CHAPTER XXII
THE ALLIANCE
Night came. Dawn followed it. The next day passed without event as the army of Medina continued to gather from across the isle. Stores were loaded into the ships, and the vessels were made ready battle. From ancient hoards weapons were removed for the first time in hundreds of years, and the rust was ground off swords and axes. From dawn until twilight smokes and fumes poured from the furnaces of the blacksmiths who ceaselessly toiled to forge new blades for the coming days.
In two days the fleet was prepared, and the ships all but ready. On that morning Crono stood upon the walls of the harbor and looked down upon the beaches in amaze. A thousand soldiers - Trolls, Swart Elves, and all the united races of the Mystics - stood in matchless order before the ships. Their armour shimmered dull grey in the morning light; a strange thing when set aside most armies, for the Mystics have never accounted much to the beauty of shining weapons, and the sheen of their blades and raiment is dulled with especial care.
"Azarel, this is a marvel," Crono said to the Mystic lord who stood by his side. "And I must admit, It lends me a certain weariness of spirit to be cast between such joy and despair. Months ago, when I came from the far west, I knew hope. Then, at the death of my wife, I despaired, a thing that birthed a grim-hearted resolve. Then came to me my son, and the redemption of my land, which was a new hope. But war stole that from me so shortly ago, only finding it return anew with your gracious aid. Azarel, I am war weary; and what is more, I am life weary. I long to join my wife."
"So are the trials of one born to high standing and a noble destiny. I know what it is you speak of; I have scarcely passed a peaceful night in a score of years, fearing for my people. Porre is ever at our doorstep; rather, at all the world's doorstep. Their ambitious fingers, it appears will not rest until their power encircles this world."
"And now with Lavos, that is but a trifle for them to achieve. Or, rather, for him to achieve; the ambition of Porre has betrayed all this world to dark dominion."
But Azarel looked at Crono sadly and said: "Let us pray not! We yet stand undivided, and the final victory is not his yet."
Azarel looked keenly down at the ships.
"And soon we will see in whose favour fate rules: we need but mount our cannons upon the decks, and then all will be prepared to sail. Make your company ready: we will depart ere nighttime falls."
"Cannons?" Crono said curiously. "Tell me, Azarel, when was it that you learned the fire-craft of Porre? I did not know that any but the Empire had the knowledge of its use."
"Fire-craft?" asked Azarel. "Porre is filled of skilled men, I am certain, but none as can outmatch my Mystics. The birth of that craft lies in us."
"It is a Mystic weapon?" Crono asked, but nodding with understanding. "Little wonder that we were so undone by Porre's sudden onslaught. I have oft wondered from where they so swiftly gained such a mighty array of weapons."
"We are no fools, Kronos, and will not sit idle while our neighbours breed themselves thoughts of war. Even if we do not hold warmongering ambitions of our own, and have not seen battle for centuries, we must be ready should war come against our will. And we are certainly mistrustful of humanity. I hold us as brethren people, but there are many others, even among my own captains, that would ill endure the comradeship of a man alongside them. And so we remain her upon our isle, and busy ourselves in our secret crafts; we have grown much in skill. But for Porre..." Azarel shook his head. "When they sent their emissaries twenty years ago, I was wary, but welcomed them with kind greetings: for too long had we remained untouched by the world, and I thought the time ripe to have friendship with Man blossom again. They feigned interest in our arts and grand buildings, professing to be in amaze over our enchanted halls, and our countless gems and skill-wrought trinkets. But they were fools, and could not hide from my wisdom that they took a keen interest in our weapons above all else. I saw at once for what they wished to know such things, and bade them hastily depart from this isle, with no light curses upon their errands and empire. But even so we could not forestall them for long. It seems that arts of treachery are the not weak among their people: they thieved our secrets, and not long after set about their conquests of the world, like so many fools before. Yet perhaps not fully ill-advised, for who could stand against such an array of weapons?"
"Not Guardia, that is for certain," Crono answered bitterly.
