Chapter Thirteen
Lodoss, the Burning Continent
Wraiths, Trent reflected, are going to be joining the list of 'things I'll go out of my way to kill in the future.
He'd been running himself ragged trying to make it to the altar in time to stop the ritual, when here came a brand-new kind of wraith; this one with blood-red underbellies and dragon-like jaws. Sheer force of will had gotten enough power out of the Holy Sword to slice them apart, but he was getting really tired of the damn thing being so...grudging with the power.
As near as he could tell, the sword had a limited intelligence and consciousness. You'd think a holy weapon would be a bit more helpful about stopping the ressurection of a goddess of destruction. But noooo, it couldn't help a dark elf. No, in this case it would make sense.
Sheathing the irritating (and in his opinion overly heavy) blade again, he continued his charge through the tunnels towards what should be the right direction.
Eventually the featureless tunnels of shaped and molded rock gave way to some kind of cave, bright red light bursting explosively around the entrance. Slowing to a halt, Trent gaped at the maelstrom of energies. "What in the hell..."
Further down, Ashram began to lose the battle against the priest; his sword was a source of stunning power, but it had its limits. Wagnard smiled, his eyes glittering as he watched his opponent. "Don't you understand yet that it's hopeless? Once the power of Kardis is mine, I will be as a God! No man will be capable of standing against me! No army can oppose me! NOTHING WILL HALT MY POWER!" he screamed, his power surging violently.
With a yell of pain, the black knight flew backwards, leaving a fairly deep man-shaped impression in the wall. Despite the few tons of pressure, his sword was managing enough raw force to keep him alive; certainly alive enough to glare back at his current opponent.
This proved unsuitable by Wagnard's opinions. "STILL YOU DEFY ME?!" he bellowed, his powers intensifying even further. He slammed Ashram violently into the walls with naked force of will, then abating just enough to let him fall at his feet.
It would have been better to save his strength to fight, but Ashram couldn't resist the verbal jab. "You think...that Kardis has...chosen you?" He laughed bitterly, sardonically. "A goddess, true, but if you were her best choice, she's quite obviously insane..."
Wagnard's eyes blazed scarlet at the foe before him. "YOU WOULD DARE TO BLASPHEME AGAINST HER?!?!" Reaching out his energies, he slammed Ashram completely through yet another wall of natural stone, yanking him back to his feet. Raising the knight upward, he allowed him to hover for a few seconds before hammering him into the ground at his feet.
Taking advantage (sort of) of the respite, Ashram planted his sword in the ground as a support. The demon had been faithful; every erg of power it had was going towards lessening the titanic force of Wagnard's rage. In time, it would be enough for him to win, hopefully. Staring down his cackling opponent, Ashram grinned as a fresh surge of hungry power flared around him and his sword. He wasn't sure of the what or the why, but something was close; something that hated Wagnard with an intensity that burned like foxfire.
Trent stared at his glittering, resonating blade. For the first time, sinc eit had entered his hands, its power was flowing unchecked, a softly glowing white corona of steel and gold. "What the..."
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The fight that would ensue between the two sword-wielding dark warriors and the priest of Kardis would be epic. Don't assume that it was the only one worth watching. Don't forget, the altar miles below the earth was only a tiny portion of the island being fought over; the entire nation of Marmo, the seas beyond it, and even the skies above were battlefields.
When a dragon reaches a certain size, certain things lose importance. Namely, while a wyvern might struggle to maintain its speed and mobility in the face of a stronger foe, that ceases to be of any real importance when you're the size of a World War II attack submarine in midair. All that matters is who can keep to the sky longest, who can hold their own in the sky, and who has the greatest strength. Cunning maneuvers and tactics are no longer possible on such a scale.
Tactics are still useful, as Narse was discovering. Taking away an opponent's knowledge of the battlefield is always a useful tool when it comes to gaining the upper-hand. Focusing, the black dragon sent a massive gout of violet flames towards its golden opponent. Mycen's thick, leathery hide was strong and tough enough that it did little save cause discomfort, but it wasn't intended to finish the job.
It DID however serve to blind the more agile (slightly) long enough for Narse to close in and sink its teeth in its enemy's shoulder.
The screech of pain and rage that erupted from the golden one's mouth was truly magnificent and awful, in the oldest connotation of the word. And along with the mere sound, a much older form of communication was loosed.
Almost a thousand miles to the north, Bramd stirred from his hibernation in the icebergs of Tarba. He had served and protected Marfa for eons; he would joyously lay his life down if it could stop her hated opponent from returning. He was too far away to aid the fight now in person, but his power was something worth lending.
It was noted earlier that he was the strongest, as the oldest of the five dragons. Now, huge amounts of that strength were being siphoned away to feed his younger, golden comrade.
The glittering motes of light struck Mycen with a surge of fresh will, hope, courage, and most of all strength. Buffeting with both wings and claws, it forcibly threw Narse away from it, retaliating with a blast of fire far more intense than anything the black dragon would have intended. The thinner-skinned black dragon was harmed sorely by the attack, as opposed to the simple blinding of his own flames.
Hundreds of miles northwest, in the deep seas off the coast of Kannon, Eibra stirred. Regal, with almost gown-like fins as opposed to wings, he belied the truth of himself in his evil. Cold, cruel, and calculating, he knew that the rebirth of Kardis was inevitable. Better to be on the winning side.
Narse was already being fed by what limited power Kardis could spare from her stasis. It would take far less of his strength to balance the scales of what Bramd had done. His own greenish, hazy energies began to pour towards the stronger, black dragon.
Narse's skeletal grin returned to his eyes as new strength began to ease the pain of his burns. The fight was far from over; it was only now starting to get interesting.
Below, the humans and dragon-riders alike stared in wonder at the huge aerial ballet of combat. They weren't afforded the luxury much longer; death rattles of the perimeter guards tends to do that.
Kashue and Shadam stared at the spear and arrow-riddled corpses of their own men as well as the goblins of Marmo. The only difference being that the goblins, ogres, and kobolds were beginning to stir, despite the four or five weapons left embedded in their cadavers. Eyes glowing crimson, they slowly began shambling inexorably towards the living.
Shadam was shaken the worst by the sight, though not at having to face zombies. "Kardis?!"
"No," Kashue stated, his sword clearing its sheath. "If she were really ressurected, she wouldn't bother with tricks like this. She's trying to buy time for the ceremony."
Shadam stared at his monarch. "Then Trent and the others are still fighting to prevent her rebirth?"
Kashue nodded. "Which means we can't accept Death's invitation right at this moment."
Shadam grinned. It was little known, but there were ways to deal with these kinds of creatures. And if all he had to do was survive long enough for that ice-blooded elf to finish the job...who knows? Might be fun. "Let's go then."
