The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.
~ * Continuing the Cycle * ~
The Great Hollow, primary homeland of the Lizard Clan, did not have the best of reputations when it came to accommodating guests.
This was not the fault of the tribesmen per se: despite their reptilian countenances and renowned ferocity on the field of battle, they tended as a whole to be quite pleasant toward anyone who treated them fairly. In this they were no different than their allies and comrades who hailed from other clans.
The problem rested more in the fact that the massive network of caves and tunnels, while spacious enough to admit all, did not possess all the amenities and luxuries those from other cultures were accustomed to.
The lizards were quite fond of the dampness of the caverns, and while there were braziers and torches mounted in many a natural crevice and carefully forged notches, they found no real issue with the dark. In the many sections where travelers and visitors did not often venture, the lighting was kept much dimmer, far more comfortable for those who, after all, lived in the Great Hollow.
It seemed more than a minor inconvenience now that they had more than a few visitors to deal with. Now the Lizard Clan was sharing space with a broken tribe's worth of Karayan refugees.
(And to think,) Dupa mused bitterly while pacing the length of his spacious private quarters, (only a few days ago the biggest problem I had was that damned knight refusing to let me give the location of the peace meeting to his commander.)
Reaching the simply fashioned chair that had been shaped from a single slab of rock, Dupa fell back into the contoured seat. The hard stone failed to irritate his leathery skin the same manner it would grate against a human's flesh. His tail settled comfortably, looping over the back of the bench and lying against the cooler rock of the floor.
In truth, Dupa would have gladly traded anything in his possession for the chance to return matters to how they had been before the accursed 'treatise signing'… before the Zexen ironheads proved once more how treachery and deceit sang in their veins.
After relaying the message to the knights of Brass Castle that the meeting was to be held in three days' time, Dupa had returned to the Great Hollow to oversee the remainder of their own preparations. Esteemed Chief Zepon, for all his wisdom and strength of heart, was getting on in years and was no longer as invincible a warrior as in his prime. The finest of their Three Bodies fighters were to accompany him merely to ensure the ironheads did not falsely presume his age as a sign of weakness.
His untimely death had rendered their intentions moot.
Dupa's golden yellow eyes clouded, slit pupils losing their focus as he recalled the terrible moment when he burst into his chieftain's chambers only to find the esteemed elder dead.
Though the identity of the Zexen assassin currently eluded them -- much in the same manner the damnable ironhead had somehow managed to slip past their guards using the distraction provided by his fellows -- Dupa knew one fact for certain: the bastard was a butcher.
The chamber had been pitch-black, the only light penetrating the room issuing from the corridor beyond when he first flung the panels of stone aside. So it had, at first, appeared to his eyes that the slick substance oozing slowly along the floor were part of the shadows they originated from, impossibly melted darkness pooling against the granite in the same manner its kin shrouded the curved walls and ceiling.
Then came the confusion and growing sense of unease as he stepped into the darkness, calling his leader's name only once and hearing it fade against the hidden confines. The rapid adjustment of his eyes to the dim lighting, and agonizingly fast comprehension of what sat slumped in the rocky throne before him, liquid darkness dripping from the array of lacerations that seemed to multiply and deepen even as he stood staring at the corpse of Zepon.
Murdered… cut down upon his own dais, then propped up in his throne and left to be discovered by his stunned brethren.
There was no time for grief. Not with the already scheduled peace conference that needed to be attended.
Dupa gave a small snort, tail brushing against the back of his seat as he shifted his weight. (Peace? With the ironheads?)
The Zexens were cruel, duplicitous fools, breaking the treaty they themselves suggested before the terms were even agreed upon! They had not even been subtle about their treachery, sending their vaunted 'Silver Maiden' to serve as the distraction for their guards.
Though Dupa had not seen her himself, the report of her involvement had been given to him by Shiba, one of his most trusted warriors. There was no mistaking the description: skin paler than newly fallen snow, eyes frigid as icicles, hair shining like the intricately forged steel plates that shielded her proud figure.
Who else matched that description but the woman he'd spoken to at Brass Castle, the same one that he would meet again at the treatise signing on the plains?
Chris Lightfellow… daughter of a legendary knight. Heir to a legacy that flowed through her veins as deeply as the ice that was also rumored to reside within. The newly appointed captain of the most highly regarded squadron of ironhead knights, following the tragic death of her predecessor on the battlefield.