"But take heart, Kronos of Guardia!" Azarel said. "We have not allowed them to discover all our ancient crafts. Some we still guard to this day. Come, and I will show you a thing that no human eyes have seen ere this day in friendship."
He led Crono the way of the great limestone stair of the harbor, and down to the beach. Here now could be seen that great armour-arrayed trolls were drawing cannons of steel or iron across the beach to the ships, from a storehouse in the cliffs. And into this store-cavern Azarel led Crono, unchallenged by the guards that stood needlessly at the mouth.
The chamber inside was vast, eighty feet to the ceiling, at least so wide, and a twice as deep. It held a great armament; far too much to be carried on the ships, it was surely meant for defence of the island against the menace of Porre, should their zeal ever enflame them to assault Medina. Azarel strode to a black-iron cannon whose barrel was twice as long as that of the others.
"This," he said, touching the metal with no mean pride, "is a great treasure of our people. We knew the secrets of this long before we devised our gun powder."
"What is it?" Crono asked curiously. It seemed like the cannons that he had seen before, and yet not, in certain ways that he could not place.
"An ancient weapon, Kronos, known once in antiquity as Greek Fire. It has the selfsame power of a dragon's breath, for it can cast fire, a flame that not even water can quench."
Crono smiled.
"Unquenchable fire upon ships? That is a potent weapon if used aright. I pray it turns the battle for our favour."
Azarel turned to face the tumultuous sea, his gaze reaching far out beyond the horizon to where Porre lay days of sailing beyond sight, and said solemnly:
"As do I. If we fail in this war, then there will never be another again. All will be utterly lost forever."
4
That night they put to sail. With them were all the ships of the fleet, loaded wightily with both armament and soldiers. These went uncounted, but at a glance Azarel told Crono that the seven legions that were marching into this war numbered near to five thousand (for legions among the Mystics were counted smaller than those of the kingdoms of Men), and among these were not a few of both the Jotun and the Trolls, unmatched in strength by any of Porre, and many Swart Elf sorcerers robed in scarlet and hafting pale scimitars of hardened bronze.
The lead ship, the great dromond Naglfar, was captained by Janus himself, and the chief Mariner Lord of the Mystics, an aged giant named Hymir, steered it. Only when they made to board it did they see that what had appeared to be an unbroken sheen of black upon the hull was not truly so. Rather, when seen nearer, it appeared to be as no other ship for, like the hide of some great sea-serpent, the sides of the ship were armoured in scales of some black metal. All among the Mystics professed it immortal to the shot of Porre.
They sailed many days long, for the crossing from Medina to Porre was even greater than that stretch which lay between Guardia and the Isle. At last they could see by the guiding stars that they were nearing the beaches of the Empire, and that the next day would bring them within sight of the shores. The twelve ships sailed with scarcely a sound upon the waveless waters, the great ship Naglfar at the lead.
And on this same ship were the five, with Azarel standing beside them. For a long while no one spoke, and all was silent in the night: chill and clear, as was is so oft the case in those waters in the spring. In the sky the stars were arrayed undimmed, and flickered upon the water as though in a mirror of black glass. It seemed as though there were no cares of war or whelming darkness and evil to worry the heart.
"This night is of hope," Sigurd said at last, and his voice was loud and clear. "Father, was there such a time of peace as this when you went on your old quest?"
Crono smiled.
"Many, Sigurd. If there had not been, we could not have stood fast against the many things we faced. But the last, ere our great battle against Lavos," he paused as he remembered back the many years. "That last respite was in the great woodland that lies at the heart of Porre."
"That was surely a happier time, then."
"Indeed," Crono said. "Porre was yet accounted a friend and ally in those years. That night all seven of us sat about the fire, and knew that our final battle was fast nearing. We did not know what fate awaited us at the dawning of the sun, and fully deeming death and failure to be our doom we revelled in the peace of the forest night. Neither before nor after have the stars appeared as bright or as keen to me as on that night. Though tonight may rival it."