Shiris shook her head, smiling sardonically as the two charged, bellowing into the masses. "Yep, he deserves to be called the mercenary king alright." Getting an affirmative nod from Orson, she drew her rapier, and charged right after them, Orson following like a blood-maddened bear.
As Kashue had said, Death would have to wait a bit longer.
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This is beginning to become dull, Wagnard sighed.
At his feet, Ashram lay unmoving save for his ragged, labored breathing. The red priest grudgingly admitted a slight bit of respect; somehow, he'd managed to never let go of his sword the whole time. Still, it would be little use.
Besides, it wasn't really all THAT boring. Far be it for Wagnard to ignore a bit of fun.
"So, you finally understand now your own futility? You can't possibly win."
"Lodoss...is not yours!" Ashram growled from the floor. Unfortunately, it was about all he COULD do.
Wagnard laughed. This was actually getting to be even more fun than he'd thought! What had he been thinking, considering this dull? Charging up another blast, he sent Ashram flying towards the edge of the altar, into the the catacombs deeper within.
He was actually somewhat thankful for the respite. Contrary to Wagnard's impression, Ashram was in better shape than he'd let on. Not much; he could still stand, but that was about it. Dragging himself back to his feet, he decided to at least go down fighting. He paused, frowning in puzzlement as Soul Crusher flared restlessly, hungrily. Looking around for the source of its unease, he felt his eyes widen.
Trent stared at the source of the holy sword's restlessness. "Ashram?! He actually survived Shooting Star?"
Wagnard gloated at the new target as he teleported before them. "The ghosts of Fahn and Beld still haunt this world." He grinned madly, the power once more taking hold. "I'll send you back to Hell where you belong!"
Both warriors yelled in shock and pain as the energy blast pounded into them, knocking both flying.
Trent recovered first; unlike Ashram, he was relatively fresh, having not been maimed repeatedly. He stared around in shock, trying to place his real objective. Spotting Deed and Pirotess on the altar, he immediately charged for it.
"What, you think you can stop this already?" Wagnard asked, floating in front of him.
Trent could feel the dark energies in him singing, chanting softly to be released. He REALLY wished he could afford to do that right now. "Let them go Wagnard."
"TOO LATE, YOU FOOL! NOTHING CAN STOP THE GODDESS NOW!"
Trent idly reflected that it had been overwhelmingly stupid to try and reason with Wagnard. At least he did in the few split seconds before the blast rammed into him and sent him sprawling next to Ashram.
Wagnard shook his head. Fun was fun, but he really did need to get back to the ritual. "Time to send both sword-swingers to the land of the dead." He began focusing the scepter's power; he didn't want to have to do this twice, and apparently Soul Crusher was enough to stand against him. "I'll start with you, Ashram!"
The black knight glared at the energy surge racing towards him. He was beaten, and yes it sucked, but glaring was about his only option now as he waited for the death blow.
It never came.
Wagnard's eyes raised in appraisal as his blast was sundered. "So, defending Ashram now are we, little elf?"
Trent stared back at Wagnard from his defensive position. "I don't think Ashram would forgive me for just letting you win like this," he stated calmly, trying to dredge up as much power from the sword as possible.
Wagnard grinned. "So be it child. DIE!"
The sword apparently decided to continue to be contrary enough to hold back sufficient energies to keep Trent from total protection. Or in slightly less flowery terms, the blast was too strong and planted him against the walls of the caverns.
Wagnard grinned. "Good-bye, little elf."
"Farewell."
Wagnard turned, confused. That couldn't possibly have been Ashram's voice.
Though who else would have planted a sword's blade vertically through his entire head, neck, and half of his chest?
Yeah, that hurts.
Staggering backwards, Wagnard gasped as for the first time in years, he felt pain. Who cares? With Kardis, this is a trifle! Collecting himself, he felt enough strength return for some more patented evil-villain cackling. "This is nothing to me. Don't you understand yet, you fools?! Kardis has granted me eternal life!"
Eternal life proved to be somewhat fleeting, as the spirits of energy that empowered the priest began to vamoose. Wagnard gasped in pain and shock as the power left, leaving him a very small man with a huge hole in his upper body. "Kardis...why? Where is your power?" In his hazy-minded stumbling, he fell towards the pillar that should have held the priest Ashram had killed at first. This proved a disastrous choice, as the altar didn't recognize rank or who held the scepter, all it recognized was a necessary priestly sacrifice.
Feeling the power leave, Trent fell to the ground. Instinct took over, allowing him to make an easy enough landing on the ground. Unfortunately, the fifth priest had long since died on the altar. With Wagnard's death, the ritual had been completed.
Kardis was beginning to stir.
Stumbling over the now heaving stone ground, Trent began charging towards the altar. "DEED! TESS!"
Pirotess swallowed painfully. He'd come. He'd actually come for them, and now he was going to die. "Trent...don't..."
The dark elf either didn't hear or didn't care about her call, his charge to the altar unwavering. At least until Ashram turned to face him, Soul Crusher's true power rippling around him.
The dark knight faced down the assassin, and raised his sword in clear challenge. Ashram did not care for Kardis, but he would not simply stand aside for him.
The only way he could pass, was to defeat him.
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Back on the former citadel, Wort and Karla continued to observe the battle. Wort turned a reproachful gaze on her. "Seven hundred years now, Karla. You're just going to let it all go to waste?"
"I gamble," said Karla simply. "On the fate of Lodoss, as I have for these past centuries."
"Gamble?" Wort asked incredulously. "Karla, you are not the equal of gods. This is not something to be done on a whim."
"You think this a whim, dear Wort?" he asked, deadly serious as opposed to his usual mockery. "This is the clearest path towards the survival of Lodoss left. I think you know that too."
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Parry and slash. Thrust, counter-thrust, and riposte.
Those were the only language understood below Marmo in these final minutes.
Trent glared balefully at Ashram across their crossed swords. "Why are you doing this Ashram? Why are you opposing me here?"
Ashram didn't grin, or laugh, or even snort. He was in total, deadly earnest here. "For the fate of Lodoss. Light or dark, between us it will be decided."
Trent leapt back as Ashram's shove proved the stronger of the two. "Light and Dark? In case it's escaped your notice, I'm just as darkness-bound as you."
Words were abandoned as the two charged again, slash singing against slash, each blow and parry exploding with power.
Trent's next blow nearly sent Ashram stumbling, providing the two with a bit of a breather. "Do you know WHY I'm fighting here, Ashram? Trust me, it's not for the sake of all Lodoss. I don't even know Lodoss. You want it? Take it. Just get," charge, "the hell," trio of counters, "out of," crossed swords in opposition, "MY WAY!"
