I had lost my homeland. The Lumerian-Elmekian War of 982-985 was over, and there was no hope that the Imperial Sceptre would ever let go of its annexation within my lifetime. I know I should have grieved for my father and brothers, probably long dead since, but the fact was that I'd made my peace with everything, that I stopped yearning for the past and looking hard towards the future.
My future...that I today know will be under the name Gabriev, and with a man who loves me as much as I do him. It makes me hopeful. It makes me warm.
But it doesn't quite dispel the chill I feel today. For today, we attack...
- Scribbled note found in Hallia's memoirs
Chapter Fourteen
The group walking the winding path leading to the sorcerous tower was a grim one. Every single one knew that the odds were stacked against them, and that it would only make sense for them to turn back, report to the proper authorities and let them do the work. There was no shame in being reasonable, after all. They all knew this, and yet walked on.
But Marcus knew that none of them would ever think of turning back. For one thing, they were too proud to do so after having come this far, he himself not the least of them! Each was there for his or her own reason. He looked at his friends for a moment, gauging each of them silently.
Philionel was coming because he wanted what was just and right to prevail, naive though it might be. That belief fuelled his resolve, and despite the fact it made him quite eccentric, Marcus would be glad the day Philionel would rule Sailune - the world needed a truly just monarch from time to time!
Zasthla came because she had made an oath of loyalty long ago, when Fezra had saved her from the fate a female prisoner often suffered. That, and the fact that she had become attached to them all. Narie, for her part, wanted to come to show her worth to the team. He'd heard the story from the others, and sympathized more than he'd ever let on. Lionel was straightforward - Rezo had ordered it, and that was the end to it. Marcus didn't like that much, but he had no choice but to accept it.
Hallia...well, Hallia probably came in order to set things right in the name of Ceipheed and the Four Dragon Kings. Superficially, at least. In truth, he suspected her reason came mostly from private disgust over the abuses sorcerers could indulge in. She never said so, but her manner was plain. He could respect that, sorcerer though he was.
Loerik. Not the brightest light in the sky, but a strong and stalwart one, Marcus felt he came out of a sense of belonging. Estranged from half of his blood, he had been forced into a lonely life, and was willing to go anywhere with the people who had given it a purpose once more. The swordsman had found friendship and love, and had no intention of letting go of either.
Then there was Fezra. He always ended his observations with her, and never knew what to make of them. She had the strongest reason of them all - she wanted to save Berwen, her childhood friend. Although they all felt responsible for her disappearance and her possible rescue, none of them had ever forged any link with the silent sorceress. In fact, she seemed to have done everything she could to keep them at bay. Consequently, only Fezra truly cared. That, and a sense of adventure, of beating the odds, seemed to move her forward.
And what of himself? What was his reason for trudging onward to what could be his death? He supposed the orders he had received from Atlas City's Guild could be considered a good reason. He had his arrogance - he could admit to it privately - and his sense of duty, after all. But that would have been lying to himself, and that wasn't his genre.
He went because Fezra went. There. He'd admitted it. He wanted to be near Fezra, no matter the place she was. Did that make him nothing more than some follower? It might be. But for some reason he couldn't manage to feel appalled about it. What did that say about him and his feelings?
"Y'know-" Fezra began.
"-these bracelets had better work." the others chorused. The sorceress blinked, then flushed.
"Ah...yeah, I know I've mentioned it a few times-"
"TWELVE times." Marcus interjected. She gave him a look, and he smirked right back. How he loved doing that. How he loved seeing her do that. It pained him that a part of him wouldn't let him admit what he felt.
"A FEW times...but I've been thinking that we haven't much of a backup plans in case things go wrong." she growled.
"That's because if the bracelets don't work, we'll be in so much trouble that I don't think any backup plan's going to work." Hallia pointed out. Fezra's response was a grunt. It was always the same thing. She knew everything that might happen, she knew the answers she'd get, but it wouldn't be Fezra if she didn't voice what she thought from time to time.
Loerik, who was idly munching a piece of hard cheese, chose to add his own jab. "Worse comes to worse, we fight our hardest, and hope." Marcus supposed three years as a mercenary in a large war made people less than fidgety about the possibility of death.
Philionel struck a pose, crossing his arms. "Fear not! Justice is on our side! With its strength, we shall prevail!" he stood like that for a little while, then sighed "Yet, for some reason, I find myself doubting it will be so simple an outcome." he admitted ruefully.
"It won't." Zashtla agreed "These sorcerers meant business the other time, and they'll have more followers in that place."
Like they needed to be reminded. Marcus looked at the bracelet on his arm, bracelets of great power, granted them, if the others' tale held any truth, by Sai Lune himself. He felt a power coming from it, a power both strange and alluring. This had the tones of dragon and elvish magic's meshed together. A powerful artefact. The problem was, the sorcerers held many of the Forbidden Lores for themselves, and had probably learned how to use more of it this time.
Marcus frowned as they neared the stronghold. Old and many-towered, it had been crafted to cow and impress. And in the region, it might. But compared to such castles one could find in Sailune and Elmekia, it simply didn't match up. Marcus's mouth curled in distaste. Wasted grandiloquence, all of it. Nothing more than a hideout for fools who were playing with things long forbidden.
"Pretty tall-looking place, eh?" Fezra asked, a familiar light in her eyes.
"It sure is. It sure is." he nodded. "But all I know is that I want to kick their asses for the last time! This time...with this," he showed the bracelet on his forearm, glinting with mystical runes from another age "We might just have a chance."
"Of course we do!" she exclaimed, and then leaned in closer "As long as the two of us are together, nothing can hurt us." she whispered so low that he was certain that none of the others heard. His heart and soul whirled for an infinite moment. That sentence could mean many things, including that thing which still clogged the back of his mind. His lack of answer seemed to irritate her slightly. "So powerful and yet so clueless. Oh well."
Marcus knew he looked like a fool as the others stopped in front of the magical stronghold's gate. He saw Hallia and Loerik Hold each other, and exchange the kind of kiss people shouldn't do for all to see. It was plain that these two had found love in each other. For a moment, he considered ways to convince them to stay behind, but dismissed them at once. They had their reason to come, and would stand by them.
He wished his own goals were as clear. But if it meant that Fezra would still be there by the end...
"You were right on, Lionel. Lots of barriers and wards. We'll need a very big spell to take care of it." her eyes looked mischievous when she took Marcus in. "Care to do the honours?"
His smile returned at once. Whatever mix-up his feelings might be doing to him, he wasn't about to let them mess up his reputations. He strolled towards the group and bowed. "But of course. Everyone stand back!" he said, and everyone did. They knew which spell he was about to cast, and the damage to those who ever got caught in it.
He concentrated his mystical energies quickly, and forced magic into each word shaping his will and the mana into the powerful spell. "Darkness beyond Twilight, Crimson beyond Blood that Flows! Buried in the Stream of Time, it is where your Power Grows. I vow to Conquer all the Foes who Stand, with the Power bestowed upon my Unworthy Hand..." the energy, gathered slowly, lighting his forearm, and he felt a pressure, a need for release, and mentally stabilized everything as he uttered the words which would activate the power.
"DRAGON SLAVE!!!"
The power was released. That was it.
These sorcerers were about to get their asses kicked!!!
* * * * * * * * * *
There were things that a person like Jomekin disliked. In fact, there were many things that Jomekin disliked, but that was beside the point. He had levels of dislike, beginning with a slight dislike for cats and ending by a murdering hatred of all those who ever pointed out his cursed condition to him. One of these highest levels belonged to matters of control, of which he wanted nothing that would jeopardize it. It was a rule he had with himself, a rule that had served him well in life.
He thus felt quite upset when the explosion resounded, shaking the room in which he, that naive fool Mellinius and a band of Elemkian sorcerers waited for their time to strike against unbalanced Dallomir. "What is it now?!?" he growled aloud.
"A magical explosion." the other Lumerian wizard muttered "A very powerful one. In fact, the way it shook the whole structure for a moment, it should be..."
"A Dragon Slave." he finishes grimly "Someone has hit this structure with a Dragon Slave." he turned his manchild eyes towards the Elmekian spellcasters. "Is that one of your plans?"
The Elmekians exchanged looks, and then the one whom Jomekin thought was the leader - one icy-tongued fellow - spoke quietly. "No. None of us are capable of casting the Dragon Slave. I can cast one or two high-level Elmekia Lances, as can these others, as well as Fireballs and other defensive and offensive spells. But certainly not this. Only a few can cast this, as you well know."
Jomekin did. Cast for the first time one thousand years ago by the warped archwizard Lei Magnus, the spell was the strongest known spells in Black Magic, long kept under heavy wraps in the great Magic Guild of Zefielia. At any given time, only a handful had ever been able to cast it. It took someone of great natural skill, power and mental fitness to cast even one Dragon Slave. Jomekin himself had that power...barely. And the spell he'd felt was far more stable than his own. What it hinted at struck him with unease.
"Alright." he thought quickly, hearing the fast patter of feet outside, listening to vague, worried voices shouting. The entire keep was in an uproar, it seemed. This could work to our advantage. Most of the servants and lesser sorcerers would have backed Dallomir, which would have made our attempt difficult. Now, however, we may strike while these others have the attention."
"There are over one hundred soldiers and sorcerers here." Mellinius warned "And most of them will be against us. As things stand, I might only be able to reach but a few of my faction. We are still heavily outnumbered."