Janus' laugh broke through the night.
"I daresay it is but an illusion, Crono. This stillness, this peace...it harbors a menace for me. I know full well that this is but the calm before the break of the storm, and that over the far horizon lies such a tempest as may overwhelm us. It is no comfort, but a night of fear."
But before he could say more, Schala spoke:
"Say not so, Janus! We must take comfort in this night, and see that it is for such very beauty that we fight. Even as we might learn from the dark stars that no longer shine, we must not ever cease our struggle against evil, hopeless though it might be."
"Hopeless you say?" came the reply, and this was of Azarel. "Nothing righteous is fully hopeless. My people trust to powers greater than ourselves and, when all of our mortal strength fails us, even then there remains hope."
Then Janus turned, looking up at the sky.
"What to trust in? What in all this world is sure? Nothing is. All will fall to ruin, and come only to the fate of Zeal."
"Truly, truly, Lord Janus," Azarel answered. "And so must one trust in a strength older than time, and more boundless than the eternity that encircles the world, to which the might of men and demons alike are but shadows and whispers of frailty."
Then Janus nodded, well answered, and spoke no more for a time, looking only out upon the waveless sea, and upon the array of shining stars. For Janus he not spoken rightly; there was no fear in this night. The darkness that enveloped the world was that of comfort and repose, and held perhaps some echo of how things should have been in an unscarred world, free of sin.
4
The next day dawned with the sheen of the rising sun burning at their backs. And at their forward a rank of white sails upon the far horizon proclaimed the Home Guard of the Porre navy.
"Ah, accursed luck," Azarel muttered. "There are far more than we had accounted for."
Janus looked keenly across the sea to the ships, but could see little more. At last a sharp eyed Mystic said:
"My lords, I descry two emblems: the blue chimera appears to adorn a great number of the banners, but there is another force there as well. They bear a crimson chimera. I think it is their western fleet."
"How can that be?" Serge asked, breaking his silence shortly. "That'd have to be some quick sailing. I thought that they were still anchored on the far side of Porre."
Janus shook his head, his face grave.
"They are forewarned of our coming. That can be the only answer."
And all knew that this must be so. For the ships were arrayed in order so as to halt their passing, as though their course was perfectly known. And they did not approach, but rather waited, a menace on the horizon.
"But they know naught of the strength of the Mystics!" Azarel cried at last. "Hymir, have the mariners go each to that place and station, and make ready that which is assigned them! Call for the readying of the cannons!"
All about the great deck the mariners ran here and there, tying fast the great weaponry, and piling the shots of iron. Serge looked upon these with both interest and a quickening heartbeat: the cannon-shots were near the size of his skull, and he knew that they could shatter through even a dromond with ease. Though this was not to be his affray to take part in, his hands shook with apprehension, as they oft did ere battle; he was in no less peril, of that he was certain. Glancing out to sea he saw the line of ships become ever clearer. The white sails appeared now as low-lying clouds, and seeing them so he wondered.
"If they were smart they'd line up their ships with their sides in our direction, so that they could hit us as soon as we were in range," he said aloud.
Azarel who stood near laughed, and replied:
"Yes, maybe it would be wise, Valsaer Masamunë. But they trust too much to their own strength, and think in their numbers that they will overwhelm us. See: they seek to draw us in and envelop us, and so are making certain not to frighten us into flight."
"The cannons are nearly all prepared, my lord," a Mystic Troll rumbled from mid-deck.
Azarel nodded and raised a hand in signal.
"Bind fast the sails; let them not be seen!"
A full hundred of the crew saw to this at once. High above the sails were drawn up and tied fast. At the sides of the ship the mariners brought forth the last of the cannons and fire guns.
"Do we not need the wind?" Crono asked, glancing up at the scurrying Mystics that had now almost fully drawn up the sails.
Azarel smiled grimly.
