose-bleed fainting back into remission and proceeded to beat the tar out of it.
Then Pirotess found her rose. Her smile as she picked it up was a bit less smitten and a fair amount...hungrier.
For the seventh time in as many days, Trent thanked any and all gods he could think of for Deed being able to persuade Pirotess to start dressing in clothing that didn't 'display' her quite so much.
"Is something wrong?"
He started as Deed spoke up, giving him an arch look that told him that she was QUITE aware of why he was so nervous. He just chuckled nervously and kicked his autonomic system, screaming for a massive shot of adrenaline to get the (bleep) out of there before the overload of cute and sexy made him do something that he'd eventually regret. "Um...no, I'm fine." He smiled quietly, then turned to leave. "Better than I've been in quite a while."
Outside the door, Shiris pushed off against the wall to stalk away.
Orson paused in his contemplations as Shiris appeared in the courtyard. He gave her his trademark idle look. "What's the matter?"
Shiris glared at him, then flung herself irritably onto the grass. "That's what I hate about you, Orson. You never know when NOT to talk." Sighing, she continued staring into the sky. "Orson, how long have we been together?"
The berserker watched her as she lost herself in though, apparently not really expecting an answer. He just watched and waited, as he always did. In time she'd need someone to lean on, and he'd be there for her, as he always was.
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Kashue hid the glare he REALLY wanted to turn on his current scout. First that idiotic war, then Shooting Star, and now this. He must have really pissed off the gods in a previous life. "Something happening to Marmo?"
The eye-patched and turbanned scout nodded from his deferential kneeling position. "Yes, it's as though the entire island were stirring." He paused, trying to collect thoughts that he'd have preferred to remain scattered. "With Beld and Ashram gone, we assumed that it would just become another darkened island. But now...it's almost as though the island itself is alive. The grounds there shudder and shake, as though some great force or beast were stirring beneath it. Even those demons and monsters that live there fear what's happening."
Kashue was NOT a literary person. He was literate, spoke a few extra languages enough to know what a curse or death threat sounded like, and that was it. Still, he knew enough to have a few ideas of what this could mean. Specifically concerning the myths of Lodoss's and Marmo's creation.
Even more specifically, a certain goddess who was supposedly hibernating under the island, waiting for a chance to strike.
--------
Consciousness began slowly returning to Ashram. He'd felt better, but miraculously he was fairly unmarked. He groaned quietly as he sat up, his head pounding. He could remember his battle against Shooting Star. Apparently, Soul Crusher was enough to deflect the demon dragon's fire if he tried hard enough. And he'd been quite motivated at the time.
Their battle had ended, not with Shooting Star's death as he would have preferred, but with him being buried and sealed up in some cave in the bowels of the mountain. What with all the energies and raw forces pounding away inside the den, it hadn't taken long for him to get stuck here.
"My, my. He's still alive. Will wonders never cease?"
Ashram's eyes shot to the speaker as he grabbed the sword, spinning into a ready stance but leaving the blade sheathed. "Who's there?"
The figure in the violet tunic and black cloak didn't answer, at least not his immediate question. "Did you truly think Wagnard one to share his power? He has no intention of following you."
Both Sword and wielder snorted in disdain. "That is no surprise. Now answer me." As the figure remained silent, Ashram chose the slightly more blatant approach, drawing his sword completely, summoning its demonic powers.
He was noticeably more impressed. "Soul Crusher...so, you've totally mastered it. I wonder, will it serve you against Kardis?"
"WHAT?!"
"The scepter of domination...such power. I imagine that even Kardis would have to bow before it." The man who had once been Woodchuck leaned forward, smiling and revealing the circlet.
Ashram was noticeably less than pleased. "YOU?!?!?!?!?!"
"Go to Marmo, to the black palace. All of Lodoss moves towards there now. Including the elves." All-to-familiar mocking laughter echoed as she faded away.
Ashram stared after the disappearing witch, but in the end chose to heed her words. Marmo was HIS land. His people. And Wagnard would be damned to the nine hells if he thought that he would get them for whatever twisted little games he had going through his sick little mind.
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Trent stared at a silent Kashue. "Oh, you had BETTER be joking."
Kashue sighed. "We leave tomorrow to seek aid."
Trent mentally gave composure a kick in the nuts. He'd earned a little bit of near-hysteria. "It has been all of two months since the war of heroes. Five weeks since we fought against Karla. Six DAYS since the fight at fire dragon mountain. And now you've decided that you have no remaining choice but to start up a new war with the Marmo, a damn-near crippled kingdom over a thousand miles away from your nearest border. WHAT are you smoking, or have you just gone completely insane?"
Kashue gave the elf an odd look; he'd always gone for the coldly aloof, and now he was a bit...earthier. "We have no choice. Our scouts have been reporting something happening there, something that can't be ignored. We aren't even sure what, but it's endangering enough that we have no choice but to end this battle now."
Trent mentally counted to ten. Then twenty. And eventually to sixty. "Would you care to tell me what you're so worried about?" he finally finished.
Deed's answered eclipsed anything that Kashue could have said. "The Marmo have the scepter, don't they."
"The scepter?" Orson asked.
Deedlit nodded as she stared into the fires. "The Scepter of Domination, the ultimate artifact of magical power. Whoever holds it holds all of Lodoss in the palm of their hand."
Kashue chose not to look back at them. "The legends of Lodoss's creation say that Kardis sleeps beneath Marmo."
Jaws dropped in absolute horror.
Trent stared. No, check that, he STAARRRRRREEEED. "Hold the fuck up. You mean to tell me that you think the 'something' happening on Marmo is supposed to be the goddess of psychosis, rage, madness, and destruction? THAT is what this is all about?"
Kashue's silence proved to be answer enough.
--------
"MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"
Yes, Wagnard is being presented with the scepter of domination.
The altar of Kardis was not a pleasant place to be in, for all its austere beauty. The temple itself sat on the highest mountain of Marmo, perhaps a mile away from Castle Conquera. The building was in the same vague style as the Greeks and Romans of earth would build; a generally square building, ornately columned. For all that the dark goddess despised light with a passion that went beyond madness, the temple had been carved from the purest white marble, the altar within shale and slate instead. The altar floated atop a forty foot boulder over a yawning chasm stretching miles deep into the ground, to the very resting place of the mistress of destruction.
Grinning like some kind of deranged skeleton, he hefted the five foot shaft of alabaster in both hands, his eyes glittering madly at the raw power he could feel coursing through the artifact.
"Ancient power long since imprisoned, you who were eons-ago forged from chaos, become a shield to protect me..."
Violet and Crimson lightning began to flare around him from within the altar, streaming around the priest to answer his spell. He laughed openly at the clawing, hungry energies. "Kardis! No need to be so impatient! OOOOHOHOHOHOHO! You'll be returned soon enough my dear."