"Then it is time for you to move and get to them, while I and these others strike at them by surprise. Get moving. Gather your rebels. And let people like me do what we do so well." he followed this declaration with a childish smile, which made the younger one flinch and move from the room quickly. He looked at the Elmekian killers. "Let's strike now!!"
They moved outside, to an empty corridor lit by magical globes. He moved briskly, hearing the faint steps of the others. By all rights, he would still be seen as an eminent, if unloved, member of this keep. That would give him the edge he would need. It wouldn't last, he knew that starkly well, but he knew he'd be able to kill more than few before he was targeted himself.
He had, in short, become a traitor. Or so it would be in the eyes of many others. He was certain that Mellinius, the fool, was hard at work condemning himself for his actions even as he went forward to rally more for the coup against Dallomir. But not Jomekin. Nom he did not feel like he was betraying anyone. His own loyalty had been based upon Dallomir's promise to him long ago, about finding a cure for his body. The older mage, he had found, never meant to help him at all, even when his mind was still sane.
Dallomir had used him. So his loyalty towards him was just as void and baseless. No, he felt no regrets at his actions. What he felt, however, was a soft feeling of elation.
Steps becoming his way. Hurries voices were rounding the corner, none of them being Mellinius'. He waited, speaking arcane words, gathering energy. He was a few steps away from the Elmekians, so he was quite alone to the eyes of the five apprentices who ran up. To a man, they stopped when they saw him, openly relieved to see him - which was unusual in itself.
"Sir!" one of the youths panted, "We are under attack!"
"A band of adventurers, with two sorcerers of great power with them! You must act, sir!.
Jomekin nodded grimly, keeping his expression still. A band of adventurers? That struck a cord, which he dismissed at once, instead bringing his hand up swiftly. "Indeed, I must act." With a last word of arcane power, a red ball of fire appeared. The apprentices looked at it in surprise and dawning horror. "On you, unfortunately. FIREBALL!!!"
The fiery sphere sped at his target and exploded, right in the midst of them. Them never had a chance. They screamed and flailed, some dying within seconds, some lingering, trying to snuff the flames off, none of them possessing the strength to summon magic to their aid. Truly nothing but beginners, only worth his attention because they were so numerous. They were cut down swiftly by the elmekians, who finished them off with a few Freeze Arrows.
Yet Jomekin felt nothing. He had once helped three of these apprentices use the Light Spell and a minor Flare Arrow spell. Yet he felt not a bit of grief over it. What was even more interesting was the voice, which wondered if he shouldn't have trained them a little harder, so that they might have been a small challenge at least. He didn't know if that made him monstrous or not, and he didn't care.
"Its begun." he said. "Follow me!"
They did, probably feeling that h e was by far the most powerful despite his unnatural looks. Twice they came across bands of lesser sorcerers. Each time, he used the grudging respect they had of him to kill many of them before they could react, weakening the others to the Elmekians' attacks. Only two managed to call upon any magic to protect themselves, and even they didn't last long, their weak shields and spells no match against older, more powerful spellcasters.
Far off, he heard a boom, and voices screaming faintly. Too far to be Mellinius, certainly. That, almost without a doubt, was the invading band, very much alive and doing much damage. He wasn't surprised. If it was the band they'd once fought against, Dallomir, Mellinius and he - the same band from which the experimental chimera came from - it would take more than a few soldiers and some low-level wizards to bring them low.
"The invaders are making quite an impression, it seems. That's good."
"YOU are making quite an impression yourself." the leading Elmekian noted. "You kill swiftly and efficiently. I am certain the Emperor would like to have you."
"No, thank you. I am quite well with the present situation. he replied tersely." It only made the other man more agreeable, if nothing else.
"What present situation? That of being a sorcerer killing for Lumeria? That is no longer an option. You are a member of the Lumerian Guild, but Lumeria is defeated. Its last armies are routed, its royalty killed, its lands seized. Within months, all of this land will belong to the Emperor. What then, sir Jomekin?"
It was a judicious argument, but one which would have to be debated later. "Perhaps. I might give it more thought after we dispose of Dallomir - if we are able."
The Elmekians looked absurdly disbelieving at that. "Surely, if these students are any indication, Dallomir won' be such a threat, with all of use against he."
Now Jomekin permitted himself his small, childlike laugh. It was too much. He knew of Elmekian overconfidence, but this...this went beyond ridicule! He laughed look and hard and then calmed down, turning his voice cynical. "Fools!" he said with as much disdain as he could "Dallomir is more powerful than I am by quite a bit, and that power is helped by some potent ancient artefact. He is, by far, the most dangerous person in this place. Taking him down will be no means be easy. Pray try to keep that in mind!"
"Jomekin!" the cry came from fearful-eyes Mellinius, who was closely followed by many others. He seemed to be in great agitation, but before the manchild could say or do anything, he was grabbed by the shoulders, hard. "Ceipheed protect us, Jomekin! She's escaped! This is all my fault, she's escaped!"
It was said so fast Jomekin barely made it out. "What do you mean? Who has escaped?"
Mellinius told him, and he found himself choking. The words rang in his head, portents of doom echoing. Suddenly, he didn't want revenge on Dallomir. No, something quite terrible would take revenge in his place. He also knew that he would have to escape, for he would be next on that thing's list - if it still had a mind at all and didn't kill everyone in sight.
"Chimera." Mellinius had said. It had been more than enough to set constrict his heart in fear.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chimera.
Berwen was racing through the stone corridors more swiftly then she ever had before. Had her mind taken the time to fully realize it, she would have felt the change in herself. She would have realized that her strength, speed and energy had been dramatically increased from the merging with Mazoku and Steel Golem essences. She would have found her sight and her hearing quite sharpened as well.
But that didn't matter to Berwen. All that matter was that one word, echoing in her mind filling her with an unfathomable despair...and an indescribable rage.
A chimera. A part of her mind told her that they had been created during the War of Resurrection, and that many of them had become powerful leaders. But the rest told that she would never be human again, that she would be an outcast - a freak to be hunted out and destroyed by soldiers and adventurers. She would be a monster, a hated creature demonized by centuries of song, histories and legendary accounts.
"A freak...no...no... I'm still human, still human...ain't I?" she muttered to herself as she sped down the corridor. "Ain't I?"
She wasn't, she realized yet again, and the rage returned. She had been captured, tortured, and turned into a monster by that bastard, that swine Dallomir! He was the cause of all this, he was, he was! She would find him, and have her revenge upon him. A slow death, yes, that was what she'd give him. Just as he had forced her to endure pain for so long, she would do the same to him, yes!! And then...
Teeth that were too white to be natural shone through as her metallic lips parted in a feral smile. And then, it would be time to get the revenge she wanted even more. The revenge she would have on the friends who had sold her to this fate, the people she had trusted. Dumb Loerik, arrogant Marcus, that sanctimonious Philionel...and then, Fezra.
Oh yes, Fezra especially!
She arrived at an intersection, and had no time to react before three men came in from her left. One was dressed as an apprentice, while two others held pikes in their hands, dressed in leather jerkins. For a fleeting moment, Berwen felt uneasy, definitely self-conscious. Her garments had been destroyed during her transformation, and her mind hadn't thought of dressing from the moment she'd seen her own, new reflection onward.
But the three men didn't seem to notice nor care that she was naked. They were too busy falling back in surprise and horror. "By Ceipheed!" one of the soldiers cried "What is that...that abomination!?!"
"Some devilry from either the red-haired mage or the crazy brunette, no doubt!" the apprentice said fearfully, struggling to summon his weak magics to his aid.
The words, spoken with fear and disgust, pushed everything but the rage way, filling her whole being in a hot bed of pure hate. Her eyes widened, cold and yet blazing, and she found herself reaching towards her own magic without hesitation. "How DARE you! How dare you talk about me as if I was a THING!!"
If they'd gone on their knees and begged forgiveness right then and there, she might have spared their lives. Might. Instead the two soldiers hefted their weapons, and the apprentice summoned his magic. "Back, monster! FREEZE ARROW!!"
As far as freeze arrows went, this one was average, and impacted Berwen's instinctive shield without any damage. She scowled in disdain. Amateur magic. Presumptuous fools! Her own magic gathered quickly at her command. "You call that a magic spell! That's not a freeze arrow! THIS is!! FREEZE ARROW!" The missile sped in all its arcane, deadly beauty, hitting the apprentice with such strength that his shield was rent apart, and he fell dead, covered with magical frost. The two guards froze, wide-eyes, at the display of raw power.
Berwen stared herself. That Freeze Arrow should never have been so powerful, not without her feeling the strain. But it had come easily, and she'd felt NOTHING. Absolutely nothing! As she stood in stunned incomprehension, one of the soldiers charged her with a fear-filled yell, and struck his pike directly at her. She didn't have time to dodge before the steel hit her.
And twisted, curling away like paper. Both the soldiers and she stared at the now useless-pike.
Then she began to laugh. From a small chuckle, it became a cry of pure triumph and hysteria. She understood! She remembered why these things were happening to her! "You fools! Don't you see? I'm a chimera! You can't hurt me!!"
As if to prove her own point, she grabbed the soldier with both hands, and with a swiftness that surprised her even now, she lifted him up and slammed him headfirst into a wall. Blood poured down the wall as she let go, and both pike and body fell to the floor, equally inanimate. That was too much for the other soldier, who uttered a panicked squeal and sped away as fast as he could. Berwen watched him with undisguised, savage amusement.