She had come to her title through the violent loss of the previous captain, much in the same manner that Dupa now served as Chief of the Lizard Clan following Zepon's assassination.
Dupa cared little for dwelling on such musings, however. Far more pressing issues were at hand.
There was the matter of handling the influx of Karayan refugees, for example. It wasn't a matter of not having enough space -- there was plenty of room in the sprawling cavern complex to house the humans along with the native lizards -- but of stark differences between the cultures of the two clans.
The Karayans were used to living under the warm sun, to hunting in the vast grasslands and huts with perpetually open windows so that the night breeze caressed them while they slept. The closest thing the Lizards possessed to a free hunting range was the hills nestled a short distance away from the cavern's primary entrance.
There was also the grief to deal with -- the grief of losing a home, mourning for friends and loved ones who were unfortunate enough to be overwhelmed by the ironheads' treacherous assault. Anguish that was tempered by anger, the smoldering need for vengeance, to shed blood for blood.
Not all the Karayans had fled to the Great Hollow. Some had fled toward Ahiru Bokko, the original name for the settlement known more commonly as the Duck Clan Village. The majority of those who ended up taking sanctuary from the Lizards were warriors who'd escaped alongside them from the Amur Plains.
There was still uncertainty over who had survived and who was lost, though hope of locating more of the former faded with each passing day without word from those missing. It would take time to gather everyone, for those who escaped to exchange tales and slowly piece together the clearest possible picture of the tragedy. They needed time to pull together, to recover…
But again, it seemed the ironheads were uninterested in affording them any time.
Dupa's eyes glittered hatefully in the dim lighting. If the ironheads offered no mercy, then neither would he. As Chief of the Lizard Clan, he held a sacred duty to ensure those who came under his protection would suffer no longer. That included the Karayans and the other clans, but certainly did not extend to the damnable ironheads.
Footsteps pounded from outside, the rising noise culminating with a thud and shout from just outside his chambers. Dupa was already on his feet when the stone slab covering the entrance was pushed violently aside, and his slit pupils adjusted quickly to the flood of light from the corridor.
"Chief Dupa!" shouted the lizard warrior standing there. The light lent his orange skin a golden outline, further highlighting the furious panic in his eyes. "The ironheads are attacking!"
"Again?!" Dupa snarled.
"Yes, and there are reports that the Silver Maiden leads them…"
Dupa snarled, a wordless growl of disgust, and snatched his polearm from where it lay against the wall. The tri-pronged blade glittered upon its sable perch; the ebony shaft it rested on was as long as the lizard was tall, yet he handled the gride with familiar ease.
"Thinking to finish what you started, wench?" he hissed, bounding toward the door and the battlefield beyond the cave. "You'll regret returning here, I swear it!"
~ * ~
Many fantastic tales of the Silver Maiden's prowess in battle circulated throughout Zexen territory and beyond. Gossip of astounding feats she was reputed to have performed floated through the streets of the capital, and rumors flowed through taverns as freely as wine and other spirits. It was said a single thrust of her sword could fell seven enemies, a sideways glance from her lavender eyes froze even the bravest foe in his tracks. There were even those that whispered she bore a rune in her left hand that rendered her nigh-on invincible, though even the wildest of those claims never went so far as to proclaim it a True Rune.
Chris found all these fictions quite annoying.
It was physically impossible to kill seven people with one sword-swipe, even with blades wider and larger than hers. Her gaze held no power whatsoever (though her countless male admirers would beg to differ). As for the Phoenix Rune she carried, it merely enabled her to deliver a more concentrated blow -- and she often fought a brief pang of disorientation immediately after using it.
Its greatest worth lay in the fact that it was a memento from her father. So she had been told when she was accepted as a squire and received the rune from her mansion's staff. Sir Wyatt had carried it for most of his life, but left it behind prior to his disappearance with instructions to have it handed down to his daughter should she choose to follow in his footsteps in the knighthood…
But, other than sentimentality, it held little real value. It was simply a rune, with no amazing secret power, in the same manner that her armor and blade, for all their adornments, were not too different than the sets carried by other soldiers.
The only thing setting them apart was who carried them, along with all the other legends and responsibilities heaped upon her shoulders.