"Most certainly. But we will have greater need of it later than now, and even if Porre cannot halt us they will at least essay to rob us of our sails. We do so to keep them safe."
He took up a bitter glance to the ships of Porre, stepping in some slight disquiet about the deck.
"Azarel," Crono said, his absent gaze fully on the near arrayed armada as well, "this day the Mystics have shown themselves to be brothers of Man. We will not ever forget this."
Azarel bowed, a grim smile touching his lips.
"Brothers? Maybe, yet it is in your nature to forget, but I hear you, and will remember it. If we live to see a victorious dawn against the Demon, let today be remembered as blessed by both our people. Not before have the Mystics and humans cast aside their wars to stand as brothers, as it should be, and I foresee that it shall never be so again. So let us take such joy as we may in this alliance, while it is."
From the near ships a deep rumble echoed across the sea.
"A cannon shot," Azarel said grimly. "It begins, though only a warning or test of their weaponry, little doubt. We are still a touch out of their range."
"The sails are raised," Hymir said, nodding to Azarel. "The fleet stands ready, at your commanding my Lord," he paused, "and at your bidding, my Lord Master Magus," he added, bowing before Janus.
Janus, at these words, leaped up to the prow of the ship, his cape catching the swift wind in its folds. As he turned about his cape swept around him.
"We neither tarry for any that stray behind of our friends, nor do we wait to destroy all of the foe. We do what we can, and break through with all speed. For this day we race against time, my beloved Mystics; every hour lost hastens defeat, and that doom will be the final darkness, should it come to pass. So do not falter! May your hearts be bold within you! Hail, Mystics! This is your hour of glory!"
And even as these words escaped his lips, the battle was begun. The first of the ships, the swifter and lighter of the Porre armada, came upon them, crossing to either side of the great Mystic dromonds. A full five score of cannons echoed across the sea; their shots swept through the air like lightning, and thunder heralded their approach.
But they had accounted little on such hardy ships. One dromond was indeed sorely hurt, for the blackened hull was scarred with not a few great rends when the volley abated, and some were fearfully near the water; those who looked upon it knew it was surely lost. But, for the most part, the ships had withstood the onslaught; and Naglfar was fully unharmed, the shots having skipped off the hull as harmlessly as bullets from a dragon's hide, granting it a seeming immortality.
"Make a return: fire as you will!" Azarel cried. The great ship shook as the manifold cannons were set to fire and shot. The smoke that rose clouded their sight somewhat, but even so it was plain what frightful destruction they had wreaked upon the enemy fleet. Five ships were listing, and it was certain that they could not be saved. Many others had suffered less grievously, yet even so turned their rudders to flee, being too sorely hurt to continue in the fighting.
And thereat the host on Naglfar laughed greatly, taunting the men of Porre. None echoed more loudly than the voices of the Jotun, and those are most fearful to hear. A few of the ships broke from their order and turned. A grave error, for the remainder of the Mystic armada now began their own assault, and as the great swath of a scythe through grain, so was the volley of their cannons. Masts were splintered to kindling, sails torn ragged, and wooden hulls blasted with countless holes. A fell shot found the powder stores of a great warship and, with a roar of fire and smoke it burst, scattering its once proud banners across the sea.
But many were the ships of the Empire, and though eighteen were sunk or gravely damaged, there was a great host yet unfought, and these now sailed forward, the fire and smoke from their guns clouding the sea in a grey mist, the echo and roar being as peals of thunder at the onset of a storm. But again the Naglfar sailed through unharmed, though in behind a further two more of the black ships were lost amidst the gun-wrought mist, drowning into the sea.
"Three lost," Crono cried above the drowning noise. "Azarel, will you brook such an onslaught? We need every man, near to as much as we require our speed."
"Indeed," Azarel replied, "and I grieve for our loss. I have bided my time, but now it is ripe. Cast loose the fire!" he called aloud.