"Pathetic! Die! FLARE ARROW!!" She let out another hysterical laugh when she saw the projectile hit him, when she saw him writhe in agony. "HAHAHAHA! Tremble, all of you! HAHAHAHAHAHAH! No one can hurt me!" she was filled with the desire to scour these walls clean of live, to crush all those who looked upon her as less than human. It was strong, and nearly overwhelmed her.
But logic stayed her urges, forcing her to rethink. She couldn't go and kill everyone she met. Not only was that reckless, it was positively dangerous. She felt ready to take Dallomir, Marcus or even that damned Fezra on...but surely they would be together. Yes, and she was wise enough to know taking on three sorcerers of that power would be suicidal. Her new body made her far more powerful, but not powerful enough. She would have to find other means to enact her vengeance!
She reminded herself of the fear, horror and disgust those she had killed had showed. Fear didn't bother her, and she could get used to horror in time. But not disgust. To be looked upon as something less, while she was stronger than most already? She refused to accept it! She would no longer allow herself to be seen as anything less. All of her young life, she lived in someone's shadow. First, her late father, then her Guild teachers, then Fezra. Always in someone's shadow, always less, always seen with pity. Disgust was no better. She would find a way to erase both out of her existence!
Her ears heard a shuffling, farther away she could usually hear. She strained. Voices. There were voices, two of them it seemed. They were talking hurriedly, coming her way fast.
And she recognized one of them.
Quickly she hid. If they were there, perhaps that explained the explosions, which had rocked the place only a small while beforehand? Or, more likely, it might simply mean that her so-called friends had decided to go and see if she was still passively awaiting them like some chained animal. Yes, that was probably it. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was of it. She hid in a shadowy corner and waited. Soon, the voices took on a more definite shape.
"Berwen should logically be this way. That is, if this place is built rationally." A man's voice, one she didn't know. "Let's make it quick. Who knows what Dallomir will do with the Forbidden Lores?"
The Forbidden Lores! Berwen had nearly forgotten about them. They were perhaps responsible for her transformation into a chimera. If that was so... A plan started brewing, ideas taking hold on her as possibilities unveiled themselves. Yes, she decided, there were possibilities to be considered. Later though, after she has dealt with them.
A female voice came to her, quick, reeking of forced stability. "Yes, but Fezra was so adamant, did you really want to start arguing with her?"
So that was it. Fezra had come to get her, to use as a weapon no doubt. The knowledge hit her hard, harder than she thought it should have. A part of her, she realized, had clung to the hope that she had been wrong, that what she'd seen, felt and reasoned out would turn out to be erroneous. It wasn't, and the grief that shook her before the hatred surged back was all the more poignant as it was so short yet so strong. She smirked bitterly. So be it. Now it would be her turn to have her own fun!
Two people rushed out of the corridor, not seeing her. One was a slender man she didn't know, the other a woman she knew, or had thought she knew. With a growl, she lurched out of her hiding place, summoning her powers as she gripped his arm from behind before he could react. "MANO BOLT!!!" she growled, willing every once of magic she could into the spell. It did the trick. The man screamed and stiffened, and slumped to the ground. She paid him no mind. He was unimportant. Instead she rushed and grabbed the woman by the throat, and stared into frightened human eyes with her own cold ones.
"Hello, Narie." she said to her captive.
The priestess' eyes widened. "Berwen?!? Is that you??"
"Yes. What you have before you is the new Berwen - stronger, faster, and way nastier." she grinned as a thought struck her. "Let me show you how much, for old times' sake!"
* * * * * * * * * *
Philionel had always been far stronger than the average. No one was quite certain where the girth and muscle came from, although it was suspected that he had inherited it from his mother's side. Although his mother hadn't been built strong, she had often told him her own grandfather had been a giant of a man. Whatever the case, by age twelve, Phil was nearly as tall as a normal adult, and since sixteen he'd seen no one who had shown his own reserve of raw strength and endurance. Not surprisingly, he had been expected to become a warrior-king of sort, much like his brothers Randy and Christopher had been pointed into a religious and a scholarly course respectively.
Randy had adapted to the priesthood well enough it seemed, and Christopher appeared to thrive amongst books and register - he would be a very learned man later. But Phil had never, unlike his brother, liked the path that faith - and his father the king, had set for him. He had learned how to fight from the best hand-to-hand masters inside and outside Sailune, and had become a force of nature. But, in secret, he had taken lectures to augment his knowledge, had scoured the royal library and devoured all the knowledge he could. And finally, to break with the set curriculum life had set him; he'd gone on more and more travels to see the realm he would have to lead for himself.
All these things had made Philionel a man who despised violence, who truly hated having to use it even as he knew he was naturally gifted for it. As the Prince knocked yet another soldier with a solid punch, he flinched at the bitter irony that this battle was - he had to use is talents. He knew it had to be done, that it was necessary.
However, it didn't make it easy. Justice should be served by talking, but it wouldn't work here.
"Phil, behind you!"
Zashtla's warning made him duck instinctively, and a sword nearly decapitated him. He heard the swoosh of air above him, and struck behind him with his right foot, catching his attacker, who huffed as air escaped his lungs. Still under the spell of the chilling fear, the heir to the continent's most prosperous kingdom turned, took the man by his leather armour. With a grunt, barely feeling the effort in his state, he heaved the man off his feet and slugged him as hard as he could.
It was as if the man had received a boulder across the face. He felt as well as heard the crunch of bones cracking and breaking. The man's head snapped backward, teeth flying, mingled with blood. The next instant, his opponent sagged, having lost consciousness. Realizing what he's done, the prince released him to the floor.
Necessary, he told himself. This was necessary - the things happening in this place were insane, dangerous for the safety of his people, indeed of the entire continent. Not only that, but he had a moral obligation to help save a comrade caught months ago by these people. He knew he had to do this. "So why can't I bring myself to forget my aversion?" he wondered.
"What are you mumbling about, darling?" Zashtla inquired.
He saw that the muscular woman was eyeing him. He'd spoken that thought aloud, eh? Drat. "Don't trouble yourself. Just myself trying to deal with personal issues." he said, trying to dismiss the problem.
She wasn't convinced. Double drat. His ability to persuade didn't seem to work on people once he got too close to them. Normally a relief, it was being a pain at times. Like right now. The swordswoman stepped away from the place she'd chosen to defend - no less than five opponents lay in various states at her feet - and came closer to him.
"Come on, Phil. We travelled together a bit. I don't know you as well as Narie or Lionel, but I know enough to see you're not enjoying yourself here!" she stated.
That struck a nerve. Piqued by what was implied, he drew himself up and scowled. "I'll take that as a compliment. Or do you believe that people should like hurting others?"
"That's rather moot here, Phil." she said with a grin that he couldn't quite identify. "Most of the time, I guess its good to dislike having to fight. But do you see any other way?" his jaw tightened, and she sighed. "Look, its not because we like fighting better than you that people like Fezra, Loerik, or me, that we're not feeling better when we DON'T fight!"
Phil was reminded of the times he'd seen Loerik grimace bitterly as he looked at the blade of his powerful magical sword, or when Fezra shook her head sometimes after casting a destructive spell. He had similar images for Marcus and Zashtla, and Hallia seemed nearly as open in disliking violence as he was. Yes, his friends didn't like doing violence to others, but he had never seen them shirk from this task when they had to. He, on the other hand, was pure disquiet every single time he fought. Sometimes outwardly, always inwardly.
With a sigh, he realized that he would always seem reluctant to anyone else who ventured into danger with him. It would make him appear uncertain and unreliable. But even so, he wouldn't change. He wouldn't allow himself to. "You're right...but fighting this brutally is wrong. I have always thought so and Ceipheed willing, I always will."
The discussion suddenly seemed completely out of place. He and Zashtla were supposed to slow down any soldiers coming their way, while Lionel and Narie went to try and rescue Berwen and the rest fought their way to Dallomir and his companions. It didn't seem as if they should be discussing whether or not someone should like to fight or not!
Obviously, the thought hadn't occurred to Zashtla, since she put a hand on his broad shoulder and grinned. "Phil, it's that kind of talks that make you so cute sometimes!" she assured him.
And, before his wits quite caught up with everything, the pulled him down and kissed him quite fully.
It was something, which would have shocked the entire court. It certainly would have had the king in a fit just at the sight. Amidst the shock and buzzing confusion, however, the prince found that straightforward address quite pleasant. He felt hot all over, his blood heated, and he compulsively put his arms around the swordswoman, who responded by nestling close to him.
Even as the mature part of his mind remonstrated him in a voice that sounded achingly like his mother's, the part, which still acted only on instinct, felt the need to keep holding this woman, to keep kissing her. It was worth a hundred travels around the continent, worth a thousand crowns of gold. He wondered if he would feel that way when Valmatia and he-
The name of his future wife had barely passed through his mind like a morning fog, he had barely glimpsed the classical-mannered, beautiful woman who seemed not to despise him like so many in the court had done behind his back, that he felt like struck by a thunderbolt. All desires left him, and he gently disengaged himself. "I'm sorry, Zashtla. I-that's not the way I want things to be." Gods, his lips still burned from that kiss!