Anyone seeing her at that moment, guiding her snow-white steed through the chaos with an expert hand while her blade flashed out with deadly grace, could understand why so many rumors and tall tales whispered of her skill.
Her steed put her on more even ground against the naturally taller lizardmen, setting the arcs of her sword nearly level with the reptile's thick chests and necks. She was more fortunate than most Zexen soldiers; the council saw no need to supply mere footmen with rides of their own. Grunts were more plentiful than horses in the cities.
The unfairness scarcely registered with Chris, preoccupied with continuing the slaughter of all those foolish enough to dare approach the Silver Maiden. Her blade lashed out to find its mark unerringly, instinct guiding its edge, while she found refuge from her traitorous thoughts in combat.
Her meeting with the Council following the failed treaty had been brief, the instructions she received succinct. Since the Lizard Clan had been the ones to break their word and turn the peace conference into an ambush, they were to respond to steel with steel and launch a counterattack on the Great Hollow.
Clearly, the Grasslanders did not wish for a cease-fire, so they would receive no quarter.
Furthermore, Chris had been informed, the treaty had been little more than an attempt to buy time for Zexen to recover from their losses. Though the state had refused to give their fallen knights a proper funeral, citing that doing so would only dishearten the people and remind them of their weakness, now that more of their men lay wounded and dying in Brass Castle, it was considered okay to acknowledge that -- and strike in the name of revenge.
The guild's cavalier attitude infuriated Chris. Good men lay dead because of the Grasslanders' treacherous act… lives lost on both sides. And because of their assault, the knights had been forced to commit a deed that, in any other circumstances, would have been considered out of the question.
Yet the council had lauded her… praised her for having Karaya Village burned. They called it a brilliant strategy, applauding her foresight in preventing further Zexen casualties.
After all, they were only barbarians… that was all that mattered. Who cared if they were children and elders, hunters and gatherers who were not as trained in the arts of fighting and self-defense? They were not civilians, hardly innocent, for they belonged to an inferior culture…
All the self-important stories she had been force-fed in her years as a trainee stuck hard in her throat, more difficult to swallow than before. Chris had been raised on tales of how worthless and ruthless the barbarian tribes were, stories that clashed with the more even-handed accounts she remembered her father regaling her with.
(Zexens and Grasslanders, ironheads and barbarians, humans and elves and dwarves and kobolds and lizards and ducks… these are all just names we give each other so we don't have to try and understand, Chris,) Wyatt's words returned to her, still fresh in her memory despite the many years that had passed since his departure. (It's easier to slay someone when you can't imagine things through their eyes.)
Then he had disappeared, going Sadie knew where… though if what she'd discovered in the village was any indication, he'd been slain by some Karayan…
Her blade split apart orange scales to reveal raw crimson muscle beneath, and another reptilian fighter fell back clutching uselessly at his exposed throat. Her white steed whickered and raised its front hooves off the ground when the hulking corpse toppled to the ground; Chris's expert hand kept the nervous charger under control while her other hand guided her sword about for another blow.
"Lady Chris!"
She failed to even flick a glance in the direction that she was called from, her attention currently focused on the foe in front of her. The tri-pronged spear lanced toward her only to be blocked by her own blade, the locked weapons sliding to the hilt as both wielders attempted to gain leverage. Frosted lavender met blazing yellow with equal fury.
She may have been the White Hero, and her opponent nothing more than a young warrior, but both were aware that Lizard Clan members were naturally stronger and sturdier than humans. Chris could see that awareness in his murderous gaze, the slit pupils glinting with a hint of victory amid the burning rage.
His presumption was irritating.
Hidden underneath a finely crafted gauntlet, the Phoenix rune embedded in her left hand pulsed. With a wordless grunt of exertion Chris forced her sword forward, sliding it cleanly between two of the barbed spurs and into her adversary's face. The lizard shrieked, forgetting all else to rear back from the sudden pain. His weapon shifted, the spearhead falling to one side as his right hand shot up to claw at the gouged socket.
Chris cut his suffering short with a merciful sweep of her sword, then glanced over her shoulder when the sound of approaching hoofbeats finally penetrated the chaotic din echoing off the sides of the canyon.
"So much for offering my assistance…" Percival trailed off with a false sigh and a thin smirk, both pale imitations of his typically flippant gestures.