And so it was that a weapon then unlooked for was sprung upon the unwary navy of Porre. Never before had the armies of the west seen such a thing, and was terrible to behold. Tongues of fire, burning hot as those flames of a forge, leaped from the ports of the Mystic dromonds. Those of the enemy caught too near were at once beset with a ravening fire that kindled to flame their proud timbers and sails. They turned aside, though it was hopeless: the fire was unquenchable once begun, and they were only fleeing to find destruction inescapable.
In this sudden device few of the Porre armada had been caught, with only four or five ships ablaze.
But upon seeing this it seemed that a maddening fear had been loosed among the captains of the other vessels. They swiftly banked their own ships to the side so as to avoid the fiery doom that had befallen their comrades. Surely their cannons continued the merciless assault yet so, too, did those of the Mystics, and they held the upper hand in not being affrighted of the nearness of their foes. Another score of ships was drowned in the sea, and with that the fleet of the Mystics broke through the last of the Porre armada.
They had lost only four ships in the affray; Porre lay worsted upon the waves behind, fire clinging to some proud ships, and others simply foundering and dying without much grand display. But this was sure: no less than three score of mighty warships were lost on the sea that day, and the fleet of eight black ships continued to the land of Porre, far across the horizon.
"The Terosvínta lost," Azarel muttered. "Likewise the Istranash. And two others beside. They will be sorely missed."
"Yet a great victory nonetheless!" Janus called from the helm, and came to the deck in a single leap. "Porre will not lightly forget this," he said, rising from his landing. "Thirty of their vessels lie at the sea's bottom. And the Naglfar our pride has victored unharmed."
"And yet we come to the shores of Porre with but two thirds of our army, Janus," Crono replied. "More than one thousand of them have been taken by the sea. The Home Legions that now await us number twice what remain, and that is if we are fortunate. I begin to fear this hopeless."
"Yet in hopelessness we may find strength, father!" Sigurd cried.
"Indeed," answered Schala. "That has ever been our wont, has it not?"
Serge nodded to this.
"Maybe. That's an old saying; I hope it's true today."
And Janus laughed grimly.
"It will be, I am sure! This is the day Lavos himself will know fear. And that which he fears will be us! Cast the despair out of your heart my friend, for live or die it will be a grand contest this day!"
4
And so they came to the shores of the land they sought, the empire wherein rested the throne of the demon Lavos, the master architect of their doom. With great speed the armies disembarked, a vast host upon the shore. The clatter of the armour was noisome in the failing day, and looking about at all of these, Serge heard Janus say to Crono: "I daresay not even wise King Ratha of the ancient world could have gathered such a mighty host; perhaps, now, there is some cause for hope."
He turned about his scythe in his hands, making play of it for the coming battle. He was armoured in quite a fearsome array, a livery he had been gifted by the Mystics: a black-ringed mail hauberk, darkened armour, a grim-seeming helm, and weaponry such as he had not borne for many years: a mighty black-shafted scythe, and a greatsword upon the blade of which were scripted ancient letters of Zeal, claiming it indestructible. For that matter, all three had been given such in the way of armour and weaponry, for the battle ahead would surely be dire. Crono and Sigurd bore full arrays in the style of Guardia, of mail and leather; Schala wore a coat of more delicate rings yet also, as her brother, bore armour overtop. Serge was little accustomed to such things, even now, but did the same nonetheless. Finally, Schala availed herself of a second dagger, and Crono of a small knife of some ancient heritage. And with that the march inland began; the citadel of Porre was near the sea, but even so it would be some hours of marching.
A fog arose from the sea as they went, and their going was shrouded in mist. Serge could not see, but heard well enough, as the host move all about him: the low growls of the trolls; the hearty laughs of the Dwarves; the noble and mighty sounding tongues of the Swart Elves as they whispered their spells to each other. And the footsteps of the Jotun he both felt and heard, for the rumbling echoed across the plain.