The final charge of Trent's offensive was enough to actually over-power Ashram. In every other charge it had been Trent's speed and skill versus Ashram's equal skill and greater strength. The dark rage he felt was fueling him strongly enough that he was now on a near-equal footing with the dark knight.
As Ashram stumbled backwards, a hand managed to snake itself out of the hole where a pillar had stood.
"Kardis HAS chosen me!"
Even with the livid, still bleeding scar of Ashram's attack, Wagnard refused to die. Kardis's power had been to deeply woven into the fiber of his being; he had yet to expend everything the mad goddess had granted him. Glaring at the near-corpse, Ashram drew back to ram the weapon through the equally mad priest's chest.
The problem with such a blow is that flesh and bone will close tightly around a strike such as that, sealing the weapon, wielder, and target in a single bond as strong as stone. Taking advantage of their now joined state, Wagnard's hands reached with supernatural strength for Ashram's throat.
The black knight gasped in pain as the crushing strength behind Wagnard's grasp only seemed to grow. He would black out soon enough, but he had the chance for one, last, strike.
Firming his hands around the hilt of Soul Crusher, he gathered his strength, both physical and spiritual for a single, mighty blow.
Before it could strike, a flurry of scalpel-shaped shuriken hummed past his head, burying themselves in the priest's face and hands. Howling in pain, Wagnard was forced to release his target.
Now freed of the burden of a would-be strangler, Ashram unleashed his focused strength and resolve, ramming the blade completely through Wagnard to the hilt, every shred of power he could coax from the demon within ripping into Wagnard's body and soul. Spent, Ashram collapsed in pain.
Despite the great bodily and spiritual harm, Wagnard was still not quite dead. Turning longingly to his one-time prize, he raised a hand. "Kardis...if I can't control you, then no one will. Without the scepter, your power will run rampant, destroying everything. Destroy Kardis, DESTR..."
The Holy Sword cleanly swept past his neck, taking the still insanely grinning head with it. "You need to shut up at SOME point," Trent growled.
The dark elf turned to regard the sinking altar. The main problem with trying anything now would be power. He could attack, but without something a lot stronger than his balking, irritable holy sword he wouldn't stand a chance.
Glancing around, his eyes fell on Soul Crusher in Ashram still unconscious grasp. Without so much as a second thought he picked up the sword, checking its heft. Then, something indefinable happened. The two swords had been at literal, figurative, and spiritual war with each other for decades. Wielding both at the same time suddenly brought an end to that, like a ceasefire between two nations conquered by an empire.
The part that caused wonder was how little effort it now took to feel and control the vast amounts of power they held; unlike the above analogy, he'd required almost no effort whatsoever to tame them. The swords wanted to work together; he was unsure if it was their nature or merely their sudden overwhelming desire to destroy Kardis. In later days, he would believe more that each wanted to save the two elves on the altar as much as he; Falis's Breath for Deedlit, Soul Crusher for Pirotess.
Opposing swords in hand, Trent jogged forward. Kardis, seeming to sense the opposing energy, lanced out jagged forks of her crimson lightning. The combined might of holy and demonic swords wove a circular shield around him that not even She could pierce. Standing before the pit and the altar, he tightened his grip, summoning every shred of energy within him. "Deed...Tess...I'm coming."
Grinning ferally, he leapt into the air, falling towards the dark altar. For the first time, he roared as he fell to combat; the whisper quiet assassin gone for a moment.
That final clash was a thing of awe. A last, desperate barrier had been erected between the dark elf and the altar; Kardis would not be fully reborn until the souls of the elves belonged within her. The twin swords unloosed their full energies in an unstoppable torrent of force; incandescent and violet, like tongues of chain lightning. The two energies surged wildly, focused under Trent's single-minded command; finish Her off.
On the one side, a fallen, hibernating goddess of insanity and destruction. On the other a half-mad assassin dark elf wielding two weapons of godly power.
In the end, destruction turned in on itself.
Without the last surge of the barrier's power, the two swords ripped savagely into the ethereal barrens holding Kardis, laying waste to what lay beneath. The mere presence of the two swords's full energies rippled the air like black sand mirages, churning their wake into a pillar of pearlescent light.
A light that stretched beyond worlds, spun filigreed from darkness.
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In the skies above, Narse faltered violently as he felt the death of his erstwhile goddess. Taking advantage of his opponent's momentary shock and the now permanent weakness, Mycen turned on him savagely, his bird-like jaws ripping the great vein and corded muscel where the shoulder joined the neck, his talons biting deep in stomach, chest, and thigh.
Roaring in pain, Narse struggled weakly for freedom, but without the powers of Kardis he was no match for the raw force of Mycen and Bramd's combined power. He only became free when the golden dragon himself threw his opponent to the side, unleashing a final, massive blast of golden flames on his severely wounded opponent.
What talons and fangs left unscathed, the flames completed.
Mortally wounded and reeling, the black dragon of Marmo fell to the seas of Forceria, his only monument a single, last tongue of violet flames.
On the ground below, charging ogres and goblins began to fall apart, as though clay and dirt gone too dry had suddenly crumbled.
Wounded and bleeding, his once-pristine armor in rags, Kashue stared at the now dead enemies. "What in..."
Shiris turned around, panting in shock. It had been a near thing, and it they'd narrowly survived. "Then...Trent succeeded?"
Orson allowed himself a very small smile. "He won."
Miles away, Karla smiled from the citadel as he felt the energies fade away beyond his own sensitivity. "It appears I gambled correctly." He turned to regard the still glowing sage of Moss. "Did you come all this way just to lecture me Wort?"
He grinned. "Surely you wouldn't begrudge an old friend the right to see another friend's plan through to fruition?"
Karla's smile returned to its old mocking expression. "No, I suppose not. The next time we meet, will it be under non-combative circumstances?"
"You were once one of the six heroes. Can you never embrace that path again?"
Karla shrugged, and faded away. His voice was the only thing to remain. "When the scales of history are unbalanced...I will reappear. I think you knew that would be the answer to begin with."
Wort sighed, shaking his head as he faded back to his old tower. "Farewell...old friend."
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The intrepid group that had set out to finish Marmo had finally reached the foot of the temple of Falaris to seek out Trent.
What they saw as they drew clear would later become the subject of paintings and odes (much to Trent's disgust and Deed's private amusement).
Kashue stared openly at the conquering hero, for once that in name as well as fact. Shiris could only gape at him.