The lower priest of Falaris stared in shock as Wagnard forced the lightning under his control, using it as a catapult to hurl himself into the air, into a hunt for two elves within the living force of thunder itself.
He prayed that power would not fall.
--------
In the central mountains of northwestern Valis, Leylia and Slayn continued their own journey. At least when they weren't drowning and strangling the forestlife around them under their syrupy, innocent sexual tension.
Simple little things like Slayn offering the priestess his hand was enough to make the two of them blush.
Granted, this is fairly reasonable if you consider the circumstances. Leylia was a devestatingly attractive woman. Plus, she had that odd kind of wounded air that not only aroused the...'other' instincts, it brought protective impulses to the fore as well. As for Leylia, she was still crushing herself under the guilt of what Karla had done through her. Any kind of support she could garner was something that she was a bit more than eager for.
Slayn smiled as she helped her along the path. "If circumstances were different, I would have liked to speak the truth..."
His next words were hidden under the rumble of a surge of lightning. That wouldn't have been too worrisome, but for three things. One, it was a clear, almost cloudless day; no cumulonimbus clouds to generate thunder. Second, lightning is usually incandescent white, its path causing pale blue and violet luminesence. It's not bright crimson. Finally, lightning normally doesn't travel parallel to the ground.
Leylia stared in confusion at the blast. "What's happening?"
Slayn on the other hand, was shaking in absolute horror at the thought of that much energy ANYWHERE. "It...it...it can't...be..."
--------
Pirotess favored Trent with a tired look. "So we're actually going to go to Moss anyway?"
Trent shrugged tiredly; no one had gotten much sleep last night. And thankfully due to logistical and tactical discussions as opposed to anything of THAT nature. "I personally don't want to believe that Kardis is actually being ressurected or invoked; who could possibly be that stupid?" (somewhere in a lightning bolt, a certain red-robed priest felt an asthma attack.) "I just don't think that we have any real choice in the matter. Kardis ripped Lodoss off from the entirety of the Continent Alecrast in a dying breath; I don't want to even consider what she could do if ressurected."
Shiris shrugged from nearby. "Well, see you around then. Orson and I are skimping out of this insane little fight you've concocted."
Trent shrugged. "If I live, remind me to look you up. We'll probably meet sometime again, provided you don't turn evil or something."
Shiris grinned at him, but it was a great deal less fierce than her old, slightly more possessive smiles. She turned to Shadam conversationally. "Good luck trying to get any help from Raiden. A free city with no kings; they couldn't care less about the outside."
"That how mercenaries think?" Deed asked irritably.
"Damn straight!" Wheeling, the two mercenaries took off. "See ya!"
Kashue sighed as the two mercenaries rode off for the west. Turning, he and Shadam rode off as well; the king to the east, the captain north by northwest. The elves soon enough were pounding across the sun-bleached rock and sand to the northwest.
Trent kept glancing back as they rode. There'd been a switch of sorts, him being the concerned one, Deed and Pirotess being the quiet, deep-in-thought ones.
He was beginning to understand why so few people seemed to like that; it really WAS irritating. Which suited him quite well, but with those two? With those two it was worrisome.
Reining in his horse and letting them continue to trot past him was enough to get their attention, if nothing else. Actually, it kind of startled them into nearly falling off their horses, which conveniently snapped them out of their little funk.
Pirotess gave him a slightly irritated look. "What was that about?"
"You're keeping something from me. And the handful of times you two caught me hiding something, I always talked. So you owe me. So spill."
The two elf women were decidedly uncomfortable with the subject, but he did have a point. Deed opened the conversation as she climbed off her horse. "The Scepter of Domination...Marmo...and the attacks against Pirotess and myself. They're all connected somehow."
"The ressurection of Kardis requires several things," Pirotess explained. "Only the Marmo can or would do it; her altar and resting place are miles below the bedrock of the island. And moer importantly, it requires a sacrifice of the lives of two elves; the immortal force of a High Elf's life, and the tainted spirit of a dark elf to draw that power into something she can use."
Trent stared at them. "Those abductions..."
"Were intended to acquire sacrifices for the ressurection." Deedlit sighed.
"Wait a minute. If he's going through all the trouble of ressurecting Kardis, why does he need the Scepter? I mean, why go through all the trouble of fighting Shooting Star; he couldn't have wanted to get rid of Ashram THAT badly."
"The scepter of domination was held by gods eons ago," Pirotess said quietly. "It was the irrevocable symbol of the Ruler of all Forceria; the war of the gods only began after Falis lost the scepter himself."
Trent stared at her in shock. "Wait, that thing can control gods?"
Further talk was forestalled by the crimson lightning I've mentioned so often in this chapter blasting into the ground at their feet. Wagnard grinned at the three elves, answering the unspoken portion of Trent's question. "Yes, even Kardis would have to submit to my power."
Trent's standard modus operandi when faced by insanely powerful opponents with abilities that painfully eclipse his was to start moving as fast as possible, dodging and shadow-walking randomly to throw them off guard, making sarcastic comments when possible. The problem being that that only works when one is alone; not with two companions. So, he chose the expedious option, grabbed both around the waists, and started running like hell.
This didn't work very well; Wagnard just started out by raising a circular stone wall around the three of them. It took all of a second for Trent to leap over it and keep runnning, but while he was fast, he wasn't quite THAT fast. In the end, he attempted his ace in the hole, dragging them through one of his shadow walks.
He would have tried it sooner, but as he'd learned with Ashram, anyone who couldn't do it on their own didn't handle it very well; Pirotess looked like she'd just come to from a concussion, whereas Deed was wholly unconscious.
Thus did running cease to be an option.
Wagnard just laughed as he floated in next to him. "I suppose that I might feel impressed. Still, that's very little use against someone who will soon Rule EVEN THE GOOODDDDSSSS!"
Yes, he's cackling with demonic, evil, insane laugh #6.
Trent winced at the sound blasting his sensitive hearing. "Um, do you mind? That's kind of loud," he asked as he hurled his throwing stars at the priest.
Wagnard ignored them as they bounced off his goddess-energized personal shields, chanting his own attack. "Omnipotent power, buried since the Ancient times, become a chain for those who oppose me."
The blast violet energy met elven katana and started shoving him backwards. Gritting his teeth, Trent managed to swing his blade around far enough to send the blast out of effective range, just barely.
Deed and Pirotess had regained consciousness a few minutes ago, and stared in absolute horror at the sight of Trent trying to face off the high priest of Falaris. This was far worse for Pirotess, as she actually recognized that he WAS a priest. "Wagnard?!"
The insane one bellowed in his laughter. "Soon enough! Soon, the power will all be mine!!!!!!"