He didn't know exactly what he expected, but it certainly wasn't to see Zashtla shrug as if it didn't matter that much. "Phil, you take these things too seriously, anyone ever told you that?"
"I fail to see the relevance...."
"I'm a mercenary. I did that to many people. Friends, often. I did that to Loerik twice, and to Marcus once. Youre the first who took it that badly." she explained, then patted him. "I suppose its because you've never seen the mercenary life. Sorry Phil."
He bit back an angry retort. How callous she sounded. But he reminded himself that he didn't know the life she had led. It was more than possible that Loerik and Marcus had reacted better because of their wider experience of the outside world, but he simply wasn't like that. And it by no mean justified arousing him...like...like some common peasant! He smirked at himself. So much for thinking of myself as a normal man, he thought.
But he never had the chance to discuss it. Other people were coming this way - many, heavy feet, which they'd have to stop. Only moments had passed, but it seemed hours to Phil now. He felt terribly tired - by the idea of fighting people, and by the idea that his friends saw him as a stuffed, traditional man.
Zasthla, it seemed, saw things quite differently. She grinned and looked at the direction of the sound. "Time to do our job! To work, friend!" she said, hefting her sword. Phil had no choice but to get ready for it, even as the cries came nearer. Gods, how unfocused and confused he felt. His lips still burned, his mind still whirled, and his conscience still prickled him forcefully.
"Maybe I'm not adventure material after all." he said mournfully.
And with that, Crown Prince Philionel di Sailune went back to a fighting he hated and excelled at. In the name of justice. Always in the name of justice.
Always?
* * * * * * * * * *
Four against forty. Ten-to-one odds. It wasn't something people could relish, much less walk away from. Yet that was exactly the odds that Fezra's group was facing - thirty-two elite soldiers, probably the cream of the cream in the place, all in chain mail and longswords, and eight full sorcerers. None was nearly as powerful as herself or Marcus, but all eight together did pose a significant challenge.
That was perfect as far as Fezra was concerned.
"Looks like we've been invited to one big party." she said, shifting her stance slightly as the soldiers moved to surround them, flanking the sorcerers. Behind her, she heard Hallia's voice, beginning to chant a protection spell. Just to the side, she heard a click and a heavy, metallic thud, signalling the fall of Loerik's steel blade. She grinned widely - her friends were all used to dogfights, and took this present ordeal with almost casual calm.
Beside her, Marcus shifted, and she could almost feel the confidence and mirth coming in waves from his person. "Yeah, a damn shame I didn't bring my best suit." he noted.
"I think you look good in that suit. Compliments your red hair." she quipped.
"Really?" he shifted, almost certainly striking a pose. "I always thought light blue suited me better."
"Nah. Black's definitely you."
A chuckle came from Loerik. "I swear, you guys are just too weird when you fight. Let's get to it, you blokes! LIGHT COME FORTH!" She heard as well as felt the roar of the magical blade's great energies pouring out and forming, and many of the soldiers and sorcerers, already edgy to face a group which had fought its way to Dallomir's chambers relatively quickly, looked even less certain. She summoned her magical energies. The battles against small groups along the way had taken its toll, but they came swiftly enough still. She put her hands in front of herself, grin still wide, eyes sparked with excitement.
"Well? Your heard the man - attack!" a pause "Don't want to? Too bad! DIEM WIND!!!"
The magical wind blasted six of the man directly into the wall, rendering them either dazed or unconscious. Next to her, Marcus did the same, catching a few others himself, pushing them to the other side. The rest stumbled back even as the sorcerers muttered their incantations. It was that moment of hesitation that cost them. With a wild yell, Loerik was amongst them, striking down two before anyone could react, his blade flashing menacingly as it cut through steel, flesh and bone as a knife through hot butter. That level of intensity couldn't be maintained for long, but it wouldn't take the swordsman a long time to throw the attacking armsmen and soldiers off-balance. Fezra turned her full attention towards the sorcerers...
Only to have them let loose a barrage of flare arrows and fireballs.
Cursing herself for the lapse in judgement, Fezra vainly struggled to augment her natural shield, knowing it was too late. The projectiles streaked towards them, and struck an invisible barrier. The sorceress heard a gasp behind her, then a thud, and gritted her teeth. Hallia. She had poured everything into that shield, and had barely managed to hold off the destructive force. They wouldn't have anyone who could stand in their way if they tried such an attack again.
Not that she intended them to have that chance. Quickly, she summoned a Flare Arrow, even as a bright, greenish Elmekia Lance struck one of the enemy head on. Marcus was using the reprieve Hallia had given them as much as he could himself. She let loose her own projectile, felling another opponent, but not quite knocking him out. Behind her, Loerik and the soldiers yelled and clashed, and one, then another thud was heard.
Marcus's shield was suddenly hit by two fireballs, and he went to his knees, holding his head. Two of the sorcerers closed in for the kill, chanting, even as the other four concentrated on her. Marcus!! Fear gripped her heart, and she desperately tried to find way out of the mess she'd been caught in to help him. She could take those four, but it'd take too long, too long...oh Marcus!
But her feelings went through quite a different phase when the two enemies came near him. He lifted his head grimly, brought both hands up and summoned a red ball of energy. Before any of his opponents could react, he brought it forward and shouted "FIREBALL!" The great sphere took them both, as they had come too close for their own shield to be effective. Marcus struggled to his feet, panting, and gave a determined glare despite his smoking garments.
"Come on!" he panted "Plenty more where it came from!"
And there was. As behind them, minor shifts in magic and yells of surprise told Fezra that Hallia hadn't been knocked out of the fight, Marcus and she fought down the last four sorcerors. The four of them were unsettled by the odds shifting against them, but fought to defend themselves most tenaciously. Three times Fezra narrowly avoided a dangerous spell, and by the time the last of the four fell to one of Marcus' spells, she felt drained, her magical energies ebbing. It was only then that she went to see how her other friends fared.
They had survived, it seemed. Loerik was slumped against a wall, hand clutching Hallia's shoulder as the dazed priestess worked her healing powers to tend the wounds he received. None of them were lethal, but some - especially one on the leg - were nasty. Seeing the anguish on her friend's face, Fezra forced her fatigue aside and poured her own, lesser Recovery spell, followed by Marcus a few moments later.
She surveyed around her. Some soldiers had fled, but most lay there, dead or moaning, certainly out of the fight for a good long while. "Nice job there, Loerik." she remarked.
"Yeah...thanks...that was a piece of work here." Even as he spoke, the tension on his face healed as his worst wounds closed. "They had some training, but I'm used to meeting soldiers that have been fighting pitched battle for years. With the Sword of Light, I could swing it. You deserve more for blasting those mages off. Marcus, you sure worried me for a moment there, when those spells hit you."
"That's right! How did you manage to shrug off the spells?" Fezra queried. She wouldn't allow herself to say more. The fear she'd felt over seeing him helpless and unable to help him still held sway on her, and she didn't dare let herself indulge in the feeling. Later, maybe, but not now. Right now, stopping Dallomir was the only thing she could truly think of.
As an answer, Marcus showed the bracelet he was wearing, the Forbidden Lore given to them by Sai Lune's spirit. "This. It negated a good deal of the spell. Enough that they only shook me instead of hurting me. I guess that was one way of testing it."
Fezra looked at her own. "These might be useful after all."
Hallia finally looked up, sighing tiredly. "I suppose that was the point. There, I've treated the worst injuries. How are you feeling?" she asked her husband carefully.
The swordsman grunted, gripping his bladeless sword hilt and rising. "I've been better." he admitted "But I've been way worse. I'll be okay."
"Do you think they found Berwen?" Fezra asked, and Marcus shrugged.
"Well, Lionel and Narie should be able to find her, I think. If she's here." he said at length.
Fezra sighed. Ever since they'd entered the place, she'd been worried about Berwen. She had always managed to push the thoughts aside until now. She'd never given much thought to the things that her friend - her childhood friend! - was going through with such people. She felt immensely guilty about that, and didn't probe too much about what kind of person that might make of her.
"Berwen? I assure you, you'll see her before long."
They all jumped at the voice, and all turned to see a man approaching. Middle-aged, garbed in the intricate robes of an archmage, he was striding towards them with eyes that were too wide, and too bloodshot, to be entirely normal. His gait and manner as well as the voice were unmistakable. But that wasn't what hit her so hard.
"Dallomir." she growled, sensing the other readying themselves, Hallia and Marcus both tensing as they felt what she had. His aura, it was so...strong. So...abnormal. She gritted her teeth in the grim realization that he had probably augmented his powers through the Lores he'd taken from the ancient elven temple ruins.
"Yes. I have been watching you." he said with a grin that spoke of maddened delight. "Let me welcome you to my home fittingly!"
Fezra only smiled - the Inverse smile her family had become infamous for in the face of grave danger. Yeah, he was strong, but if he thought they'd be lying down easily, he was about to be awfully surprised.
"Bring it on, old geezer." she said, readying herself. "Let's see what you've got!"
___________________________________________________
Chimeras: Constructs made from merging different species into one being. Highly controversial in itself, and expressly forbidden to use on humans. Lei Magnus in the War of Resurrection first created human chimeras. Following that War, the few spells permitting the change were hidden, sealed or otherwise destroyed by the victorious human, elven and dragon heroes. One manuscript is rumoured to be inside the Magic Guild of Zefielia, heavily warded by spells erected by Oerlue the Silent and Falana of the Five Winds and strengthened in the intervening centuries. As with most Forbidden Lores locations, this is highly conjectural.