At last the fog lifted, and they saw that they had not been short in their march, for in the distance they espied the towering pinnacles and limestone walls of the capital of Porre, sitting as a white gem upon the verge of the field. And to one side, encamped a short ways from the city, was the army that stood to bar their way. The ships had failed, but now as the sun set they saw that it might well be that the army upon land would be their foil. Before the tents was arrayed a splendid host in blue and silver, with their chimera-adorned banners high and proud above them; but more fearful, to one side, a grimmer host stood: dark-arrayed, they bore the dreadful banners of the flame above their heads. And the count of them was vast.
Upon seeing this army, a host most likely greater than fourteen thousands, near all the Mystics cried out in despair. Only the Jotun voices were silent, for they are utterly fearless of death. Then two stepped forward, and raised a challenging cry across the field; doubtless the men of Porre heard, but none had the voice of a giant, and so no reply returned.
"We must fight through this? We are doomed," Janus said plainly, so that only the chief captains could hear. "How shall we ever come to Lavos, when such an army lies twixt us?"
Crono, too, looked dismayed, and the fear was not lost to Schala either, nor yet to Serge or Sigurd.
"We do what we may," Crono said with a deep breath. "That is all that is tasked of us in this life. Some are given peace, others war and death, in their varying times." He drew his sword. "Yet even so, I should have liked my end to be more hopeful."
But even as he said this Azarel turned about, facing his host, and cried.
"Peace, and be still, my brethren of Medina, beloved Mystics! We fight today not against humanity. We do not war against another race, as has been our tale for so long. This day holds the chief of all battles ever fought upon the plains of this earth since it was born out of the darkness. For now we contest the might of the Demon, and all who die in valour upon these plains shall be called blessed forevermore, and their names be remembered in Medina so long as the race of Mystics endures! Let death not shake you, let not fear unknit your minds! So I say to you: be bold, raise high your swords and lances, that the Demon himself may shake with fear upon his terrible throne, and say in his heart: truly, here are the fearless mighty!"
Crono nodded gravely as Azarel ended, and spoke low to Serge.
"We have now reached the twilight of our fate," he said.
But Azarel heard, and turned to the king saying:
"Yet it is not your doom to partake of this battle, Lord Kronos. Our blades will taste the blood of the armies, but your swords are not needed here. To other things your destiny calls you. Let us be the shield against the demon, whilst you strike for his heart. For this day holds in its hand the fate of the powers that hold dominion, and now order the world."
Schala glanced across the armies, both of Porre and the legions of countless Mystics.
"I see, then."
She bowed deeply before Azarel, then fell to a knee.
"Truly, you are a dear friend to Man. All the riches of old Zeal could not repay this debt. We thank you."
Azarel shook his head.
"No, speak not of debts. For it is the duty of all of good-will to contest this Demon, and to each is given their part in this grand ending. There are none among us with the might to challenge the Demon to battle, and so to you is fallen the greatest and most perilous of fates. We do what is in our power to accomplish, and you must do the same."
To the west the sun was sinking to the horizon. The wooded hills of the country were crowned in the fading brilliant crimson that shone from this twilight. Time was growing short; perhaps half an hour and Leena would perish. They would need be swift.
"Even as I once dreamed," Serge muttered, casting his gaze away from the dimming sun. It darkened his heart to remember, and to realize that it seemed to be that that which he had once dreamed of was now coming to fulfilment. Would the end be like as well? At that moment is seemed that the spinning wheel of fate sat still. Who now knew which way it would turn: for salvation or ruin?
As a whispering wind blowing unnoticed beside a great tempest the five swept along the verge of the field. North, across the plain, they saw the ranks of both armies only distantly. And their path led not there, but towards a yet more ominous end, perhaps: before them, to the west, was the great city and capital of Porre. The pinnacle of the great white citadel rose tall and spired from the centre. But this great city was near empty, or at least seemed so. To their disquiet, they found not a watchman on the walls, and the East gate was unbarred. Every window was shut as they went along, and not a guard challenged their going. It was as though a plague of death had descended upon the city, creeping in through every door and alley. But yet more fearful was this: it was as though prepared for their coming.