The ground began rumbling at their feet, responding to yet further power from Wagnard. A circular cleft began spreading at their feet, then abruptly the ground started to distend itself, forcing the ground upward like some kind of pillar.
Shock was no longer sufficient to convey Trent's current feeling. Ripping several thousand tons of rock from the ground, essentially re-writing the landscape, and doing so without so much as a bead of sweat on your face takes scads of power. Trent was fighting a battle he had no chance of winning.
It hadn't stopped him before, but he hadn't the faintest idea what options he had left.
--------
Miles away, Orson paused as he felt the stirrings. For all that the rage empowering him was mindless, it made him a sensitive individual when he was not consumed by Hyuri. He could feel the very fabric of the ground around him being torn asunder. More importantly, in the direction that three elves he'd allowed himself to trust and befriend. Wordlessly, he turned his horse to ride for the disturbance.
Shiris paused as she noticed the lack of a second horse. Wheeling, she stared in confusion at the rapidly shrinking image of Orson. "HEY! WHAT'S GOING ON?!" Sighing at his carelessness, she turned to follow. "WAIT FOR ME!"
--------
Wagnard sighed as his opponent still refused to budge. "I grow weary of this. Gesturing carelessly with his left hand, he summoned crimson bolts of lightning from the ground, erupting around Trent like some kind of grotesque parody of growth.
Silent by nature, he still had his limits. The sheer, raw pain he felt under the assault was too much...more than he could bear. A scream ripped out of his throat, and he howled til his throat went raw.
Deedlit and Pirotess stared in horror as Wagnard began floating towards them, a crackling orb orb of light in his hand. A larger orb exploded from the ground, a cage that not even Karla could have sundered, yet one that would cause no harm.
Trent winced, gritting his teeth as the three prepared to teleport away. "You...can't...have them. Deed...'Tess..."
The high elf bowed her head to him in her helplessness. Wagnard wasn't bothering with a death blow, but he couldn't possibly survive this kind of assault without medical attention. The only hope she had left was that he might survive. Wordlessly chanting, her words only in her mind, she began a summoning, forging the light for miles around into her spell.
Orson and Shiris stared in absolute wonder at the beacon blazing atop the now-telescoping pillar of rock. The lightning had died atop it, leaving Trent collapsed and helpless at its summit. As he stared, he could feel something primal in him stir, but it was too late. His body was too far gone to fight now. All that was left was death or survival, one or the other.
He doubted survival.
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He didn't fully realize it until a few days later, but he apparently came to about a day and a half later. His eyes refocused blearily, his first sight a face that was more than familiar. "Deed..."
Leylia smiled in relief, not minding the slight hallucination. "It's alright, you've finally come to."
Trent groaned quietly, his head pounding. What's going on...what happened... He jerked out of bed as he recalled the circumstances leading up to his infirmity. "Gaahh!" Not painlessly, by the way. "Deed...what happened to Deed and Pirotess?"
The stony, uncomfortable silence was answer enough. Slayn stepped forward, a kind word at his lips. "Trent...calm down. You need to recov..."
Assassin training teaches a person how to ignore pain, to realign their nervous system to maximize their recovery times and resistances. As such, even after his severe beating, Trent was certainly strong enough to yank one scrawny mage off his feet by the lapels of his robe. "Where. Are. Deed. And. Pirotess. Answer. Now."
Slayn swallowed as Trent released him. "They were taken. By Wagnard, high priest of Falaris."
Trent stared at him moodily for a moment, then shrugged it off. Standing, he gasped as his legs started to give out under him. Etoh and Leylia sprang forward to support him. "Trent! Don't strain yourself!"
"They're going to die. Wagnard needs a sacrifice, and they're it. Don't you DARE tell me not to strain myself."
Slayn glared at him. "Don't you think that those two would have wanted you to survive that encounter?"
"I'll deal with that later," Trent said, struggling into his shirt. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission?"
Leylia glared at him, a bit more effectively than Slayd could. "Do you have the faintest idea how much energy they must have poured into gathering all the light elementals to your father's sword?"
Trent paused as he slipped on bracers, noticing for the first time the odd shimmer that seemed to be clinging to the elvish steel blade. "So what, you want me to just wait around?" He turned to them, his eyes starting to glaze over, like black ice over a pond. "Do you have the faintest idea what's going to happen to them, what it will feel like to have their souls ripped asunder to fuel the gates to Kardis?"
Slayn sighed. "Trent, even if you wanted to go, you can't possibly succeed. You tried to fight him, didn't you. What makes you think that you stand a chance against him as you are? You won't win, you'll just hurt them more by forcing them to watch you die pointlessly..."
Orson gaped in absolute shock. Considering his normal state of emotional deadness, this is saying something. He was far from the only one; Slayn had apparently pushed him a few steps too far. Almost as though it were blood seeping from under his fingernails, pure, Dark energy was flowing around Trent in a strange, almost bramble-like sheathe.
It was the first time he'd seen someone else approach berkserk, and more to the point the only time one had remained calm in the process. It was as though he were warning them silently. He would not hesitate to destroy anything that got in his path to them.
"Those letters you were to take to Moss..." Orson began.
Hopes began to rise somewhat. Orson was the only one crazy enough to bring up a prior engagement, but it might just snap him out of his own psychosis.
"...Shiris and I will take them for you."
Hopes nose-dived.
Trent turned to the berserker, staring at him for a few moments. Orson stared back unflinchingly into the assassin's eyes. Without so much as a single word, the two had come to an understanding. The aura faded away from Trent's body as he smiled gently. "Thank you."
Shiris shook her head at him, but she'd suspected that he'd do SOMETHING like this. "Right! Don't you worry for even a second. We're going to take care of this ourselves."
Etoh gave him an odd look, then sighed. Kashue had arrived before them in Valis, and appraised Fiana of the situation. Her reaction had been two- fold. She'd agreed to muster what forces she could to send along with him, then had chosen something that no-one had seen coming.
"Trent...Fiana asked me to give this to you. She wants you to keep it from now on."
Oddly enough, it was Trent's jaw that dropped the farthest (somewhere in the neighborhood of his solar plexus) at the sight of Spiritus Falis, the Breath of Falis in his hands. "I...I have no business wielding that weapon Etoh. I'm not just a dark elf, I'm an assassin. That sword is a holy weapon of light, and I am most decidedly aligned with darkness."
Etoh shrugged. "You need something that you can use against Wagnard and the Scepter. This is meant for you, for the protection of all Lodoss."