Soul Crusher and Falis's Breath had been wrapped in the torn remnants of Ashram's cape, a single strap holding them across his back. Battered beyond a great deal of recognition, he stood there atop the ruins of the temple, the panorama of sky behind him a sullen, cloudy mass. Bruised, scraped, and bloodied, yet without a single spark of the cold fire in his midnight blue, star-flecked eyes exstinguished. His right arm supported Pirotess over his shoulder, his left arm holding Deedlit close enough against him to keep her from further injury.
The survivors stared at him, and felt a great cheer erupt from ragged throats.
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Kashue stared at Trent, uncomprehending. "You're not going back to Valis?!"
Trent winced as he eased off his old shirt to replace it with a whole, but otherwise identical one. "Calm down, Kashue. I'm going back to Valis, just not immediately. There are three things I need to take care of before I can go back."
The mercenary king, clad in a spare set of armor (his old, faithful half plate was mangled beyond recognition), simply shook his head as Trent switched his mail-lined coat for the old one. "What could possibly be important enough to take your attention now? You're a bit of a war hero now."
Trent nodded. "I know. Among other things, I'm hoping for a little bit of the furor to die down." He shrugged. "My main concern is something still in the castle that needs to be safe-guarded."
Kashue shrugged. He'd learned recently that opposing the dark elf was a hopeless proposal; the blasted man did what he wanted, regardless of its sanity or popularity. "Will you need anything?" he asked instead, deciding that it would be better to try and help.
Trent nodded. "Immediately, all I need is my horse and enough food for a few days." Fahn had given him the charcoal gray stallion, and he'd taken with it from the start; it was the smartest horse he'd ever met, never mind being quite fast and enduring. As he traveled light, he didn't really need strength. "I'd also like you to leave behind one boat; big enough to hold me and the horse, but small enough that I won't need any crew. Last of all..." he paused as he gazed with undisguised affection at Deedlit and Pirotess. "If they wake up before I return, tell them that I'll return to Valis in exactly one week. And...never mind."
Kashue shrugged, fighting a grin. "Suit yourself." He turned to head back for his own men, then paused at the gangplank of his ship. "Trent...thank you."
The dark elf grinned back as the mercenary king strode off. Not waiting for the fleet to sail off, he immediately turned back towards Castle Conquera.
During the trip to Marmo, Trent had asked Slayn, Leylia, and Etoh to tell him about the scepter of domination. They hadn't told him a lot more than he'd already known; supposedly even gods had to bow to it, it had been guarded by Shooting Star, and at one point it had belonged to Falis himself. What they HAD told him of interest actually concerned other things.
Apparently, the kingdom of Kastuul hadn't just entrusted the scepter to the strongest of the ancient dragons, but had given one item of great power to be guarded by each of the five over a thousand years ago. It was fairly common knowledge that Bramd held the Staff of Life, an item that could heal anyone of anything, provided they were still alive. Mycen had been given the Mirror of Truth; supposedly nothing could hide from it. The last two, Narse and Eibra, had been entrusted with the Soul Crystal Ball and the Ferronierre of Knowledge. Eibra's crystal ball could do what Bramd's staff couldn't; namely bring back the dead. As for the ferronierre, no one was completely sure what it did, save that it involved knowledge.
Trent's point in all this had been simple. He didn't trust to just abandon these items; the abandoned scepter had nearly destroyed them all.
Retrieving the scepter had been simple; he'd left it in the rubble just before he'd reached daylight again. Narse's ferronierre had taken longer; he'd had to hunt down the lair, and even then it had taken hours to find the jeweled necklace.
He didn't dare put it on; Slayn had speculated that the knowledge it held could come at a Karla-esque cost, usurping the wearer's mind in exchange for the knowledge. He just slipped it into a leather pouch to drop into a volcano or something.
That left two small side trips to very large problems.
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Eibra stared incredulously at this short dark elf who'd challenged him for the Soul Crystal Ball. "You must be joking or insane, insect," he rumbled, preparing a blast of electricity to reduce the little fool to ashes.
Trent grinned.
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The crystal ball joined the necklace. One last side trip.
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Once again, Shooting Star was having a very bad day.
It had all started with that damnable black knight. He hadn't been able to finish him before he had just sank out of sight, unconscious from all the sulfur fumes. Still, he'd been able to wound the ancient Demon Dragon severly enough to put him out of commission for likely years to come. seriously doubted this could get any worse.
"HEY LUCY, I'M HOME!!! (1)
Never say, 'it could be worse.' Don't even think it. Because in a literary piece, it always happens.
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A week had passed. In preparation for Trent's return, the city of Valis had spent nearly the entire time preparing the city for a celebration the likes of which it had never seen in its entire history.
Peasants and craftsmen lined the streets, waiting for him to come riding home triumphantly. Nobles and foreign kings waited along the scarlet carpet of Fahn's throne, wher Fiana would present him with the armor of a Holy Knight, and swear him into their most elite warrior caste.
They didn't really know him very well.
Slayn smiled pleasantly across to Leylia. He had known from the first planning stages Trent wouldn't go through with it. So had Leylia and Etoh. They'd tried once or twice to convince the rest of Lodoss of that, but had given up in the end. Still, they kept up the charade. It promised to be something that Fiana would no doubt turn to their advantage; she was a born politician.
"He'll look splendid in the armor of a holy knight," Leylia commented from beside the throne.
Slayn grinned. He will, if they can ever get him in it. "Certainly my dear. Truly magnificent, poised to be the center of attention everywhere he goes."
Yeah. Right.
In their own private suite, Deedlit and Pirotess waited patiently. They'd been pronounced fully recovered two days ago, and had spent the past time preparing.
A whisper of cloth from behind one of the canopy beds that had a slight amount of shadow was their only hint. It was all they needed.
"Hello Trent."
The dark elf smiled. "I have a long way to go, much to do. Will you be joining me?"
The two stood, smiling lovingly at him.
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Slayn grinned at the sight of Trent, Deedlit, and Pirotess galloping away at top speeds down the streets of Valis. It hadn't been the plan, but it was somewhat stirring in its own way. "They'll come back some day."
Leylia nodded, smiling. "Destiny made our paths cross for a reason. It will make them cross again."
Trent smiled as he rode into the sunset, heading for Raiden. He'd known for years that sometimes life was good. He'd just discovered that with others, it could be magnificent.
The assassin was finally waking up.
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Far away, an ancient power watched and smiled. The first step on his warrior's journey had been taken.
The first step of many.
The End.
Author's Note: Ah yes, an end to the first tale of a strange (and around book four shape-shifting) hero. If you liked Trent and are hoping for continued writings, don't worry, there are more wildly improbable stories for this character rolling around my skull. If you didn't, then why the bleep did you read this story to the end? In any case, thank you for reading. I say this with the assumption that eventually, someone will actually find my page and I might actually get fans. One should never give up hope; he's the best writer of us all.