My future...that I today know will be under the name Gabriev, and with a man who loves me as much as I do him. It makes me hopeful. It makes me warm.
But it doesn't quite dispel the chill I feel today. For today, we attack...
- Scribbled note found in Hallia's memoirs
Chapter Fourteen
The group walking the winding path leading to the sorcerous tower was a grim one. Every single one knew that the odds were stacked against them, and that it would only make sense for them to turn back, report to the proper authorities and let them do the work. There was no shame in being reasonable, after all. They all knew this, and yet walked on.
But Marcus knew that none of them would ever think of turning back. For one thing, they were too proud to do so after having come this far, he himself not the least of them! Each was there for his or her own reason. He looked at his friends for a moment, gauging each of them silently.
Philionel was coming because he wanted what was just and right to prevail, naive though it might be. That belief fuelled his resolve, and despite the fact it made him quite eccentric, Marcus would be glad the day Philionel would rule Sailune - the world needed a truly just monarch from time to time!
Zasthla came because she had made an oath of loyalty long ago, when Fezra had saved her from the fate a female prisoner often suffered. That, and the fact that she had become attached to them all. Narie, for her part, wanted to come to show her worth to the team. He'd heard the story from the others, and sympathized more than he'd ever let on. Lionel was straightforward - Rezo had ordered it, and that was the end to it. Marcus didn't like that much, but he had no choice but to accept it.
Hallia...well, Hallia probably came in order to set things right in the name of Ceipheed and the Four Dragon Kings. Superficially, at least. In truth, he suspected her reason came mostly from private disgust over the abuses sorcerers could indulge in. She never said so, but her manner was plain. He could respect that, sorcerer though he was.
Loerik. Not the brightest light in the sky, but a strong and stalwart one, Marcus felt he came out of a sense of belonging. Estranged from half of his blood, he had been forced into a lonely life, and was willing to go anywhere with the people who had given it a purpose once more. The swordsman had found friendship and love, and had no intention of letting go of either.
Then there was Fezra. He always ended his observations with her, and never knew what to make of them. She had the strongest reason of them all - she wanted to save Berwen, her childhood friend. Although they all felt responsible for her disappearance and her possible rescue, none of them had ever forged any link with the silent sorceress. In fact, she seemed to have done everything she could to keep them at bay. Consequently, only Fezra truly cared. That, and a sense of adventure, of beating the odds, seemed to move her forward.
And what of himself? What was his reason for trudging onward to what could be his death? He supposed the orders he had received from Atlas City's Guild could be considered a good reason. He had his arrogance - he could admit to it privately - and his sense of duty, after all. But that would have been lying to himself, and that wasn't his genre.
He went because Fezra went. There. He'd admitted it. He wanted to be near Fezra, no matter the place she was. Did that make him nothing more than some follower? It might be. But for some reason he couldn't manage to feel appalled about it. What did that say about him and his feelings?
"Y'know-" Fezra began.
"-these bracelets had better work." the others chorused. The sorceress blinked, then flushed.
"Ah...yeah, I know I've mentioned it a few times-"
"TWELVE times." Marcus interjected. She gave him a look, and he smirked right back. How he loved doing that. How he loved seeing her do that. It pained him that a part of him wouldn't let him admit what he felt.
"A FEW times...but I've been thinking that we haven't much of a backup plans in case things go wrong." she growled.
"That's because if the bracelets don't work, we'll be in so much trouble that I don't think any backup plan's going to work." Hallia pointed out. Fezra's response was a grunt. It was always the same thing. She knew everything that might happen, she knew the answers she'd get, but it wouldn't be Fezra if she didn't voice what she thought from time to time.
Loerik, who was idly munching a piece of hard cheese, chose to add his own jab. "Worse comes to worse, we fight our hardest, and hope." Marcus supposed three years as a mercenary in a large war made people less than fidgety about the possibility of death.
Philionel struck a pose, crossing his arms. "Fear not! Justice is on our side! With its strength, we shall prevail!" he stood like that for a little while, then sighed "Yet, for some reason, I find myself doubting it will be so simple an outcome." he admitted ruefully.
"It won't." Zashtla agreed "These sorcerers meant business the other time, and they'll have more followers in that place."
Like they needed to be reminded. Marcus looked at the bracelet on his arm, bracelets of great power, granted them, if the others' tale held any truth, by Sai Lune himself. He felt a power coming from it, a power both strange and alluring. This had the tones of dragon and elvish magic's meshed together. A powerful artefact. The problem was, the sorcerers held many of the Forbidden Lores for themselves, and had probably learned how to use more of it this time.
Marcus frowned as they neared the stronghold. Old and many-towered, it had been crafted to cow and impress. And in the region, it might. But compared to such castles one could find in Sailune and Elmekia, it simply didn't match up. Marcus's mouth curled in distaste. Wasted grandiloquence, all of it. Nothing more than a hideout for fools who were playing with things long forbidden.
"Pretty tall-looking place, eh?" Fezra asked, a familiar light in her eyes.
"It sure is. It sure is." he nodded. "But all I know is that I want to kick their asses for the last time! This time...with this," he showed the bracelet on his forearm, glinting with mystical runes from another age "We might just have a chance."
"Of course we do!" she exclaimed, and then leaned in closer "As long as the two of us are together, nothing can hurt us." she whispered so low that he was certain that none of the others heard. His heart and soul whirled for an infinite moment. That sentence could mean many things, including that thing which still clogged the back of his mind. His lack of answer seemed to irritate her slightly. "So powerful and yet so clueless. Oh well."
Marcus knew he looked like a fool as the others stopped in front of the magical stronghold's gate. He saw Hallia and Loerik Hold each other, and exchange the kind of kiss people shouldn't do for all to see. It was plain that these two had found love in each other. For a moment, he considered ways to convince them to stay behind, but dismissed them at once. They had their reason to come, and would stand by them.
He wished his own goals were as clear. But if it meant that Fezra would still be there by the end...
"You were right on, Lionel. Lots of barriers and wards. We'll need a very big spell to take care of it." her eyes looked mischievous when she took Marcus in. "Care to do the honours?"
His smile returned at once. Whatever mix-up his feelings might be doing to him, he wasn't about to let them mess up his reputations. He strolled towards the group and bowed. "But of course. Everyone stand back!" he said, and everyone did. They knew which spell he was about to cast, and the damage to those who ever got caught in it.
He concentrated his mystical energies quickly, and forced magic into each word shaping his will and the mana into the powerful spell. "Darkness beyond Twilight, Crimson beyond Blood that Flows! Buried in the Stream of Time, it is where your Power Grows. I vow to Conquer all the Foes who Stand, with the Power bestowed upon my Unworthy Hand..." the energy, gathered slowly, lighting his forearm, and he felt a pressure, a need for release, and mentally stabilized everything as he uttered the words which would activate the power.
"DRAGON SLAVE!!!"
The power was released. That was it.
These sorcerers were about to get their asses kicked!!!
* * * * * * * * * *
There were things that a person like Jomekin disliked. In fact, there were many things that Jomekin disliked, but that was beside the point. He had levels of dislike, beginning with a slight dislike for cats and ending by a murdering hatred of all those who ever pointed out his cursed condition to him. One of these highest levels belonged to matters of control, of which he wanted nothing that would jeopardize it. It was a rule he had with himself, a rule that had served him well in life.
He thus felt quite upset when the explosion resounded, shaking the room in which he, that naive fool Mellinius and a band of Elemkian sorcerers waited for their time to strike against unbalanced Dallomir. "What is it now?!?" he growled aloud.
"A magical explosion." the other Lumerian wizard muttered "A very powerful one. In fact, the way it shook the whole structure for a moment, it should be..."
"A Dragon Slave." he finishes grimly "Someone has hit this structure with a Dragon Slave." he turned his manchild eyes towards the Elmekian spellcasters. "Is that one of your plans?"
The Elmekians exchanged looks, and then the one whom Jomekin thought was the leader - one icy-tongued fellow - spoke quietly. "No. None of us are capable of casting the Dragon Slave. I can cast one or two high-level Elmekia Lances, as can these others, as well as Fireballs and other defensive and offensive spells. But certainly not this. Only a few can cast this, as you well know."
Jomekin did. Cast for the first time one thousand years ago by the warped archwizard Lei Magnus, the spell was the strongest known spells in Black Magic, long kept under heavy wraps in the great Magic Guild of Zefielia. At any given time, only a handful had ever been able to cast it. It took someone of great natural skill, power and mental fitness to cast even one Dragon Slave. Jomekin himself had that power...barely. And the spell he'd felt was far more stable than his own. What it hinted at struck him with unease.
"Alright." he thought quickly, hearing the fast patter of feet outside, listening to vague, worried voices shouting. The entire keep was in an uproar, it seemed. This could work to our advantage. Most of the servants and lesser sorcerers would have backed Dallomir, which would have made our attempt difficult. Now, however, we may strike while these others have the attention."
"There are over one hundred soldiers and sorcerers here." Mellinius warned "And most of them will be against us. As things stand, I might only be able to reach but a few of my faction. We are still heavily outnumbered."