He was hardly alone, though his dark chestnut steed headed the tight pack. Salome and Leo rode close to his left and right flanks, respectively, while Roland reined his mount in at the rear. Louis was positioned in the heart of that small brigade: though he was trained in several, the squire had not yet mastered any weapon sufficiently enough that he was trusted to wield it in battle. Once the boy did choose which weapon he wished to claim for his own, he would be free to leave the watchful eye of the knights and take to the battlefield and kill or be killed in the name of Zexen.
Looking down at the young man standing surrounded by his superiors, Chris unwillingly remembered something else the Council had advised her.
Louis's training needed to be hastened, the merchants had declared, so that he could assume his place in the Six Mighty Knights of Zexen should a vacancy occur. 'Have Keeferson make his decision, be it blade or bow, and prepare him in the event…'
Shaking her head once, tightly bound silver tresses gleaming in the sunlight, Chris regarded the other four Zexen Knights and her squire with a frigid gaze.
"Let us bring an end to this, quickly," she commanded. "Have you received any word on where the Clan Chief may be…?"
"Looking for me, murderess?"
The deep-throated bellow carried clearly through the canyon, even over the continued clash of sword against spear. Chris did not flinch, though she glimpsed Louis's face paling and the other knights tensing as she brought her mount about. Her own shoulders stiffened at the harsh question despite herself, but there was no real judging her reaction from her neutral expression or her cold lavender eyes.
Dupa stood before the gaping maw of the tunnel leading to the Great Hollow. The newly crowned Chief of the Lizard Clan hefted his massive polearm easily in one hand, his free right raised before his chest, clawed thumb tucked into his palm while the middle of his three fingers curled upward in a mock 'come hither' motion.
"Care to finish what you started?" he challenged, tone dripping with malice.
"……" Chris met his furious glare with icy detachment, then nodded once and reined her white charger in. "…Fine then."
"Lady Chris…" Louis began worriedly, only to be silenced by a cool sideways glance from his commander.
"On my honor as a knight, none of you shall interfere. Do you understand?"
Her order was not meant merely for the squire, and the quartet of knights nodded in careful deference to their captain. However, Chris noted even as she dismounted and readied her blade how Roland's slender fingers caressed the shaft of an arrow, how Percival's hand rested on the pommel of his sheathed sword and Leo fingered the shaft of his axe. Even Salome kept his mace close at hand, his brow drawing tight with lines of concern.
They would not dare defy her command unless it became absolutely clear that her life depended on their intervention. Of this Chris was certain.
She could see Dupa understood this as well, but the knowledge did nothing to dampen the fierce glitter of his slit golden eyes. Several Lizard Clan warriors had already gathered close behind, yellowed gazes burning with the same hatred. They would attack only if the circumstances dictated it.
There were few Karayan fighters around, Chris abruptly comprehended, despite reports that insisted the majority of the survivors had retreated to the caves with their reptilian co-conspirators. The realization surprised her: were they all so injured that only a handful were in fair enough condition to battle? Or perhaps they were in hiding, setting up a trap or preparing some back-up plan…?
"Disappointed that not many 'barbarians' are here for you to slay today?" Dupa questioned, almost as if he somehow sensed the path her thoughts treaded. "Sorry, but the ones you slaughtered at Karaya will have to tide you over, Silver Maiden."
He sneered the familiar title with such vehemence that it seemed more a wicked slur than a noble sobriquet. Chris herself held no love for the handle, but to hear it used so bitterly by this lizard savage was all the impetus she needed to lead off this duel.
Leading with her blade she sprang forward, the movement appearing so fluid and graceful that it defied the lunge it essentially was. Dupa's visage split with a fang-bearing grin as he brought down his pike to meet her charge. The blades met, glanced off each other with a clarion ring, and fell back with no clear victor.
Now both captain and chief were moving, taking slow, measured paces around the loose ring developing around them. Though the fighting continued unabated near the front of the canyon, here in front of the gates others were breaking off combat as they became aware of the clash between leaders. Here, they sensed, was where this day's conflict would be decided.
Both tested their opponent carefully, feeling out the other's reactions to their feints and jabs. The triple-pronged blade of his halberd swept past her left side in a clean arc; her sword lanced out to pierce the air where seconds ago his chest had been. Each strike came a bit closer to the mark, each dodge a bit narrower than the last.