Trent was forced to grin at that. Trust Etoh to make this into some great holy quest. Still... Trent stared at the gold and steel great sword in his hands. He needed it; Etoh had been quite right about that. There was one small problem with him using a sword that had been touched by the direct opposite of all darkness. "Would...would you leave me alone for a few minutes? There's something I need to do." At their worried looks, he added irritably, "I won't leave without telling you first, alright? This is something that I have to decide on my own."
As the two left, he unsheathed the glowing, light-shedding blade of watered steel. Switching it to a reverse grip, he wedged the tip inbetween some of the stones of the floor. Kneeling before it, he breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind and properly arrange his words. "Falaris, great lord of night, he who crosses the heavens with stars and moons in his shroud, hear my voice. One who serves and obeys you asks for your blessings. Those who once fought beside you stir, and now I seek to face them. My own power lacks to defeat them, so I must ask of you. I do not presume to ask you to lend me that power which is yours, but only that you not oppose my use of what powers are available to me."
Normally Trent didn't pray, and when he did it was normally just a brief, 'thank you' to his god when things didn't go completely against him. As such, he was normally a lot more sedate and a lot less flowery. Stil, he figured that he'd get SOME kind of answer.
A beam of starry-darkness spearing in through the window and forming into the image of a slender, cloaked, seven-foot tall man formed from a pure, otherwise featureless night sky was NOT what he expected.
"F...F...Falaris?!" he squeaked in shock. At most, he'd expected a raven or an owl (birds sacred to Falaris) to come and land on the sword's hilt, signifying acceptance. Being confronted by a god a few dozen orders of magnitude stronger than anything he was capable of imagining was something else entirely.
The god lacked facial features save his eyes and the impression of long black hair. Still, his current expression inexplicably made you think that he was smiling mischievously. It is for good reason that Night and Darkness are considered the resting place of all secrets. "So, you called for a favor or permission, if I heard right. Care for a bit more detailed and less flowery explanation?"
Trent sweat-dropped at his patron god. He'd kind of expected him to be a bit more regal and thundering, not so...companionable. Still, the worst that would happen would be death, and if that were the case, fear wouldn't help any. So he could probably speak honestly without any real cause for concern.
Now if only his knees and whimpering bladder would believe that.
"Um, it's kind of like this. Two people I care about have been abducted by a raving lunatic who's been empowered by the goddess of insanity and destruction. I fought him once and got my ass kicked. Now, if I want to stand a chance against him, I need to use something a bit more potent than normal steel. I've been offered a VERY powerful weapon; problem is, it's the sword Spiritus Falis, a weapon empowered by your sworn enemy. So, can I use it anyway?"
Falaris's featureless face once again gave the impression of change, this time a raised eyebrow. "If I don't let you?"
Trent shrugged. By this time his bladder was starting to believe his head that he didn't have any real reason to worry, so it was a bit easier to talk to a god. "I'll probably try and use it anyway. So far it hasn't bit."
"And if I chose to be offended and incinerate you?"
"Then I'm royally screwed."
Falaris turned to stare out the window for a long time. "What do you think about darkness? Philosophically, I mean."
Trent paused, trying to collect his thoughts as the conversation made a ninety degree turn. "Um...I was taught that darkness is the void of creation, the place from which everything springs. Kind of like how an ocean is needed for an island to exist."
Falaris nodded. "Falis is not a god of Good, you know. Nor am I the god of Evil; Light and Darkness are forces of neutrality, elemental existences that serve as a balance and fabric to keep the other forces in line. We opposed each other eons ago, mainly because Falis was an insufferable, arrogant pain-in-the-ass, and because I was a stupid, vain-glorious, glory- mad idiot. Still, we respected each other a great deal for all that we tried very hard to kill the other; a bit like that odd relationship between you and Ashram."
Trent nodded along absently. "...So can I use the sword?"
Falaris laughed pleasantly at him. "My point is, I never particularly liked Kardis. I mean, come on. Imagine a normal woman, then give her lunacy. Then give her quite literally perpetual PMS. Now add in enough raw power to turn the sun inside out in a fit of pique; no-one liked her, particularly Narse, but just about everyone. The only reason she fought on my side was because I couldn't convince Marfa to fight with me, and so I was stuck with trying to maintain the balance." He turned around and began fading back into the darkness. "So to answer your question, go ahead. If you can, please don't finish her off. If you're forced to kill her...well, I'll understand."
Trent continued staring at the place where his patron god had been for a good ten minutes, lost in thought (that and trying to handle an extra few seconds of healing; he hadn't been joking about getting his ass handed to him by Wagnard.) Once his langour finally wore off, he picked up the Holy Sword and sheathed it, wrapping it in the red cloak Fiana had given him a while back. Slinging it over his shoulder, he trotted down the stairs after the rest of his party.
Now came the hard part.
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The landscape of Marmo was that of a hinterland, a bitter, barren crag of rock; a vicious beast that lunged its fang-rimmed max into a world of mutual hatred. Farther away, the lands turned green and lush and peaceful, but the coast reflected the island it ringed; storm-battered bare dark gray rock was the only featured, serge grass the only plant that could survive the harsh world.
It suited Ashram quite well. Not for the first time, he felt a certain...satisfaction if nothing else for having the finest steed his island had ever raised. Even after his near-death, the horse had remained near enough, subsisting in the harsh desert with an intelligence that often seemed greater than that of the goblins he'd commanded.
With his horse, it had taken little time or effort to make it across the entire continent to this southeastern coast of Lodoss, mere miles away from his home.
Glaring across the storm-gray sea, he silently vowed to kill Wagnard. The priest had been useful at times, but he had over-stepped his bounds long ago. There would be reckoning.
And alone or with company Wagnard would die. By his hand, or another's.
Trent was not exactly what you'd call a sentimental person. Nor would gentle really be immediately aplicable. That's the first impression that you'd probably get from him, and he does absolutely nothing to correct it. Heck, he works pretty hard to enforce it.
And yet somewhere along the line, he did something right socially. He'd be damned if he could figure out what it was, but it had been enough to, for the first time in his life, cause some people to feel something stronger than mere tolerance for him. Actually, as near as he could tell it was quite a bit stronger than tolerance.
As if that wasn't enough to rattle him, he'd started reciprocating.
Which is why we currently find our not-so-righteous-or-Just-but-still- pretty-cool-hero standing outside the door to a room shared by an elegant young high elf and a decidedly curvier dark elf. Pausing, he extended his hearing to check their current status (he'd been doing it for the past forty five minutes or so.)
Stabilized, slowed breathing patterns?
Check.
Quiet mumbling with absolutely no possible linguistic interpretation?
Check.
Two different tones for both of above questions, and thus two different people in there?
Check.
Conclusion? They were sound asleep.