"Then it is time for you to move and get to them, while I and these others strike at them by surprise. Get moving. Gather your rebels. And let people like me do what we do so well." he followed this declaration with a childish smile, which made the younger one flinch and move from the room quickly. He looked at the Elmekian killers. "Let's strike now!!"
They moved outside, to an empty corridor lit by magical globes. He moved briskly, hearing the faint steps of the others. By all rights, he would still be seen as an eminent, if unloved, member of this keep. That would give him the edge he would need. It wouldn't last, he knew that starkly well, but he knew he'd be able to kill more than few before he was targeted himself.
He had, in short, become a traitor. Or so it would be in the eyes of many others. He was certain that Mellinius, the fool, was hard at work condemning himself for his actions even as he went forward to rally more for the coup against Dallomir. But not Jomekin. Nom he did not feel like he was betraying anyone. His own loyalty had been based upon Dallomir's promise to him long ago, about finding a cure for his body. The older mage, he had found, never meant to help him at all, even when his mind was still sane.
Dallomir had used him. So his loyalty towards him was just as void and baseless. No, he felt no regrets at his actions. What he felt, however, was a soft feeling of elation.
Steps becoming his way. Hurries voices were rounding the corner, none of them being Mellinius'. He waited, speaking arcane words, gathering energy. He was a few steps away from the Elmekians, so he was quite alone to the eyes of the five apprentices who ran up. To a man, they stopped when they saw him, openly relieved to see him - which was unusual in itself.
"Sir!" one of the youths panted, "We are under attack!"
"A band of adventurers, with two sorcerers of great power with them! You must act, sir!.
Jomekin nodded grimly, keeping his expression still. A band of adventurers? That struck a cord, which he dismissed at once, instead bringing his hand up swiftly. "Indeed, I must act." With a last word of arcane power, a red ball of fire appeared. The apprentices looked at it in surprise and dawning horror. "On you, unfortunately. FIREBALL!!!"
The fiery sphere sped at his target and exploded, right in the midst of them. Them never had a chance. They screamed and flailed, some dying within seconds, some lingering, trying to snuff the flames off, none of them possessing the strength to summon magic to their aid. Truly nothing but beginners, only worth his attention because they were so numerous. They were cut down swiftly by the elmekians, who finished them off with a few Freeze Arrows.
Yet Jomekin felt nothing. He had once helped three of these apprentices use the Light Spell and a minor Flare Arrow spell. Yet he felt not a bit of grief over it. What was even more interesting was the voice, which wondered if he shouldn't have trained them a little harder, so that they might have been a small challenge at least. He didn't know if that made him monstrous or not, and he didn't care.
"Its begun." he said. "Follow me!"
They did, probably feeling that h e was by far the most powerful despite his unnatural looks. Twice they came across bands of lesser sorcerers. Each time, he used the grudging respect they had of him to kill many of them before they could react, weakening the others to the Elmekians' attacks. Only two managed to call upon any magic to protect themselves, and even they didn't last long, their weak shields and spells no match against older, more powerful spellcasters.
Far off, he heard a boom, and voices screaming faintly. Too far to be Mellinius, certainly. That, almost without a doubt, was the invading band, very much alive and doing much damage. He wasn't surprised. If it was the band they'd once fought against, Dallomir, Mellinius and he - the same band from which the experimental chimera came from - it would take more than a few soldiers and some low-level wizards to bring them low.
"The invaders are making quite an impression, it seems. That's good."
"YOU are making quite an impression yourself." the leading Elmekian noted. "You kill swiftly and efficiently. I am certain the Emperor would like to have you."
"No, thank you. I am quite well with the present situation. he replied tersely." It only made the other man more agreeable, if nothing else.
"What present situation? That of being a sorcerer killing for Lumeria? That is no longer an option. You are a member of the Lumerian Guild, but Lumeria is defeated. Its last armies are routed, its royalty killed, its lands seized. Within months, all of this land will belong to the Emperor. What then, sir Jomekin?"
It was a judicious argument, but one which would have to be debated later. "Perhaps. I might give it more thought after we dispose of Dallomir - if we are able."
The Elmekians looked absurdly disbelieving at that. "Surely, if these students are any indication, Dallomir won' be such a threat, with all of use against he."
Now Jomekin permitted himself his small, childlike laugh. It was too much. He knew of Elmekian overconfidence, but this...this went beyond ridicule! He laughed look and hard and then calmed down, turning his voice cynical. "Fools!" he said with as much disdain as he could "Dallomir is more powerful than I am by quite a bit, and that power is helped by some potent ancient artefact. He is, by far, the most dangerous person in this place. Taking him down will be no means be easy. Pray try to keep that in mind!"
"Jomekin!" the cry came from fearful-eyes Mellinius, who was closely followed by many others. He seemed to be in great agitation, but before the manchild could say or do anything, he was grabbed by the shoulders, hard. "Ceipheed protect us, Jomekin! She's escaped! This is all my fault, she's escaped!"
It was said so fast Jomekin barely made it out. "What do you mean? Who has escaped?"
Mellinius told him, and he found himself choking. The words rang in his head, portents of doom echoing. Suddenly, he didn't want revenge on Dallomir. No, something quite terrible would take revenge in his place. He also knew that he would have to escape, for he would be next on that thing's list - if it still had a mind at all and didn't kill everyone in sight.
"Chimera." Mellinius had said. It had been more than enough to set constrict his heart in fear.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chimera.
Berwen was racing through the stone corridors more swiftly then she ever had before. Had her mind taken the time to fully realize it, she would have felt the change in herself. She would have realized that her strength, speed and energy had been dramatically increased from the merging with Mazoku and Steel Golem essences. She would have found her sight and her hearing quite sharpened as well.
But that didn't matter to Berwen. All that matter was that one word, echoing in her mind filling her with an unfathomable despair...and an indescribable rage.
A chimera. A part of her mind told her that they had been created during the War of Resurrection, and that many of them had become powerful leaders. But the rest told that she would never be human again, that she would be an outcast - a freak to be hunted out and destroyed by soldiers and adventurers. She would be a monster, a hated creature demonized by centuries of song, histories and legendary accounts.
"A freak...no...no... I'm still human, still human...ain't I?" she muttered to herself as she sped down the corridor. "Ain't I?"
She wasn't, she realized yet again, and the rage returned. She had been captured, tortured, and turned into a monster by that bastard, that swine Dallomir! He was the cause of all this, he was, he was! She would find him, and have her revenge upon him. A slow death, yes, that was what she'd give him. Just as he had forced her to endure pain for so long, she would do the same to him, yes!! And then...
Teeth that were too white to be natural shone through as her metallic lips parted in a feral smile. And then, it would be time to get the revenge she wanted even more. The revenge she would have on the friends who had sold her to this fate, the people she had trusted. Dumb Loerik, arrogant Marcus, that sanctimonious Philionel...and then, Fezra.
Oh yes, Fezra especially!
She arrived at an intersection, and had no time to react before three men came in from her left. One was dressed as an apprentice, while two others held pikes in their hands, dressed in leather jerkins. For a fleeting moment, Berwen felt uneasy, definitely self-conscious. Her garments had been destroyed during her transformation, and her mind hadn't thought of dressing from the moment she'd seen her own, new reflection onward.
But the three men didn't seem to notice nor care that she was naked. They were too busy falling back in surprise and horror. "By Ceipheed!" one of the soldiers cried "What is that...that abomination!?!"
"Some devilry from either the red-haired mage or the crazy brunette, no doubt!" the apprentice said fearfully, struggling to summon his weak magics to his aid.
The words, spoken with fear and disgust, pushed everything but the rage way, filling her whole being in a hot bed of pure hate. Her eyes widened, cold and yet blazing, and she found herself reaching towards her own magic without hesitation. "How DARE you! How dare you talk about me as if I was a THING!!"
If they'd gone on their knees and begged forgiveness right then and there, she might have spared their lives. Might. Instead the two soldiers hefted their weapons, and the apprentice summoned his magic. "Back, monster! FREEZE ARROW!!"
As far as freeze arrows went, this one was average, and impacted Berwen's instinctive shield without any damage. She scowled in disdain. Amateur magic. Presumptuous fools! Her own magic gathered quickly at her command. "You call that a magic spell! That's not a freeze arrow! THIS is!! FREEZE ARROW!" The missile sped in all its arcane, deadly beauty, hitting the apprentice with such strength that his shield was rent apart, and he fell dead, covered with magical frost. The two guards froze, wide-eyes, at the display of raw power.
Berwen stared herself. That Freeze Arrow should never have been so powerful, not without her feeling the strain. But it had come easily, and she'd felt NOTHING. Absolutely nothing! As she stood in stunned incomprehension, one of the soldiers charged her with a fear-filled yell, and struck his pike directly at her. She didn't have time to dodge before the steel hit her.
And twisted, curling away like paper. Both the soldiers and she stared at the now useless-pike.
Then she began to laugh. From a small chuckle, it became a cry of pure triumph and hysteria. She understood! She remembered why these things were happening to her! "You fools! Don't you see? I'm a chimera! You can't hurt me!!"
As if to prove her own point, she grabbed the soldier with both hands, and with a swiftness that surprised her even now, she lifted him up and slammed him headfirst into a wall. Blood poured down the wall as she let go, and both pike and body fell to the floor, equally inanimate. That was too much for the other soldier, who uttered a panicked squeal and sped away as fast as he could. Berwen watched him with undisguised, savage amusement.