Wraiths, Trent reflected, are going to be joining the list of 'things I'll go out of my way to kill in the future.
He'd been running himself ragged trying to make it to the altar in time to stop the ritual, when here came a brand-new kind of wraith; this one with blood-red underbellies and dragon-like jaws. Sheer force of will had gotten enough power out of the Holy Sword to slice them apart, but he was getting really tired of the damn thing being so...grudging with the power.
As near as he could tell, the sword had a limited intelligence and consciousness. You'd think a holy weapon would be a bit more helpful about stopping the ressurection of a goddess of destruction. But noooo, it couldn't help a dark elf. No, in this case it would make sense.
Sheathing the irritating (and in his opinion overly heavy) blade again, he continued his charge through the tunnels towards what should be the right direction.
Eventually the featureless tunnels of shaped and molded rock gave way to some kind of cave, bright red light bursting explosively around the entrance. Slowing to a halt, Trent gaped at the maelstrom of energies. "What in the hell..."
Further down, Ashram began to lose the battle against the priest; his sword was a source of stunning power, but it had its limits. Wagnard smiled, his eyes glittering as he watched his opponent. "Don't you understand yet that it's hopeless? Once the power of Kardis is mine, I will be as a God! No man will be capable of standing against me! No army can oppose me! NOTHING WILL HALT MY POWER!" he screamed, his power surging violently.
With a yell of pain, the black knight flew backwards, leaving a fairly deep man-shaped impression in the wall. Despite the few tons of pressure, his sword was managing enough raw force to keep him alive; certainly alive enough to glare back at his current opponent.
This proved unsuitable by Wagnard's opinions. "STILL YOU DEFY ME?!" he bellowed, his powers intensifying even further. He slammed Ashram violently into the walls with naked force of will, then abating just enough to let him fall at his feet.
It would have been better to save his strength to fight, but Ashram couldn't resist the verbal jab. "You think...that Kardis has...chosen you?" He laughed bitterly, sardonically. "A goddess, true, but if you were her best choice, she's quite obviously insane..."
Wagnard's eyes blazed scarlet at the foe before him. "YOU WOULD DARE TO BLASPHEME AGAINST HER?!?!" Reaching out his energies, he slammed Ashram completely through yet another wall of natural stone, yanking him back to his feet. Raising the knight upward, he allowed him to hover for a few seconds before hammering him into the ground at his feet.
Taking advantage (sort of) of the respite, Ashram planted his sword in the ground as a support. The demon had been faithful; every erg of power it had was going towards lessening the titanic force of Wagnard's rage. In time, it would be enough for him to win, hopefully. Staring down his cackling opponent, Ashram grinned as a fresh surge of hungry power flared around him and his sword. He wasn't sure of the what or the why, but something was close; something that hated Wagnard with an intensity that burned like foxfire.
Trent stared at his glittering, resonating blade. For the first time, sinc eit had entered his hands, its power was flowing unchecked, a softly glowing white corona of steel and gold. "What the..."
--------
The fight that would ensue between the two sword-wielding dark warriors and the priest of Kardis would be epic. Don't assume that it was the only one worth watching. Don't forget, the altar miles below the earth was only a tiny portion of the island being fought over; the entire nation of Marmo, the seas beyond it, and even the skies above were battlefields.
When a dragon reaches a certain size, certain things lose importance. Namely, while a wyvern might struggle to maintain its speed and mobility in the face of a stronger foe, that ceases to be of any real importance when you're the size of a World War II attack submarine in midair. All that matters is who can keep to the sky longest, who can hold their own in the sky, and who has the greatest strength. Cunning maneuvers and tactics are no longer possible on such a scale.
Tactics are still useful, as Narse was discovering. Taking away an opponent's knowledge of the battlefield is always a useful tool when it comes to gaining the upper-hand. Focusing, the black dragon sent a massive gout of violet flames towards its golden opponent. Mycen's thick, leathery hide was strong and tough enough that it did little save cause discomfort, but it wasn't intended to finish the job.
It DID however serve to blind the more agile (slightly) long enough for Narse to close in and sink its teeth in its enemy's shoulder.
The screech of pain and rage that erupted from the golden one's mouth was truly magnificent and awful, in the oldest connotation of the word. And along with the mere sound, a much older form of communication was loosed.
Almost a thousand miles to the north, Bramd stirred from his hibernation in the icebergs of Tarba. He had served and protected Marfa for eons; he would joyously lay his life down if it could stop her hated opponent from returning. He was too far away to aid the fight now in person, but his power was something worth lending.
It was noted earlier that he was the strongest, as the oldest of the five dragons. Now, huge amounts of that strength were being siphoned away to feed his younger, golden comrade.
The glittering motes of light struck Mycen with a surge of fresh will, hope, courage, and most of all strength. Buffeting with both wings and claws, it forcibly threw Narse away from it, retaliating with a blast of fire far more intense than anything the black dragon would have intended. The thinner-skinned black dragon was harmed sorely by the attack, as opposed to the simple blinding of his own flames.
Hundreds of miles northwest, in the deep seas off the coast of Kannon, Eibra stirred. Regal, with almost gown-like fins as opposed to wings, he belied the truth of himself in his evil. Cold, cruel, and calculating, he knew that the rebirth of Kardis was inevitable. Better to be on the winning side.
Narse was already being fed by what limited power Kardis could spare from her stasis. It would take far less of his strength to balance the scales of what Bramd had done. His own greenish, hazy energies began to pour towards the stronger, black dragon.
Narse's skeletal grin returned to his eyes as new strength began to ease the pain of his burns. The fight was far from over; it was only now starting to get interesting.
Below, the humans and dragon-riders alike stared in wonder at the huge aerial ballet of combat. They weren't afforded the luxury much longer; death rattles of the perimeter guards tends to do that.
Kashue and Shadam stared at the spear and arrow-riddled corpses of their own men as well as the goblins of Marmo. The only difference being that the goblins, ogres, and kobolds were beginning to stir, despite the four or five weapons left embedded in their cadavers. Eyes glowing crimson, they slowly began shambling inexorably towards the living.
Shadam was shaken the worst by the sight, though not at having to face zombies. "Kardis?!"
"No," Kashue stated, his sword clearing its sheath. "If she were really ressurected, she wouldn't bother with tricks like this. She's trying to buy time for the ceremony."
Shadam stared at his monarch. "Then Trent and the others are still fighting to prevent her rebirth?"
Kashue nodded. "Which means we can't accept Death's invitation right at this moment."
Shadam grinned. It was little known, but there were ways to deal with these kinds of creatures. And if all he had to do was survive long enough for that ice-blooded elf to finish the job...who knows? Might be fun. "Let's go then."