Slinking as quietly as he knew how to (and that's pretty damn quiet), he stepped into their elegantly furnished room. When they'd arrived in Kashue's capital city of Akrohd, he'd insisted that they be given the finest guest quarters in the palace. At the moment, Deed and Pirotess were stretched out on a pair of couches, resting from the ordeal of Fire Dragon Mountain and the ride back to civilization.
Perfect. They'd possibly assume him, and probably guess him, but there would be no way to confirm.
Pausing at the end table next to Pirotess's couch, he silently put down a single red rose. Pausing at at the table at Deedlit's couch, he placed a single white one. Where Kashue found roses in the middle of the desert was something he was still working on, but he wasn't exactly going to complain.
Smiling at the two (since they couldn't see it), he turned and slipped away.
Well, tried at least.
"Trent?"
He froze at the quiet voice, somehow being rendered incapable of running like hell as he would have preferred. Instead, he slowly turned to face the high elf.
Deed smiled at him, pausing as she noticed the rose he'd left for her. Said smile didn't widen or brighten, but something happened to it. Trent wasn't 100% sure what, but it kind of scared him and turned his insides into some kind of mush simultaneously.
Sniffing delicately at the rose, she said simply, "thank you."
Trent's self-image ruthlessly forced the part of his head that wanted to start gibbering idiotically/nose-bleed fainting back into remission and proceeded to beat the tar out of it.
Then Pirotess found her rose. Her smile as she picked it up was a bit less smitten and a fair amount...hungrier.
For the seventh time in as many days, Trent thanked any and all gods he could think of for Deed being able to persuade Pirotess to start dressing in clothing that didn't 'display' her quite so much.
"Is something wrong?"
He started as Deed spoke up, giving him an arch look that told him that she was QUITE aware of why he was so nervous. He just chuckled nervously and kicked his autonomic system, screaming for a massive shot of adrenaline to get the (bleep) out of there before the overload of cute and sexy made him do something that he'd eventually regret. "Um...no, I'm fine." He smiled quietly, then turned to leave. "Better than I've been in quite a while."
Outside the door, Shiris pushed off against the wall to stalk away.
Orson paused in his contemplations as Shiris appeared in the courtyard. He gave her his trademark idle look. "What's the matter?"
Shiris glared at him, then flung herself irritably onto the grass. "That's what I hate about you, Orson. You never know when NOT to talk." Sighing, she continued staring into the sky. "Orson, how long have we been together?"
The berserker watched her as she lost herself in though, apparently not really expecting an answer. He just watched and waited, as he always did. In time she'd need someone to lean on, and he'd be there for her, as he always was.
--------
Kashue hid the glare he REALLY wanted to turn on his current scout. First that idiotic war, then Shooting Star, and now this. He must have really pissed off the gods in a previous life. "Something happening to Marmo?"
The eye-patched and turbanned scout nodded from his deferential kneeling position. "Yes, it's as though the entire island were stirring." He paused, trying to collect thoughts that he'd have preferred to remain scattered. "With Beld and Ashram gone, we assumed that it would just become another darkened island. But now...it's almost as though the island itself is alive. The grounds there shudder and shake, as though some great force or beast were stirring beneath it. Even those demons and monsters that live there fear what's happening."
Kashue was NOT a literary person. He was literate, spoke a few extra languages enough to know what a curse or death threat sounded like, and that was it. Still, he knew enough to have a few ideas of what this could mean. Specifically concerning the myths of Lodoss's and Marmo's creation.
Even more specifically, a certain goddess who was supposedly hibernating under the island, waiting for a chance to strike.
--------
Consciousness began slowly returning to Ashram. He'd felt better, but miraculously he was fairly unmarked. He groaned quietly as he sat up, his head pounding. He could remember his battle against Shooting Star. Apparently, Soul Crusher was enough to deflect the demon dragon's fire if he tried hard enough. And he'd been quite motivated at the time.
Their battle had ended, not with Shooting Star's death as he would have preferred, but with him being buried and sealed up in some cave in the bowels of the mountain. What with all the energies and raw forces pounding away inside the den, it hadn't taken long for him to get stuck here.
"My, my. He's still alive. Will wonders never cease?"
Ashram's eyes shot to the speaker as he grabbed the sword, spinning into a ready stance but leaving the blade sheathed. "Who's there?"
The figure in the violet tunic and black cloak didn't answer, at least not his immediate question. "Did you truly think Wagnard one to share his power? He has no intention of following you."
Both Sword and wielder snorted in disdain. "That is no surprise. Now answer me." As the figure remained silent, Ashram chose the slightly more blatant approach, drawing his sword completely, summoning its demonic powers.
He was noticeably more impressed. "Soul Crusher...so, you've totally mastered it. I wonder, will it serve you against Kardis?"
"WHAT?!"
"The scepter of domination...such power. I imagine that even Kardis would have to bow before it." The man who had once been Woodchuck leaned forward, smiling and revealing the circlet.
Ashram was noticeably less than pleased. "YOU?!?!?!?!?!"
"Go to Marmo, to the black palace. All of Lodoss moves towards there now. Including the elves." All-to-familiar mocking laughter echoed as she faded away.
Ashram stared after the disappearing witch, but in the end chose to heed her words. Marmo was HIS land. His people. And Wagnard would be damned to the nine hells if he thought that he would get them for whatever twisted little games he had going through his sick little mind.
--------
Trent stared at a silent Kashue. "Oh, you had BETTER be joking."
Kashue sighed. "We leave tomorrow to seek aid."
Trent mentally gave composure a kick in the nuts. He'd earned a little bit of near-hysteria. "It has been all of two months since the war of heroes. Five weeks since we fought against Karla. Six DAYS since the fight at fire dragon mountain. And now you've decided that you have no remaining choice but to start up a new war with the Marmo, a damn-near crippled kingdom over a thousand miles away from your nearest border. WHAT are you smoking, or have you just gone completely insane?"
Kashue gave the elf an odd look; he'd always gone for the coldly aloof, and now he was a bit...earthier. "We have no choice. Our scouts have been reporting something happening there, something that can't be ignored. We aren't even sure what, but it's endangering enough that we have no choice but to end this battle now."
Trent mentally counted to ten. Then twenty. And eventually to sixty. "Would you care to tell me what you're so worried about?" he finally finished.
Deed's answered eclipsed anything that Kashue could have said. "The Marmo have the scepter, don't they."
"The scepter?" Orson asked.
Deedlit nodded as she stared into the fires. "The Scepter of Domination, the ultimate artifact of magical power. Whoever holds it holds all of Lodoss in the palm of their hand."
Kashue chose not to look back at them. "The legends of Lodoss's creation say that Kardis sleeps beneath Marmo."
Jaws dropped in absolute horror.
Trent stared. No, check that, he STAARRRRRREEEED. "Hold the fuck up. You mean to tell me that you think the 'something' happening on Marmo is supposed to be the goddess of psychosis, rage, madness, and destruction? THAT is what this is all about?"