"Interesting, Ice Queen…" Dupa almost purred, his words more a rumble from his chest than anything. "Who would have thought a Zexen was capable of matching their opponent face-to-face?"
"After your actions at the treatise, I'd say you're jealous," returned Chris coldly as she accented her verbal jab with a stab attempt.
"Ha!" Dupa barked a laugh and parried her strike with the same breath. "My actions hardly matched your acting. That cold front serves you well."
(What do you mean?) For once, Chris allowed her expression to accurately convey her thoughts, shooting the reptilian warrior a quizzical look while bringing her arm about in a rapid arc.
(Don't play dumb.) Blade met shaft and slid screeching along it, Dupa meeting her questioning gaze with a burning glare over the locked weapons. (There's no need for acting now, ironhead chief.)
"Arrogant woman, revealing yourself to Shiba while luring us away from the den." His hiss was low enough that it grated on her ears alone. "You may have been only the distraction, but no matter which of your soldiers slew Zepon, I say it falls on your head as surely as if you were the one to flay him alive yourself!"
(What…?!)
It could scarcely be called faltering, for she continued to push her blade against his with all her strength, but, in that moment, the Silver Maiden's concentration was briefly disrupted by the unexpected accusation.
Dupa utilized her distraction. He may not have seen it coming by any means, but the chieftain was a seasoned warrior, and his instincts guided his gride from its lock and upward.
Chris's instincts saved her as well, her body pulling backward even before the tri-pronged blade swung up and out. What would have been a decisive blow otherwise was reduced to a bare miss.
But even the Silver Maiden couldn't escape such a strike completely uninjured.
To her credit, Chris swallowed the hiss that bubbled in her throat with the sudden pain, the center edge of the gride grazing her turned forehead. She forced her legs, already stumbling backward, to steady even while continuing to move away. Gripping her sword with her dominant hand, she allowed her left to rise and cover her face.
Behind her Louis cried out, a strange, choked noise that sounded vaguely like it was intended to be her name but refused to come out properly. The rest of her entourage immediately surrounded here even as she crouched on the ground. Leo bellowed a curse that rang unpleasantly in her ears, drowning out the whisper of a bowstring being drawn taut; Percival and Salome knelt on either side and gently pried her hands away from her face.
The metal-clad fingers came away speckled with blood. A thin trickle of the warm liquid cut a scarlet river down the center of her face, diverted by the bridge of her nose and irritating the corner of her left eye. Ignoring this, and the fresh tang touching her mouth as the trickle reached her lips, Chris favored Dupa with a frosty glare.
He did not press his advantage. Though his own blood sang with the desire to see more of the Silver Maiden's staining his gride, Dupa was aware his vengeance could only be pressed so far with the quartet of Mighty Zexen Knights in attendance. He met her stare with a smirk, golden eyes gleaming with pride as he straightened to his full height.
The Lizard warriors witnessing this echoed their leader's strong stance, their own eyes lighting with satisfaction. The lower-ranked Zexen soldiers were already falling back, realizing the battle before Great Hollow was no longer a contest they could win. They took cold comfort in the knowledge that they left plenty of lizards lining the canyon floor, yet that was tempered by the wounded and dead many dragged after them in their hasty retreat.
"Snake," snarled Leo, still hefting his axe while Salome and Percival helped Chris to her feet and onto her steed.
"Butcher," returned Shiba coolly from where he stood to Dupa's left. The squat reptilian warrior gripped his own pike in a fashion that telegraphed his fervent desire to shed another knight's blood if given half the chance.
"This is the second time you have attempted to slay our Chief, Silver Maiden," Bazba intoned in a calm, even voice, yellow gaze boring into the knights. "Return again and you will die in the same manner you had Zepon butchered."
"Listen, you--!"
"Leo!" hissed Percival sharply, eyeing the hungry faces of the lizards.
"Know this…"
Chris steadied herself in her saddle and met Dupa's gaze. Somehow she managed to retain the bearing and nobility that had been drilled into her as a knight, the impassive marble front returning despite the fact that her chiseled white face was marred by a single seam of crimson running down over the inside of one delicate cheek.