"Pathetic! Die! FLARE ARROW!!" She let out another hysterical laugh when she saw the projectile hit him, when she saw him writhe in agony. "HAHAHAHA! Tremble, all of you! HAHAHAHAHAHAH! No one can hurt me!" she was filled with the desire to scour these walls clean of live, to crush all those who looked upon her as less than human. It was strong, and nearly overwhelmed her.
But logic stayed her urges, forcing her to rethink. She couldn't go and kill everyone she met. Not only was that reckless, it was positively dangerous. She felt ready to take Dallomir, Marcus or even that damned Fezra on...but surely they would be together. Yes, and she was wise enough to know taking on three sorcerers of that power would be suicidal. Her new body made her far more powerful, but not powerful enough. She would have to find other means to enact her vengeance!
She reminded herself of the fear, horror and disgust those she had killed had showed. Fear didn't bother her, and she could get used to horror in time. But not disgust. To be looked upon as something less, while she was stronger than most already? She refused to accept it! She would no longer allow herself to be seen as anything less. All of her young life, she lived in someone's shadow. First, her late father, then her Guild teachers, then Fezra. Always in someone's shadow, always less, always seen with pity. Disgust was no better. She would find a way to erase both out of her existence!
Her ears heard a shuffling, farther away she could usually hear. She strained. Voices. There were voices, two of them it seemed. They were talking hurriedly, coming her way fast.
And she recognized one of them.
Quickly she hid. If they were there, perhaps that explained the explosions, which had rocked the place only a small while beforehand? Or, more likely, it might simply mean that her so-called friends had decided to go and see if she was still passively awaiting them like some chained animal. Yes, that was probably it. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was of it. She hid in a shadowy corner and waited. Soon, the voices took on a more definite shape.
"Berwen should logically be this way. That is, if this place is built rationally." A man's voice, one she didn't know. "Let's make it quick. Who knows what Dallomir will do with the Forbidden Lores?"
The Forbidden Lores! Berwen had nearly forgotten about them. They were perhaps responsible for her transformation into a chimera. If that was so... A plan started brewing, ideas taking hold on her as possibilities unveiled themselves. Yes, she decided, there were possibilities to be considered. Later though, after she has dealt with them.
A female voice came to her, quick, reeking of forced stability. "Yes, but Fezra was so adamant, did you really want to start arguing with her?"
So that was it. Fezra had come to get her, to use as a weapon no doubt. The knowledge hit her hard, harder than she thought it should have. A part of her, she realized, had clung to the hope that she had been wrong, that what she'd seen, felt and reasoned out would turn out to be erroneous. It wasn't, and the grief that shook her before the hatred surged back was all the more poignant as it was so short yet so strong. She smirked bitterly. So be it. Now it would be her turn to have her own fun!
Two people rushed out of the corridor, not seeing her. One was a slender man she didn't know, the other a woman she knew, or had thought she knew. With a growl, she lurched out of her hiding place, summoning her powers as she gripped his arm from behind before he could react. "MANO BOLT!!!" she growled, willing every once of magic she could into the spell. It did the trick. The man screamed and stiffened, and slumped to the ground. She paid him no mind. He was unimportant. Instead she rushed and grabbed the woman by the throat, and stared into frightened human eyes with her own cold ones.
"Hello, Narie." she said to her captive.
The priestess' eyes widened. "Berwen?!? Is that you??"
"Yes. What you have before you is the new Berwen - stronger, faster, and way nastier." she grinned as a thought struck her. "Let me show you how much, for old times' sake!"
* * * * * * * * * *
Philionel had always been far stronger than the average. No one was quite certain where the girth and muscle came from, although it was suspected that he had inherited it from his mother's side. Although his mother hadn't been built strong, she had often told him her own grandfather had been a giant of a man. Whatever the case, by age twelve, Phil was nearly as tall as a normal adult, and since sixteen he'd seen no one who had shown his own reserve of raw strength and endurance. Not surprisingly, he had been expected to become a warrior-king of sort, much like his brothers Randy and Christopher had been pointed into a religious and a scholarly course respectively.
Randy had adapted to the priesthood well enough it seemed, and Christopher appeared to thrive amongst books and register - he would be a very learned man later. But Phil had never, unlike his brother, liked the path that faith - and his father the king, had set for him. He had learned how to fight from the best hand-to-hand masters inside and outside Sailune, and had become a force of nature. But, in secret, he had taken lectures to augment his knowledge, had scoured the royal library and devoured all the knowledge he could. And finally, to break with the set curriculum life had set him; he'd gone on more and more travels to see the realm he would have to lead for himself.
All these things had made Philionel a man who despised violence, who truly hated having to use it even as he knew he was naturally gifted for it. As the Prince knocked yet another soldier with a solid punch, he flinched at the bitter irony that this battle was - he had to use is talents. He knew it had to be done, that it was necessary.
However, it didn't make it easy. Justice should be served by talking, but it wouldn't work here.
"Phil, behind you!"
Zashtla's warning made him duck instinctively, and a sword nearly decapitated him. He heard the swoosh of air above him, and struck behind him with his right foot, catching his attacker, who huffed as air escaped his lungs. Still under the spell of the chilling fear, the heir to the continent's most prosperous kingdom turned, took the man by his leather armour. With a grunt, barely feeling the effort in his state, he heaved the man off his feet and slugged him as hard as he could.
It was as if the man had received a boulder across the face. He felt as well as heard the crunch of bones cracking and breaking. The man's head snapped backward, teeth flying, mingled with blood. The next instant, his opponent sagged, having lost consciousness. Realizing what he's done, the prince released him to the floor.
Necessary, he told himself. This was necessary - the things happening in this place were insane, dangerous for the safety of his people, indeed of the entire continent. Not only that, but he had a moral obligation to help save a comrade caught months ago by these people. He knew he had to do this. "So why can't I bring myself to forget my aversion?" he wondered.
"What are you mumbling about, darling?" Zashtla inquired.
He saw that the muscular woman was eyeing him. He'd spoken that thought aloud, eh? Drat. "Don't trouble yourself. Just myself trying to deal with personal issues." he said, trying to dismiss the problem.
She wasn't convinced. Double drat. His ability to persuade didn't seem to work on people once he got too close to them. Normally a relief, it was being a pain at times. Like right now. The swordswoman stepped away from the place she'd chosen to defend - no less than five opponents lay in various states at her feet - and came closer to him.
"Come on, Phil. We travelled together a bit. I don't know you as well as Narie or Lionel, but I know enough to see you're not enjoying yourself here!" she stated.
That struck a nerve. Piqued by what was implied, he drew himself up and scowled. "I'll take that as a compliment. Or do you believe that people should like hurting others?"
"That's rather moot here, Phil." she said with a grin that he couldn't quite identify. "Most of the time, I guess its good to dislike having to fight. But do you see any other way?" his jaw tightened, and she sighed. "Look, its not because we like fighting better than you that people like Fezra, Loerik, or me, that we're not feeling better when we DON'T fight!"
Phil was reminded of the times he'd seen Loerik grimace bitterly as he looked at the blade of his powerful magical sword, or when Fezra shook her head sometimes after casting a destructive spell. He had similar images for Marcus and Zashtla, and Hallia seemed nearly as open in disliking violence as he was. Yes, his friends didn't like doing violence to others, but he had never seen them shirk from this task when they had to. He, on the other hand, was pure disquiet every single time he fought. Sometimes outwardly, always inwardly.
With a sigh, he realized that he would always seem reluctant to anyone else who ventured into danger with him. It would make him appear uncertain and unreliable. But even so, he wouldn't change. He wouldn't allow himself to. "You're right...but fighting this brutally is wrong. I have always thought so and Ceipheed willing, I always will."
The discussion suddenly seemed completely out of place. He and Zashtla were supposed to slow down any soldiers coming their way, while Lionel and Narie went to try and rescue Berwen and the rest fought their way to Dallomir and his companions. It didn't seem as if they should be discussing whether or not someone should like to fight or not!
Obviously, the thought hadn't occurred to Zashtla, since she put a hand on his broad shoulder and grinned. "Phil, it's that kind of talks that make you so cute sometimes!" she assured him.
And, before his wits quite caught up with everything, the pulled him down and kissed him quite fully.
It was something, which would have shocked the entire court. It certainly would have had the king in a fit just at the sight. Amidst the shock and buzzing confusion, however, the prince found that straightforward address quite pleasant. He felt hot all over, his blood heated, and he compulsively put his arms around the swordswoman, who responded by nestling close to him.
Even as the mature part of his mind remonstrated him in a voice that sounded achingly like his mother's, the part, which still acted only on instinct, felt the need to keep holding this woman, to keep kissing her. It was worth a hundred travels around the continent, worth a thousand crowns of gold. He wondered if he would feel that way when Valmatia and he-
The name of his future wife had barely passed through his mind like a morning fog, he had barely glimpsed the classical-mannered, beautiful woman who seemed not to despise him like so many in the court had done behind his back, that he felt like struck by a thunderbolt. All desires left him, and he gently disengaged himself. "I'm sorry, Zashtla. I-that's not the way I want things to be." Gods, his lips still burned from that kiss!
He didn't know exactly what he expected, but it certainly wasn't to see Zashtla shrug as if it didn't matter that much. "Phil, you take these things too seriously, anyone ever told you that?"