Kashue's silence proved to be answer enough.
--------
"MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"
Yes, Wagnard is being presented with the scepter of domination.
The altar of Kardis was not a pleasant place to be in, for all its austere beauty. The temple itself sat on the highest mountain of Marmo, perhaps a mile away from Castle Conquera. The building was in the same vague style as the Greeks and Romans of earth would build; a generally square building, ornately columned. For all that the dark goddess despised light with a passion that went beyond madness, the temple had been carved from the purest white marble, the altar within shale and slate instead. The altar floated atop a forty foot boulder over a yawning chasm stretching miles deep into the ground, to the very resting place of the mistress of destruction.
Grinning like some kind of deranged skeleton, he hefted the five foot shaft of alabaster in both hands, his eyes glittering madly at the raw power he could feel coursing through the artifact.
"Ancient power long since imprisoned, you who were eons-ago forged from chaos, become a shield to protect me..."
Violet and Crimson lightning began to flare around him from within the altar, streaming around the priest to answer his spell. He laughed openly at the clawing, hungry energies. "Kardis! No need to be so impatient! OOOOHOHOHOHOHO! You'll be returned soon enough my dear."
The lower priest of Falaris stared in shock as Wagnard forced the lightning under his control, using it as a catapult to hurl himself into the air, into a hunt for two elves within the living force of thunder itself.
He prayed that power would not fall.
--------
In the central mountains of northwestern Valis, Leylia and Slayn continued their own journey. At least when they weren't drowning and strangling the forestlife around them under their syrupy, innocent sexual tension.
Simple little things like Slayn offering the priestess his hand was enough to make the two of them blush.
Granted, this is fairly reasonable if you consider the circumstances. Leylia was a devestatingly attractive woman. Plus, she had that odd kind of wounded air that not only aroused the...'other' instincts, it brought protective impulses to the fore as well. As for Leylia, she was still crushing herself under the guilt of what Karla had done through her. Any kind of support she could garner was something that she was a bit more than eager for.
Slayn smiled as she helped her along the path. "If circumstances were different, I would have liked to speak the truth..."
His next words were hidden under the rumble of a surge of lightning. That wouldn't have been too worrisome, but for three things. One, it was a clear, almost cloudless day; no cumulonimbus clouds to generate thunder. Second, lightning is usually incandescent white, its path causing pale blue and violet luminesence. It's not bright crimson. Finally, lightning normally doesn't travel parallel to the ground.
Leylia stared in confusion at the blast. "What's happening?"
Slayn on the other hand, was shaking in absolute horror at the thought of that much energy ANYWHERE. "It...it...it can't...be..."
--------
Pirotess favored Trent with a tired look. "So we're actually going to go to Moss anyway?"
Trent shrugged tiredly; no one had gotten much sleep last night. And thankfully due to logistical and tactical discussions as opposed to anything of THAT nature. "I personally don't want to believe that Kardis is actually being ressurected or invoked; who could possibly be that stupid?" (somewhere in a lightning bolt, a certain red-robed priest felt an asthma attack.) "I just don't think that we have any real choice in the matter. Kardis ripped Lodoss off from the entirety of the Continent Alecrast in a dying breath; I don't want to even consider what she could do if ressurected."
Shiris shrugged from nearby. "Well, see you around then. Orson and I are skimping out of this insane little fight you've concocted."
Trent shrugged. "If I live, remind me to look you up. We'll probably meet sometime again, provided you don't turn evil or something."
Shiris grinned at him, but it was a great deal less fierce than her old, slightly more possessive smiles. She turned to Shadam conversationally. "Good luck trying to get any help from Raiden. A free city with no kings; they couldn't care less about the outside."
"That how mercenaries think?" Deed asked irritably.
"Damn straight!" Wheeling, the two mercenaries took off. "See ya!"
Kashue sighed as the two mercenaries rode off for the west. Turning, he and Shadam rode off as well; the king to the east, the captain north by northwest. The elves soon enough were pounding across the sun-bleached rock and sand to the northwest.
Trent kept glancing back as they rode. There'd been a switch of sorts, him being the concerned one, Deed and Pirotess being the quiet, deep-in-thought ones.
He was beginning to understand why so few people seemed to like that; it really WAS irritating. Which suited him quite well, but with those two? With those two it was worrisome.
Reining in his horse and letting them continue to trot past him was enough to get their attention, if nothing else. Actually, it kind of startled them into nearly falling off their horses, which conveniently snapped them out of their little funk.
Pirotess gave him a slightly irritated look. "What was that about?"
"You're keeping something from me. And the handful of times you two caught me hiding something, I always talked. So you owe me. So spill."
The two elf women were decidedly uncomfortable with the subject, but he did have a point. Deed opened the conversation as she climbed off her horse. "The Scepter of Domination...Marmo...and the attacks against Pirotess and myself. They're all connected somehow."
"The ressurection of Kardis requires several things," Pirotess explained. "Only the Marmo can or would do it; her altar and resting place are miles below the bedrock of the island. And moer importantly, it requires a sacrifice of the lives of two elves; the immortal force of a High Elf's life, and the tainted spirit of a dark elf to draw that power into something she can use."
Trent stared at them. "Those abductions..."
"Were intended to acquire sacrifices for the ressurection." Deedlit sighed.
"Wait a minute. If he's going through all the trouble of ressurecting Kardis, why does he need the Scepter? I mean, why go through all the trouble of fighting Shooting Star; he couldn't have wanted to get rid of Ashram THAT badly."
"The scepter of domination was held by gods eons ago," Pirotess said quietly. "It was the irrevocable symbol of the Ruler of all Forceria; the war of the gods only began after Falis lost the scepter himself."
Trent stared at her in shock. "Wait, that thing can control gods?"
Further talk was forestalled by the crimson lightning I've mentioned so often in this chapter blasting into the ground at their feet. Wagnard grinned at the three elves, answering the unspoken portion of Trent's question. "Yes, even Kardis would have to submit to my power."
Trent's standard modus operandi when faced by insanely powerful opponents with abilities that painfully eclipse his was to start moving as fast as possible, dodging and shadow-walking randomly to throw them off guard, making sarcastic comments when possible. The problem being that that only works when one is alone; not with two companions. So, he chose the expedious option, grabbed both around the waists, and started running like hell.
This didn't work very well; Wagnard just started out by raising a circular stone wall around the three of them. It took all of a second for Trent to leap over it and keep runnning, but while he was fast, he wasn't quite THAT fast. In the end, he attempted his ace in the hole, dragging them through one of his shadow walks.