Shiris shook her head, smiling sardonically as the two charged, bellowing into the masses. "Yep, he deserves to be called the mercenary king alright." Getting an affirmative nod from Orson, she drew her rapier, and charged right after them, Orson following like a blood-maddened bear.
As Kashue had said, Death would have to wait a bit longer.
--------
This is beginning to become dull, Wagnard sighed.
At his feet, Ashram lay unmoving save for his ragged, labored breathing. The red priest grudgingly admitted a slight bit of respect; somehow, he'd managed to never let go of his sword the whole time. Still, it would be little use.
Besides, it wasn't really all THAT boring. Far be it for Wagnard to ignore a bit of fun.
"So, you finally understand now your own futility? You can't possibly win."
"Lodoss...is not yours!" Ashram growled from the floor. Unfortunately, it was about all he COULD do.
Wagnard laughed. This was actually getting to be even more fun than he'd thought! What had he been thinking, considering this dull? Charging up another blast, he sent Ashram flying towards the edge of the altar, into the the catacombs deeper within.
He was actually somewhat thankful for the respite. Contrary to Wagnard's impression, Ashram was in better shape than he'd let on. Not much; he could still stand, but that was about it. Dragging himself back to his feet, he decided to at least go down fighting. He paused, frowning in puzzlement as Soul Crusher flared restlessly, hungrily. Looking around for the source of its unease, he felt his eyes widen.
Trent stared at the source of the holy sword's restlessness. "Ashram?! He actually survived Shooting Star?"
Wagnard gloated at the new target as he teleported before them. "The ghosts of Fahn and Beld still haunt this world." He grinned madly, the power once more taking hold. "I'll send you back to Hell where you belong!"
Both warriors yelled in shock and pain as the energy blast pounded into them, knocking both flying.
Trent recovered first; unlike Ashram, he was relatively fresh, having not been maimed repeatedly. He stared around in shock, trying to place his real objective. Spotting Deed and Pirotess on the altar, he immediately charged for it.
"What, you think you can stop this already?" Wagnard asked, floating in front of him.
Trent could feel the dark energies in him singing, chanting softly to be released. He REALLY wished he could afford to do that right now. "Let them go Wagnard."
"TOO LATE, YOU FOOL! NOTHING CAN STOP THE GODDESS NOW!"
Trent idly reflected that it had been overwhelmingly stupid to try and reason with Wagnard. At least he did in the few split seconds before the blast rammed into him and sent him sprawling next to Ashram.
Wagnard shook his head. Fun was fun, but he really did need to get back to the ritual. "Time to send both sword-swingers to the land of the dead." He began focusing the scepter's power; he didn't want to have to do this twice, and apparently Soul Crusher was enough to stand against him. "I'll start with you, Ashram!"
The black knight glared at the energy surge racing towards him. He was beaten, and yes it sucked, but glaring was about his only option now as he waited for the death blow.
It never came.
Wagnard's eyes raised in appraisal as his blast was sundered. "So, defending Ashram now are we, little elf?"
Trent stared back at Wagnard from his defensive position. "I don't think Ashram would forgive me for just letting you win like this," he stated calmly, trying to dredge up as much power from the sword as possible.
Wagnard grinned. "So be it child. DIE!"
The sword apparently decided to continue to be contrary enough to hold back sufficient energies to keep Trent from total protection. Or in slightly less flowery terms, the blast was too strong and planted him against the walls of the caverns.
Wagnard grinned. "Good-bye, little elf."
"Farewell."
Wagnard turned, confused. That couldn't possibly have been Ashram's voice.
Though who else would have planted a sword's blade vertically through his entire head, neck, and half of his chest?
Yeah, that hurts.
Staggering backwards, Wagnard gasped as for the first time in years, he felt pain. Who cares? With Kardis, this is a trifle! Collecting himself, he felt enough strength return for some more patented evil-villain cackling. "This is nothing to me. Don't you understand yet, you fools?! Kardis has granted me eternal life!"
Eternal life proved to be somewhat fleeting, as the spirits of energy that empowered the priest began to vamoose. Wagnard gasped in pain and shock as the power left, leaving him a very small man with a huge hole in his upper body. "Kardis...why? Where is your power?" In his hazy-minded stumbling, he fell towards the pillar that should have held the priest Ashram had killed at first. This proved a disastrous choice, as the altar didn't recognize rank or who held the scepter, all it recognized was a necessary priestly sacrifice.
Feeling the power leave, Trent fell to the ground. Instinct took over, allowing him to make an easy enough landing on the ground. Unfortunately, the fifth priest had long since died on the altar. With Wagnard's death, the ritual had been completed.
Kardis was beginning to stir.
Stumbling over the now heaving stone ground, Trent began charging towards the altar. "DEED! TESS!"
Pirotess swallowed painfully. He'd come. He'd actually come for them, and now he was going to die. "Trent...don't..."
The dark elf either didn't hear or didn't care about her call, his charge to the altar unwavering. At least until Ashram turned to face him, Soul Crusher's true power rippling around him.
The dark knight faced down the assassin, and raised his sword in clear challenge. Ashram did not care for Kardis, but he would not simply stand aside for him.
The only way he could pass, was to defeat him.
--------
Back on the former citadel, Wort and Karla continued to observe the battle. Wort turned a reproachful gaze on her. "Seven hundred years now, Karla. You're just going to let it all go to waste?"
"I gamble," said Karla simply. "On the fate of Lodoss, as I have for these past centuries."
"Gamble?" Wort asked incredulously. "Karla, you are not the equal of gods. This is not something to be done on a whim."
"You think this a whim, dear Wort?" he asked, deadly serious as opposed to his usual mockery. "This is the clearest path towards the survival of Lodoss left. I think you know that too."
--------
Parry and slash. Thrust, counter-thrust, and riposte.
Those were the only language understood below Marmo in these final minutes.
Trent glared balefully at Ashram across their crossed swords. "Why are you doing this Ashram? Why are you opposing me here?"
Ashram didn't grin, or laugh, or even snort. He was in total, deadly earnest here. "For the fate of Lodoss. Light or dark, between us it will be decided."
Trent leapt back as Ashram's shove proved the stronger of the two. "Light and Dark? In case it's escaped your notice, I'm just as darkness-bound as you."
Words were abandoned as the two charged again, slash singing against slash, each blow and parry exploding with power.
Trent's next blow nearly sent Ashram stumbling, providing the two with a bit of a breather. "Do you know WHY I'm fighting here, Ashram? Trust me, it's not for the sake of all Lodoss. I don't even know Lodoss. You want it? Take it. Just get," charge, "the hell," trio of counters, "out of," crossed swords in opposition, "MY WAY!"