"I fail to see the relevance...."
"I'm a mercenary. I did that to many people. Friends, often. I did that to Loerik twice, and to Marcus once. Youre the first who took it that badly." she explained, then patted him. "I suppose its because you've never seen the mercenary life. Sorry Phil."
He bit back an angry retort. How callous she sounded. But he reminded himself that he didn't know the life she had led. It was more than possible that Loerik and Marcus had reacted better because of their wider experience of the outside world, but he simply wasn't like that. And it by no mean justified arousing him...like...like some common peasant! He smirked at himself. So much for thinking of myself as a normal man, he thought.
But he never had the chance to discuss it. Other people were coming this way - many, heavy feet, which they'd have to stop. Only moments had passed, but it seemed hours to Phil now. He felt terribly tired - by the idea of fighting people, and by the idea that his friends saw him as a stuffed, traditional man.
Zasthla, it seemed, saw things quite differently. She grinned and looked at the direction of the sound. "Time to do our job! To work, friend!" she said, hefting her sword. Phil had no choice but to get ready for it, even as the cries came nearer. Gods, how unfocused and confused he felt. His lips still burned, his mind still whirled, and his conscience still prickled him forcefully.
"Maybe I'm not adventure material after all." he said mournfully.
And with that, Crown Prince Philionel di Sailune went back to a fighting he hated and excelled at. In the name of justice. Always in the name of justice.
Always?
* * * * * * * * * *
Four against forty. Ten-to-one odds. It wasn't something people could relish, much less walk away from. Yet that was exactly the odds that Fezra's group was facing - thirty-two elite soldiers, probably the cream of the cream in the place, all in chain mail and longswords, and eight full sorcerers. None was nearly as powerful as herself or Marcus, but all eight together did pose a significant challenge.
That was perfect as far as Fezra was concerned.
"Looks like we've been invited to one big party." she said, shifting her stance slightly as the soldiers moved to surround them, flanking the sorcerers. Behind her, she heard Hallia's voice, beginning to chant a protection spell. Just to the side, she heard a click and a heavy, metallic thud, signalling the fall of Loerik's steel blade. She grinned widely - her friends were all used to dogfights, and took this present ordeal with almost casual calm.
Beside her, Marcus shifted, and she could almost feel the confidence and mirth coming in waves from his person. "Yeah, a damn shame I didn't bring my best suit." he noted.
"I think you look good in that suit. Compliments your red hair." she quipped.
"Really?" he shifted, almost certainly striking a pose. "I always thought light blue suited me better."
"Nah. Black's definitely you."
A chuckle came from Loerik. "I swear, you guys are just too weird when you fight. Let's get to it, you blokes! LIGHT COME FORTH!" She heard as well as felt the roar of the magical blade's great energies pouring out and forming, and many of the soldiers and sorcerers, already edgy to face a group which had fought its way to Dallomir's chambers relatively quickly, looked even less certain. She summoned her magical energies. The battles against small groups along the way had taken its toll, but they came swiftly enough still. She put her hands in front of herself, grin still wide, eyes sparked with excitement.
"Well? Your heard the man - attack!" a pause "Don't want to? Too bad! DIEM WIND!!!"
The magical wind blasted six of the man directly into the wall, rendering them either dazed or unconscious. Next to her, Marcus did the same, catching a few others himself, pushing them to the other side. The rest stumbled back even as the sorcerers muttered their incantations. It was that moment of hesitation that cost them. With a wild yell, Loerik was amongst them, striking down two before anyone could react, his blade flashing menacingly as it cut through steel, flesh and bone as a knife through hot butter. That level of intensity couldn't be maintained for long, but it wouldn't take the swordsman a long time to throw the attacking armsmen and soldiers off-balance. Fezra turned her full attention towards the sorcerers...
Only to have them let loose a barrage of flare arrows and fireballs.
Cursing herself for the lapse in judgement, Fezra vainly struggled to augment her natural shield, knowing it was too late. The projectiles streaked towards them, and struck an invisible barrier. The sorceress heard a gasp behind her, then a thud, and gritted her teeth. Hallia. She had poured everything into that shield, and had barely managed to hold off the destructive force. They wouldn't have anyone who could stand in their way if they tried such an attack again.
Not that she intended them to have that chance. Quickly, she summoned a Flare Arrow, even as a bright, greenish Elmekia Lance struck one of the enemy head on. Marcus was using the reprieve Hallia had given them as much as he could himself. She let loose her own projectile, felling another opponent, but not quite knocking him out. Behind her, Loerik and the soldiers yelled and clashed, and one, then another thud was heard.
Marcus's shield was suddenly hit by two fireballs, and he went to his knees, holding his head. Two of the sorcerers closed in for the kill, chanting, even as the other four concentrated on her. Marcus!! Fear gripped her heart, and she desperately tried to find way out of the mess she'd been caught in to help him. She could take those four, but it'd take too long, too long...oh Marcus!
But her feelings went through quite a different phase when the two enemies came near him. He lifted his head grimly, brought both hands up and summoned a red ball of energy. Before any of his opponents could react, he brought it forward and shouted "FIREBALL!" The great sphere took them both, as they had come too close for their own shield to be effective. Marcus struggled to his feet, panting, and gave a determined glare despite his smoking garments.
"Come on!" he panted "Plenty more where it came from!"
And there was. As behind them, minor shifts in magic and yells of surprise told Fezra that Hallia hadn't been knocked out of the fight, Marcus and she fought down the last four sorcerors. The four of them were unsettled by the odds shifting against them, but fought to defend themselves most tenaciously. Three times Fezra narrowly avoided a dangerous spell, and by the time the last of the four fell to one of Marcus' spells, she felt drained, her magical energies ebbing. It was only then that she went to see how her other friends fared.
They had survived, it seemed. Loerik was slumped against a wall, hand clutching Hallia's shoulder as the dazed priestess worked her healing powers to tend the wounds he received. None of them were lethal, but some - especially one on the leg - were nasty. Seeing the anguish on her friend's face, Fezra forced her fatigue aside and poured her own, lesser Recovery spell, followed by Marcus a few moments later.
She surveyed around her. Some soldiers had fled, but most lay there, dead or moaning, certainly out of the fight for a good long while. "Nice job there, Loerik." she remarked.
"Yeah...thanks...that was a piece of work here." Even as he spoke, the tension on his face healed as his worst wounds closed. "They had some training, but I'm used to meeting soldiers that have been fighting pitched battle for years. With the Sword of Light, I could swing it. You deserve more for blasting those mages off. Marcus, you sure worried me for a moment there, when those spells hit you."
"That's right! How did you manage to shrug off the spells?" Fezra queried. She wouldn't allow herself to say more. The fear she'd felt over seeing him helpless and unable to help him still held sway on her, and she didn't dare let herself indulge in the feeling. Later, maybe, but not now. Right now, stopping Dallomir was the only thing she could truly think of.
As an answer, Marcus showed the bracelet he was wearing, the Forbidden Lore given to them by Sai Lune's spirit. "This. It negated a good deal of the spell. Enough that they only shook me instead of hurting me. I guess that was one way of testing it."
Fezra looked at her own. "These might be useful after all."
Hallia finally looked up, sighing tiredly. "I suppose that was the point. There, I've treated the worst injuries. How are you feeling?" she asked her husband carefully.
The swordsman grunted, gripping his bladeless sword hilt and rising. "I've been better." he admitted "But I've been way worse. I'll be okay."
"Do you think they found Berwen?" Fezra asked, and Marcus shrugged.
"Well, Lionel and Narie should be able to find her, I think. If she's here." he said at length.
Fezra sighed. Ever since they'd entered the place, she'd been worried about Berwen. She had always managed to push the thoughts aside until now. She'd never given much thought to the things that her friend - her childhood friend! - was going through with such people. She felt immensely guilty about that, and didn't probe too much about what kind of person that might make of her.
"Berwen? I assure you, you'll see her before long."
They all jumped at the voice, and all turned to see a man approaching. Middle-aged, garbed in the intricate robes of an archmage, he was striding towards them with eyes that were too wide, and too bloodshot, to be entirely normal. His gait and manner as well as the voice were unmistakable. But that wasn't what hit her so hard.
"Dallomir." she growled, sensing the other readying themselves, Hallia and Marcus both tensing as they felt what she had. His aura, it was so...strong. So...abnormal. She gritted her teeth in the grim realization that he had probably augmented his powers through the Lores he'd taken from the ancient elven temple ruins.
"Yes. I have been watching you." he said with a grin that spoke of maddened delight. "Let me welcome you to my home fittingly!"
Fezra only smiled - the Inverse smile her family had become infamous for in the face of grave danger. Yeah, he was strong, but if he thought they'd be lying down easily, he was about to be awfully surprised.
"Bring it on, old geezer." she said, readying herself. "Let's see what you've got!"
___________________________________________________
Chimeras: Constructs made from merging different species into one being. Highly controversial in itself, and expressly forbidden to use on humans. Lei Magnus in the War of Resurrection first created human chimeras. Following that War, the few spells permitting the change were hidden, sealed or otherwise destroyed by the victorious human, elven and dragon heroes. One manuscript is rumoured to be inside the Magic Guild of Zefielia, heavily warded by spells erected by Oerlue the Silent and Falana of the Five Winds and strengthened in the intervening centuries. As with most Forbidden Lores locations, this is highly conjectural.