He would have tried it sooner, but as he'd learned with Ashram, anyone who couldn't do it on their own didn't handle it very well; Pirotess looked like she'd just come to from a concussion, whereas Deed was wholly unconscious.
Thus did running cease to be an option.
Wagnard just laughed as he floated in next to him. "I suppose that I might feel impressed. Still, that's very little use against someone who will soon Rule EVEN THE GOOODDDDSSSS!"
Yes, he's cackling with demonic, evil, insane laugh #6.
Trent winced at the sound blasting his sensitive hearing. "Um, do you mind? That's kind of loud," he asked as he hurled his throwing stars at the priest.
Wagnard ignored them as they bounced off his goddess-energized personal shields, chanting his own attack. "Omnipotent power, buried since the Ancient times, become a chain for those who oppose me."
The blast violet energy met elven katana and started shoving him backwards. Gritting his teeth, Trent managed to swing his blade around far enough to send the blast out of effective range, just barely.
Deed and Pirotess had regained consciousness a few minutes ago, and stared in absolute horror at the sight of Trent trying to face off the high priest of Falaris. This was far worse for Pirotess, as she actually recognized that he WAS a priest. "Wagnard?!"
The insane one bellowed in his laughter. "Soon enough! Soon, the power will all be mine!!!!!!"
The ground began rumbling at their feet, responding to yet further power from Wagnard. A circular cleft began spreading at their feet, then abruptly the ground started to distend itself, forcing the ground upward like some kind of pillar.
Shock was no longer sufficient to convey Trent's current feeling. Ripping several thousand tons of rock from the ground, essentially re-writing the landscape, and doing so without so much as a bead of sweat on your face takes scads of power. Trent was fighting a battle he had no chance of winning.
It hadn't stopped him before, but he hadn't the faintest idea what options he had left.
--------
Miles away, Orson paused as he felt the stirrings. For all that the rage empowering him was mindless, it made him a sensitive individual when he was not consumed by Hyuri. He could feel the very fabric of the ground around him being torn asunder. More importantly, in the direction that three elves he'd allowed himself to trust and befriend. Wordlessly, he turned his horse to ride for the disturbance.
Shiris paused as she noticed the lack of a second horse. Wheeling, she stared in confusion at the rapidly shrinking image of Orson. "HEY! WHAT'S GOING ON?!" Sighing at his carelessness, she turned to follow. "WAIT FOR ME!"
--------
Wagnard sighed as his opponent still refused to budge. "I grow weary of this. Gesturing carelessly with his left hand, he summoned crimson bolts of lightning from the ground, erupting around Trent like some kind of grotesque parody of growth.
Silent by nature, he still had his limits. The sheer, raw pain he felt under the assault was too much...more than he could bear. A scream ripped out of his throat, and he howled til his throat went raw.
Deedlit and Pirotess stared in horror as Wagnard began floating towards them, a crackling orb orb of light in his hand. A larger orb exploded from the ground, a cage that not even Karla could have sundered, yet one that would cause no harm.
Trent winced, gritting his teeth as the three prepared to teleport away. "You...can't...have them. Deed...'Tess..."
The high elf bowed her head to him in her helplessness. Wagnard wasn't bothering with a death blow, but he couldn't possibly survive this kind of assault without medical attention. The only hope she had left was that he might survive. Wordlessly chanting, her words only in her mind, she began a summoning, forging the light for miles around into her spell.
Orson and Shiris stared in absolute wonder at the beacon blazing atop the now-telescoping pillar of rock. The lightning had died atop it, leaving Trent collapsed and helpless at its summit. As he stared, he could feel something primal in him stir, but it was too late. His body was too far gone to fight now. All that was left was death or survival, one or the other.
He doubted survival.
--------
He didn't fully realize it until a few days later, but he apparently came to about a day and a half later. His eyes refocused blearily, his first sight a face that was more than familiar. "Deed..."
Leylia smiled in relief, not minding the slight hallucination. "It's alright, you've finally come to."
Trent groaned quietly, his head pounding. What's going on...what happened... He jerked out of bed as he recalled the circumstances leading up to his infirmity. "Gaahh!" Not painlessly, by the way. "Deed...what happened to Deed and Pirotess?"
The stony, uncomfortable silence was answer enough. Slayn stepped forward, a kind word at his lips. "Trent...calm down. You need to recov..."
Assassin training teaches a person how to ignore pain, to realign their nervous system to maximize their recovery times and resistances. As such, even after his severe beating, Trent was certainly strong enough to yank one scrawny mage off his feet by the lapels of his robe. "Where. Are. Deed. And. Pirotess. Answer. Now."
Slayn swallowed as Trent released him. "They were taken. By Wagnard, high priest of Falaris."
Trent stared at him moodily for a moment, then shrugged it off. Standing, he gasped as his legs started to give out under him. Etoh and Leylia sprang forward to support him. "Trent! Don't strain yourself!"
"They're going to die. Wagnard needs a sacrifice, and they're it. Don't you DARE tell me not to strain myself."
Slayn glared at him. "Don't you think that those two would have wanted you to survive that encounter?"
"I'll deal with that later," Trent said, struggling into his shirt. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission?"
Leylia glared at him, a bit more effectively than Slayd could. "Do you have the faintest idea how much energy they must have poured into gathering all the light elementals to your father's sword?"
Trent paused as he slipped on bracers, noticing for the first time the odd shimmer that seemed to be clinging to the elvish steel blade. "So what, you want me to just wait around?" He turned to them, his eyes starting to glaze over, like black ice over a pond. "Do you have the faintest idea what's going to happen to them, what it will feel like to have their souls ripped asunder to fuel the gates to Kardis?"
Slayn sighed. "Trent, even if you wanted to go, you can't possibly succeed. You tried to fight him, didn't you. What makes you think that you stand a chance against him as you are? You won't win, you'll just hurt them more by forcing them to watch you die pointlessly..."
Orson gaped in absolute shock. Considering his normal state of emotional deadness, this is saying something. He was far from the only one; Slayn had apparently pushed him a few steps too far. Almost as though it were blood seeping from under his fingernails, pure, Dark energy was flowing around Trent in a strange, almost bramble-like sheathe.
It was the first time he'd seen someone else approach berkserk, and more to the point the only time one had remained calm in the process. It was as though he were warning them silently. He would not hesitate to destroy anything that got in his path to them.
"Those letters you were to take to Moss..." Orson began.
Hopes began to rise somewhat. Orson was the only one crazy enough to bring up a prior engagement, but it might just snap him out of his own psychosis.
"...Shiris and I will take them for you."
Hopes nose-dived.
Trent turned to the berserker, staring at him for a few moments. Orson stared back unflinchingly into the assassin's eyes. Without so much as a single word, the two had come to an understanding. The aura faded away from Trent's body as he smiled gently. "Thank you."