The final charge of Trent's offensive was enough to actually over-power Ashram. In every other charge it had been Trent's speed and skill versus Ashram's equal skill and greater strength. The dark rage he felt was fueling him strongly enough that he was now on a near-equal footing with the dark knight.
As Ashram stumbled backwards, a hand managed to snake itself out of the hole where a pillar had stood.
"Kardis HAS chosen me!"
Even with the livid, still bleeding scar of Ashram's attack, Wagnard refused to die. Kardis's power had been to deeply woven into the fiber of his being; he had yet to expend everything the mad goddess had granted him. Glaring at the near-corpse, Ashram drew back to ram the weapon through the equally mad priest's chest.
The problem with such a blow is that flesh and bone will close tightly around a strike such as that, sealing the weapon, wielder, and target in a single bond as strong as stone. Taking advantage of their now joined state, Wagnard's hands reached with supernatural strength for Ashram's throat.
The black knight gasped in pain as the crushing strength behind Wagnard's grasp only seemed to grow. He would black out soon enough, but he had the chance for one, last, strike.
Firming his hands around the hilt of Soul Crusher, he gathered his strength, both physical and spiritual for a single, mighty blow.
Before it could strike, a flurry of scalpel-shaped shuriken hummed past his head, burying themselves in the priest's face and hands. Howling in pain, Wagnard was forced to release his target.
Now freed of the burden of a would-be strangler, Ashram unleashed his focused strength and resolve, ramming the blade completely through Wagnard to the hilt, every shred of power he could coax from the demon within ripping into Wagnard's body and soul. Spent, Ashram collapsed in pain.
Despite the great bodily and spiritual harm, Wagnard was still not quite dead. Turning longingly to his one-time prize, he raised a hand. "Kardis...if I can't control you, then no one will. Without the scepter, your power will run rampant, destroying everything. Destroy Kardis, DESTR..."
The Holy Sword cleanly swept past his neck, taking the still insanely grinning head with it. "You need to shut up at SOME point," Trent growled.
The dark elf turned to regard the sinking altar. The main problem with trying anything now would be power. He could attack, but without something a lot stronger than his balking, irritable holy sword he wouldn't stand a chance.
Glancing around, his eyes fell on Soul Crusher in Ashram still unconscious grasp. Without so much as a second thought he picked up the sword, checking its heft. Then, something indefinable happened. The two swords had been at literal, figurative, and spiritual war with each other for decades. Wielding both at the same time suddenly brought an end to that, like a ceasefire between two nations conquered by an empire.
The part that caused wonder was how little effort it now took to feel and control the vast amounts of power they held; unlike the above analogy, he'd required almost no effort whatsoever to tame them. The swords wanted to work together; he was unsure if it was their nature or merely their sudden overwhelming desire to destroy Kardis. In later days, he would believe more that each wanted to save the two elves on the altar as much as he; Falis's Breath for Deedlit, Soul Crusher for Pirotess.
Opposing swords in hand, Trent jogged forward. Kardis, seeming to sense the opposing energy, lanced out jagged forks of her crimson lightning. The combined might of holy and demonic swords wove a circular shield around him that not even She could pierce. Standing before the pit and the altar, he tightened his grip, summoning every shred of energy within him. "Deed...Tess...I'm coming."
Grinning ferally, he leapt into the air, falling towards the dark altar. For the first time, he roared as he fell to combat; the whisper quiet assassin gone for a moment.
That final clash was a thing of awe. A last, desperate barrier had been erected between the dark elf and the altar; Kardis would not be fully reborn until the souls of the elves belonged within her. The twin swords unloosed their full energies in an unstoppable torrent of force; incandescent and violet, like tongues of chain lightning. The two energies surged wildly, focused under Trent's single-minded command; finish Her off.
On the one side, a fallen, hibernating goddess of insanity and destruction. On the other a half-mad assassin dark elf wielding two weapons of godly power.
In the end, destruction turned in on itself.
Without the last surge of the barrier's power, the two swords ripped savagely into the ethereal barrens holding Kardis, laying waste to what lay beneath. The mere presence of the two swords's full energies rippled the air like black sand mirages, churning their wake into a pillar of pearlescent light.
A light that stretched beyond worlds, spun filigreed from darkness.
--------
In the skies above, Narse faltered violently as he felt the death of his erstwhile goddess. Taking advantage of his opponent's momentary shock and the now permanent weakness, Mycen turned on him savagely, his bird-like jaws ripping the great vein and corded muscel where the shoulder joined the neck, his talons biting deep in stomach, chest, and thigh.
Roaring in pain, Narse struggled weakly for freedom, but without the powers of Kardis he was no match for the raw force of Mycen and Bramd's combined power. He only became free when the golden dragon himself threw his opponent to the side, unleashing a final, massive blast of golden flames on his severely wounded opponent.
What talons and fangs left unscathed, the flames completed.
Mortally wounded and reeling, the black dragon of Marmo fell to the seas of Forceria, his only monument a single, last tongue of violet flames.
On the ground below, charging ogres and goblins began to fall apart, as though clay and dirt gone too dry had suddenly crumbled.
Wounded and bleeding, his once-pristine armor in rags, Kashue stared at the now dead enemies. "What in..."
Shiris turned around, panting in shock. It had been a near thing, and it they'd narrowly survived. "Then...Trent succeeded?"
Orson allowed himself a very small smile. "He won."
Miles away, Karla smiled from the citadel as he felt the energies fade away beyond his own sensitivity. "It appears I gambled correctly." He turned to regard the still glowing sage of Moss. "Did you come all this way just to lecture me Wort?"
He grinned. "Surely you wouldn't begrudge an old friend the right to see another friend's plan through to fruition?"
Karla's smile returned to its old mocking expression. "No, I suppose not. The next time we meet, will it be under non-combative circumstances?"
"You were once one of the six heroes. Can you never embrace that path again?"
Karla shrugged, and faded away. His voice was the only thing to remain. "When the scales of history are unbalanced...I will reappear. I think you knew that would be the answer to begin with."
Wort sighed, shaking his head as he faded back to his old tower. "Farewell...old friend."
--------
The intrepid group that had set out to finish Marmo had finally reached the foot of the temple of Falaris to seek out Trent.
What they saw as they drew clear would later become the subject of paintings and odes (much to Trent's disgust and Deed's private amusement).
Kashue stared openly at the conquering hero, for once that in name as well as fact. Shiris could only gape at him.
Soul Crusher and Falis's Breath had been wrapped in the torn remnants of Ashram's cape, a single strap holding them across his back. Battered beyond a great deal of recognition, he stood there atop the ruins of the temple, the panorama of sky behind him a sullen, cloudy mass. Bruised, scraped, and bloodied, yet without a single spark of the cold fire in his midnight blue, star-flecked eyes exstinguished. His right arm supported Pirotess over his shoulder, his left arm holding Deedlit close enough against him to keep her from further injury.