"I am Chris Lightfellow of the Six Mighty Zexen Knights…" she tugged the reins of her nervous steed slightly and turned the charger's snowy head away, "…not the Silver Maiden."
"You are a murderer," returned Dupa, matching her cold tone perfectly despite the deeper timbre of his voice. "Nothing more."
Chris's face remained hard as stone as she led the knights away from the entrance to the Great Hollow, leading her unit out of the canyon. The lizards glared after them until the knights had long turned past one of the high stone walls and rode from view.
"Should we have let her live?" Shiba was the one to break the silence by asking the question weighing on the minds of his companions.
"A leader's death always galvanizes those who followed them," Bazba replied evenly. "Had she died here, in full view of those most loyal to her, we would probably have been quick to follow -- and, after us, those waiting inside. Zexens have no mercy for the weak and helpless; the ashes of Karaya are proof enough of that."
"Ah…"
"Leave it be for now, Shiba." Dupa gazed steadfastly into the canyon. "We witnessed the vaunted Silver Maiden shed the closest thing to tears she's ever had. For now, that can be enough…"
Shiba shot his leader a questioning glance, then, slowly, some form of understanding dawned on his face. He lowered his gaze to the ground, scaled brow knitting together as he pondered this comment. Then, sharply, snapped his neck to the left as a strange clamor arrested his attention and that of his comrades.
"Finally, out of that horrid tunnel--! Only zombies could have lasted much longer in there…!" a haughty, distinctly feminine voice declared.
"If that man hadn't left when he did, zombies would have been better off than us," a male voice muttered, its owner clearly not intending the low undertone to carry quite so well off the canyon walls.
"Oh, shut up!" and the woman's voice rose till it bordered on shrill. "Some bodyguards you lot are…!"
"Excuse me," a second male and much more sarcastic voice interjected, "but who was the one who wanted to challenge those strangers in the first place…!"
"Well, I told you they were evil, and they proved it!"
"And nearly cost Melville his leg and Reed his heart!" another female voice, this one a bit higher-pitched than the first -- though the fact she'd raised her voice to try and match the first probably didn't help. "If he'd stabbed a bit higher…"
"…I…I'm fine, milady…" came the weak insistence of a man who certainly didn't sound fine.
"Since we're out, the Great Hollow can't be far," another male, and this was the youngest-sounding of the lot despite the logic in his words. "The lizards will help, right…?"
"They'd better…"
"That depends," Dupa interjected smoothly, as he, Bazba and Shiba chose that moment to step round the corner and confront the owners of the voices. "What is your business with the Lizard Clan…?"
The person at the forefront of the group gave a small gasp of surprise and stepped back, giving the trio of reptiles a startled look. A young human woman, Dupa noted silently, giving the red-haired girl a cursory once-over before turning to take in the others. A pair of men in matching attire were supporting each other, although the slightly taller blonde seemed to be getting more support than he was giving. A Duck Clan warrior helped a young lad keep one leg off the ground; it didn't take a genius to figure out why thanks to the massive tear stretching up the side of his pants. The last of the group was a Karayan girl who couldn't be more than sixteen, and she looked just as exhausted as the rest of her unusual group.
"Refugees from Karaya?" It wasn't really a question with the way Bazba posed it.
"Well, n…" the redhead began.
"Yes," the haggard-looking mallard cut her short with a curt nod. "We ran into some more trouble on the way here. We can exchange stories once we've gotten our wounds treated; a couple of us got off worse than others…"
"I can see that," Dupa agreed, nodding slowly in return. Glancing quickly back at his followers, he instructed, "See to it that they receive treatment right away. I'm eager to hear your story, Mister…"
"Jordi. Sergeant Jordi of the Duck Clan."
"Sergeant Jordi, then," repeated Dupa. "This way…"
Bazba and Shiba stepped forward, the former allowing the two men to lean against his broad sides while the latter gently picked the boy up so that he didn't have to worry about walking on his leg. Dupa turned and walked inside with Jordi close behind, the mallard using his halberd for support. Aila followed at the sergeant's heels, leaving the last of their group, the impetuous redhead, to stand and fume for a bit before following them toward the Great Hollow.
"There had better be some decent rooms here," Lilly muttered under her breath. "I need a nice, soft bed and a bath…!"
Hearing her complaints, Shiba rolled his eyes and sighed. Just what they needed, more unsatisfied guests…