Shiris shook her head at him, but she'd suspected that he'd do SOMETHING like this. "Right! Don't you worry for even a second. We're going to take care of this ourselves."
Etoh gave him an odd look, then sighed. Kashue had arrived before them in Valis, and appraised Fiana of the situation. Her reaction had been two- fold. She'd agreed to muster what forces she could to send along with him, then had chosen something that no-one had seen coming.
"Trent...Fiana asked me to give this to you. She wants you to keep it from now on."
Oddly enough, it was Trent's jaw that dropped the farthest (somewhere in the neighborhood of his solar plexus) at the sight of Spiritus Falis, the Breath of Falis in his hands. "I...I have no business wielding that weapon Etoh. I'm not just a dark elf, I'm an assassin. That sword is a holy weapon of light, and I am most decidedly aligned with darkness."
Etoh shrugged. "You need something that you can use against Wagnard and the Scepter. This is meant for you, for the protection of all Lodoss."
Trent was forced to grin at that. Trust Etoh to make this into some great holy quest. Still... Trent stared at the gold and steel great sword in his hands. He needed it; Etoh had been quite right about that. There was one small problem with him using a sword that had been touched by the direct opposite of all darkness. "Would...would you leave me alone for a few minutes? There's something I need to do." At their worried looks, he added irritably, "I won't leave without telling you first, alright? This is something that I have to decide on my own."
As the two left, he unsheathed the glowing, light-shedding blade of watered steel. Switching it to a reverse grip, he wedged the tip inbetween some of the stones of the floor. Kneeling before it, he breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind and properly arrange his words. "Falaris, great lord of night, he who crosses the heavens with stars and moons in his shroud, hear my voice. One who serves and obeys you asks for your blessings. Those who once fought beside you stir, and now I seek to face them. My own power lacks to defeat them, so I must ask of you. I do not presume to ask you to lend me that power which is yours, but only that you not oppose my use of what powers are available to me."
Normally Trent didn't pray, and when he did it was normally just a brief, 'thank you' to his god when things didn't go completely against him. As such, he was normally a lot more sedate and a lot less flowery. Stil, he figured that he'd get SOME kind of answer.
A beam of starry-darkness spearing in through the window and forming into the image of a slender, cloaked, seven-foot tall man formed from a pure, otherwise featureless night sky was NOT what he expected.
"F...F...Falaris?!" he squeaked in shock. At most, he'd expected a raven or an owl (birds sacred to Falaris) to come and land on the sword's hilt, signifying acceptance. Being confronted by a god a few dozen orders of magnitude stronger than anything he was capable of imagining was something else entirely.
The god lacked facial features save his eyes and the impression of long black hair. Still, his current expression inexplicably made you think that he was smiling mischievously. It is for good reason that Night and Darkness are considered the resting place of all secrets. "So, you called for a favor or permission, if I heard right. Care for a bit more detailed and less flowery explanation?"
Trent sweat-dropped at his patron god. He'd kind of expected him to be a bit more regal and thundering, not so...companionable. Still, the worst that would happen would be death, and if that were the case, fear wouldn't help any. So he could probably speak honestly without any real cause for concern.
Now if only his knees and whimpering bladder would believe that.
"Um, it's kind of like this. Two people I care about have been abducted by a raving lunatic who's been empowered by the goddess of insanity and destruction. I fought him once and got my ass kicked. Now, if I want to stand a chance against him, I need to use something a bit more potent than normal steel. I've been offered a VERY powerful weapon; problem is, it's the sword Spiritus Falis, a weapon empowered by your sworn enemy. So, can I use it anyway?"
Falaris's featureless face once again gave the impression of change, this time a raised eyebrow. "If I don't let you?"
Trent shrugged. By this time his bladder was starting to believe his head that he didn't have any real reason to worry, so it was a bit easier to talk to a god. "I'll probably try and use it anyway. So far it hasn't bit."
"And if I chose to be offended and incinerate you?"
"Then I'm royally screwed."
Falaris turned to stare out the window for a long time. "What do you think about darkness? Philosophically, I mean."
Trent paused, trying to collect his thoughts as the conversation made a ninety degree turn. "Um...I was taught that darkness is the void of creation, the place from which everything springs. Kind of like how an ocean is needed for an island to exist."
Falaris nodded. "Falis is not a god of Good, you know. Nor am I the god of Evil; Light and Darkness are forces of neutrality, elemental existences that serve as a balance and fabric to keep the other forces in line. We opposed each other eons ago, mainly because Falis was an insufferable, arrogant pain-in-the-ass, and because I was a stupid, vain-glorious, glory- mad idiot. Still, we respected each other a great deal for all that we tried very hard to kill the other; a bit like that odd relationship between you and Ashram."
Trent nodded along absently. "...So can I use the sword?"
Falaris laughed pleasantly at him. "My point is, I never particularly liked Kardis. I mean, come on. Imagine a normal woman, then give her lunacy. Then give her quite literally perpetual PMS. Now add in enough raw power to turn the sun inside out in a fit of pique; no-one liked her, particularly Narse, but just about everyone. The only reason she fought on my side was because I couldn't convince Marfa to fight with me, and so I was stuck with trying to maintain the balance." He turned around and began fading back into the darkness. "So to answer your question, go ahead. If you can, please don't finish her off. If you're forced to kill her...well, I'll understand."
Trent continued staring at the place where his patron god had been for a good ten minutes, lost in thought (that and trying to handle an extra few seconds of healing; he hadn't been joking about getting his ass handed to him by Wagnard.) Once his langour finally wore off, he picked up the Holy Sword and sheathed it, wrapping it in the red cloak Fiana had given him a while back. Slinging it over his shoulder, he trotted down the stairs after the rest of his party.
Now came the hard part.
--------
The landscape of Marmo was that of a hinterland, a bitter, barren crag of rock; a vicious beast that lunged its fang-rimmed max into a world of mutual hatred. Farther away, the lands turned green and lush and peaceful, but the coast reflected the island it ringed; storm-battered bare dark gray rock was the only featured, serge grass the only plant that could survive the harsh world.
It suited Ashram quite well. Not for the first time, he felt a certain...satisfaction if nothing else for having the finest steed his island had ever raised. Even after his near-death, the horse had remained near enough, subsisting in the harsh desert with an intelligence that often seemed greater than that of the goblins he'd commanded.
With his horse, it had taken little time or effort to make it across the entire continent to this southeastern coast of Lodoss, mere miles away from his home.
Glaring across the storm-gray sea, he silently vowed to kill Wagnard. The priest had been useful at times, but he had over-stepped his bounds long ago. There would be reckoning.
And alone or with company Wagnard would die. By his hand, or another's.