This was a worrisome thing, for certainly Lavos knew of the battle that was being joined upon the field. Could he, in his dark cunning, have overlooked their approach, silent though it was? Certainly not.
"He knows we come," Janus muttered, the first words any of them had spoken within the bounds of the city. "He tries us with doubt and uncertainty, thinking to weaken our strength. And he is vainly arrogant. He opens his doors to us, for he thinks us powerless before him; he is a fool, for the folly of that lesson even I have learned."
"And yet if he is a fool, he is one more cunning than any other upon this earth," Schala said. "It is only outmatched by his malice and dark-learned strength."
And as she said this, they came to the great forum. It was marked with many fountains, though all were silent, and lined upon either side by high columns, each adorned with the praises of a past emperor. In better times it may have been a fair sight to see, but for now the five cared nothing for it. At the far end stood a grand and tall building, of alabaster and inlaid lazuli, where the Senate of Porre would meet.
"It is there that he waits," Janus said. "Curse him! I feel his thought upon me. What hatred we bear for each other..." he looked distantly at the far building, and cried out heedlessly: "But ere this day ends, you or I shall relinquish his life!"
Schala looked severely at her incautious brother but, too, felt that none there were that would hear the call, or seek to stop them, save one alone. And he awaited their coming. They ran, crossing the great forum, and with a flash of sorcery burst the doors.
Within was a great hall, of limestone and gold-inlaid marble, set as an theatre of the Greeks, a crescent of ever higher levels. Banners of crimson and blue hung from the high domed ceiling, marked with the emblems of the regions of the land. Surely this was where senators would debate matters of governance, and the floor onto which they ran was the very one upon which many a wise man had spoken his rhetoric. But now, at the dimming of the sun which cast only a few humble rays through the high windows, it was grey and empty. And silent.
There were neither guards nor demon, and only the wordless hall stood before their eyes.
"Where?" Serge cried with no small impatience as they came upon the throne room, devoid of any being. "He's not here!"
Sigurd looked about impatiently, putting his hand to his sword. Schala closed her eyes and took a moment's thought.
"Not here, but near. His throne has always been nearer the heart of the earth. It will be so now as well, for he seeks to draw what power he may of it; it is his stolen strength."
They found the passages to the lower chambers near at hand, and with swift steps they followed the spiralling stairs down into the lowest delvings. Torches lined the way, but rather than give guiding light, they seemed like sentries marking their way, and passing news of their coming down the ranks. For ever as they came near a torch it would flicker and nearly die, but spring to new life again once they had passed, burning with a certain un-holy light. But the walls and stairs, at least, were cut straight and smooth, and their going was quick. Neither was there any branching, and it seemed that they had by chance (or more likely, by the dark will of another) found the very way they sought. This tunnel, however, ran deep and long, or perhaps it was only an illusion. Time seemed without meaning to their minds, for all thought rested upon the shapeless malice that haunted their spirits. With every step they felt it gain in power, and they knew that they neared it. And at last the time was at hand, the very place before them. For the stairs ended of a sudden, and flanked by great torches there was a mighty arch, and beyond a vast hall of stone that faded far into the darkness. And in the black there dwelt a heart of terror, and it was a great feat to cross the threshold of the gateway.
In the dancing shadows of the room there was a thing, robed as though a shade of some dark realm. Perhaps tall, yet maybe short, but though they could mark none of it, they felt it without doubt vile and evil. And from under the darkness it strode nearer, with loud echoing footfalls that in the room were like thunder.
"Lavos!" Crono cried, and it halted. "I have come! Let this now be ended."
And the reply was so:
"Indeed, old foe, indeed; you have passed through much grief, I see, to come to the foot of my eternal throne. One thing only remains in your trial, but you shall find the cost of your stubborn-valiance too high. As your two fools of Zeal would say it: es hadon tosh Artumo. This is the night of your dark fate."
(Last Edited October 17, 2004)