The survivors stared at him, and felt a great cheer erupt from ragged throats.
--------
Kashue stared at Trent, uncomprehending. "You're not going back to Valis?!"
Trent winced as he eased off his old shirt to replace it with a whole, but otherwise identical one. "Calm down, Kashue. I'm going back to Valis, just not immediately. There are three things I need to take care of before I can go back."
The mercenary king, clad in a spare set of armor (his old, faithful half plate was mangled beyond recognition), simply shook his head as Trent switched his mail-lined coat for the old one. "What could possibly be important enough to take your attention now? You're a bit of a war hero now."
Trent nodded. "I know. Among other things, I'm hoping for a little bit of the furor to die down." He shrugged. "My main concern is something still in the castle that needs to be safe-guarded."
Kashue shrugged. He'd learned recently that opposing the dark elf was a hopeless proposal; the blasted man did what he wanted, regardless of its sanity or popularity. "Will you need anything?" he asked instead, deciding that it would be better to try and help.
Trent nodded. "Immediately, all I need is my horse and enough food for a few days." Fahn had given him the charcoal gray stallion, and he'd taken with it from the start; it was the smartest horse he'd ever met, never mind being quite fast and enduring. As he traveled light, he didn't really need strength. "I'd also like you to leave behind one boat; big enough to hold me and the horse, but small enough that I won't need any crew. Last of all..." he paused as he gazed with undisguised affection at Deedlit and Pirotess. "If they wake up before I return, tell them that I'll return to Valis in exactly one week. And...never mind."
Kashue shrugged, fighting a grin. "Suit yourself." He turned to head back for his own men, then paused at the gangplank of his ship. "Trent...thank you."
The dark elf grinned back as the mercenary king strode off. Not waiting for the fleet to sail off, he immediately turned back towards Castle Conquera.
During the trip to Marmo, Trent had asked Slayn, Leylia, and Etoh to tell him about the scepter of domination. They hadn't told him a lot more than he'd already known; supposedly even gods had to bow to it, it had been guarded by Shooting Star, and at one point it had belonged to Falis himself. What they HAD told him of interest actually concerned other things.
Apparently, the kingdom of Kastuul hadn't just entrusted the scepter to the strongest of the ancient dragons, but had given one item of great power to be guarded by each of the five over a thousand years ago. It was fairly common knowledge that Bramd held the Staff of Life, an item that could heal anyone of anything, provided they were still alive. Mycen had been given the Mirror of Truth; supposedly nothing could hide from it. The last two, Narse and Eibra, had been entrusted with the Soul Crystal Ball and the Ferronierre of Knowledge. Eibra's crystal ball could do what Bramd's staff couldn't; namely bring back the dead. As for the ferronierre, no one was completely sure what it did, save that it involved knowledge.
Trent's point in all this had been simple. He didn't trust to just abandon these items; the abandoned scepter had nearly destroyed them all.
Retrieving the scepter had been simple; he'd left it in the rubble just before he'd reached daylight again. Narse's ferronierre had taken longer; he'd had to hunt down the lair, and even then it had taken hours to find the jeweled necklace.
He didn't dare put it on; Slayn had speculated that the knowledge it held could come at a Karla-esque cost, usurping the wearer's mind in exchange for the knowledge. He just slipped it into a leather pouch to drop into a volcano or something.
That left two small side trips to very large problems.
--------
Eibra stared incredulously at this short dark elf who'd challenged him for the Soul Crystal Ball. "You must be joking or insane, insect," he rumbled, preparing a blast of electricity to reduce the little fool to ashes.
Trent grinned.
--------
The crystal ball joined the necklace. One last side trip.
--------
Once again, Shooting Star was having a very bad day.
It had all started with that damnable black knight. He hadn't been able to finish him before he had just sank out of sight, unconscious from all the sulfur fumes. Still, he'd been able to wound the ancient Demon Dragon severly enough to put him out of commission for likely years to come. seriously doubted this could get any worse.
"HEY LUCY, I'M HOME!!! (1)
Never say, 'it could be worse.' Don't even think it. Because in a literary piece, it always happens.
--------
A week had passed. In preparation for Trent's return, the city of Valis had spent nearly the entire time preparing the city for a celebration the likes of which it had never seen in its entire history.
Peasants and craftsmen lined the streets, waiting for him to come riding home triumphantly. Nobles and foreign kings waited along the scarlet carpet of Fahn's throne, wher Fiana would present him with the armor of a Holy Knight, and swear him into their most elite warrior caste.
They didn't really know him very well.
Slayn smiled pleasantly across to Leylia. He had known from the first planning stages Trent wouldn't go through with it. So had Leylia and Etoh. They'd tried once or twice to convince the rest of Lodoss of that, but had given up in the end. Still, they kept up the charade. It promised to be something that Fiana would no doubt turn to their advantage; she was a born politician.
"He'll look splendid in the armor of a holy knight," Leylia commented from beside the throne.
Slayn grinned. He will, if they can ever get him in it. "Certainly my dear. Truly magnificent, poised to be the center of attention everywhere he goes."
Yeah. Right.
In their own private suite, Deedlit and Pirotess waited patiently. They'd been pronounced fully recovered two days ago, and had spent the past time preparing.
A whisper of cloth from behind one of the canopy beds that had a slight amount of shadow was their only hint. It was all they needed.
"Hello Trent."
The dark elf smiled. "I have a long way to go, much to do. Will you be joining me?"
The two stood, smiling lovingly at him.
--------
Slayn grinned at the sight of Trent, Deedlit, and Pirotess galloping away at top speeds down the streets of Valis. It hadn't been the plan, but it was somewhat stirring in its own way. "They'll come back some day."
Leylia nodded, smiling. "Destiny made our paths cross for a reason. It will make them cross again."
Trent smiled as he rode into the sunset, heading for Raiden. He'd known for years that sometimes life was good. He'd just discovered that with others, it could be magnificent.
The assassin was finally waking up.
--------
Far away, an ancient power watched and smiled. The first step on his warrior's journey had been taken.
The first step of many.
The End.
Author's Note: Ah yes, an end to the first tale of a strange (and around book four shape-shifting) hero. If you liked Trent and are hoping for continued writings, don't worry, there are more wildly improbable stories for this character rolling around my skull. If you didn't, then why the bleep did you read this story to the end? In any case, thank you for reading. I say this with the assumption that eventually, someone will actually find my page and I might actually get fans. One should never give up hope; he's the best writer of us all.
