Over the Hills and Through the Woods

Chapter 2

Bright shapes slowly resolved themselves into a nightmarish form, though details were lost in the fog. It was a cloaked man, and she could tell by his snout, tail, and digitigrade feet that he was a nezumi, one of her kind. But there was no mistaking this figure for a friend: the bright shapes that Freya had seen were his eyes, which were literal fire; his left hand, which held a fireball; his right hand, which held a huge flaming scimitar; and his feet and tail-tip, both of which also appeared to be eerily aflame.

It's a wonder he doesn't burn down the entire forest, walking around like that, Freya mused to herself. This must be the mysterious Forest Demon I heard about, that appeared outside the ruined gates of Burmecia, making his way northward at about the same time as I . . . of course, it's just my luck that my spear happens to be broken when our paths cross. Spear or no spear, he is still a demon - and it is my duty to rid Gaia of beings such as he.

"Why do you challenge me?" the demon demanded in a deep, menacing voice.

"Prepare to meet your maker, Demon, if ever you had one," the dragoon retorted.

Had she not known better, Freya could've sworn she heard him mutter beneath his breath words to the effect of, "Not another one . . ." Then he shouted, "I give you one chance, young fool, to go back home so you can boast about how you faced the infamous Forest Demon and lived to tell the tale. Otherwise, you may regret your admirable - but idiotic - bravado."

"I have no home, few friends, and my family is gone," Freya replied.

She thought she heard the demon mutter regretfully, "Damn." Then he commanded, "Flee, or I shall devour your soul!" There was a strange quality to his voice that time, something that compelled Freya to obey . . .but she recognized it as the Voice of Command, an ability common to some demons and warrior dragons. And she was, of course, trained to resist it. Freya stood her ground, and the demon cocked his head at her in a very human (or Burmecian) gesture of confusion.

Suddenly, she felt as though she knew this man . . . if his voice wasn't menacing, then she could almost see his face as . . . Impossible. I was told a great dragon, as ancient and wise as Gizamaluke, took him – and others – away to train them against a coming threat a year after I left. It's only been two years since then, and with the timescales dragons work with, he couldn't possibly be back. And he certainly wouldn't allow himself to be known as the Forest Demon. Would he? She wordlessly took from beneath her jacket a pendant she'd worn for years, and the significance of which only her old brother-at-arms would recognize. It was a crudely hewn silver circle, with two blue opal dragons chasing each other.

The demon jerked back, startled, and extinguished his flames. Then he drew from his cloak a matching pendant, a gold circle with red opal dragons. Freya sheathed her knives and took off her concealing hat, and the "demon" sheathed his scimitar and pulled back the hood of his cloak. There, surely enough, was the face that Freya remembered – mostly. She had to admit that he'd become rather handsome since she'd last seen him, years ago. But his fur was still a deep grey, his chin-length hair was still ash-white, and he was still-

"Gilneas?" Freya ventured. He nodded.

"Freya?" She nodded, and the two old friends embraced each other briefly but tightly.

"What are you doing out here?" they asked each other simultaneously, then grinned wryly at each other.

"You first," the dragoon insisted.

"En route to Thesdren, a city-state roughly a day's march away from where we now stand. Yourself?"

"The same. But . . . Why are you back so soon? Why have you allowed yourself to become known as the Forest Demon? And why didn't you write me?" The last question was accompanied by a punch at his shoulder, which he was (barely) able to avoid.

"It seems you heard of my departure. I would have written you, had I been able to discern our actual location . . . I cannot even be sure we were on Gaia, if you can believe that."

"Actually, I can. Once we find a decent tavern, I shall have to tell you my own story over a drink or two . . . So, what happened?"

"I'll tell you once we're moving again." As they began to walk again, Gilneas sighed. "Ah, where to begin . . . Do you remember the stories of the Silver Dragons we were told as children?"

"You don't mean to tell me that the one that came for you was-"

"The same? He was. Fully a quarter the size of the old palace, and he appeared suddenly before our gates some two years ago by your reckoning." Freya wondered briefly how her reckoning could differ from his, but he was already continuing, "As it happened, I was on guard at the gates that day, and heard his psionic challenge in my mind: 'Worthies of Burmecia, the time has come to stand and be counted! The enemy will soon be upon us, and I have come to offer aid to this country and training for certain of its soldiers!' No doubt you can imagine the shenanigans some put on to impress him. Oh, they leapt about, jabbing the air with their blades, looking rather absurd as they dueled with their own shadows. He ignored them, and picked some of the most unlikely candidates, including myself. Though he did make a few of the obvious choices, many of the proudest dragoons found themselves left behind."

Freya was silent for a moment, still trying to digest what she'd just been told. My friend, a kind, competent, and intelligent - but admittedly unremarkable - regular soldier, chosen over dragoons by one of the Great Dragons? Even though I've heard it before, it is still difficult to believe . . . And if he has returned, then who is his foe? "What sort of training did you undergo?"

"We were separated according to specialty and trained on rocks in the void . . ." Gilneas' voice choked off, and when Freya saw the cold distance and frayed nerves in his eyes, she decided not to press him for further explanation just then.

"Eh . . . if you don't mind my asking, who – or what – were you trained to fight?" Somewhat to the dragoon's surprise, this drew a laugh; but it was not a laugh of humor. Rather, it was the bitter, grating laugh of a man near the edge of sanity. What could have happened to him to drive him so close to the edge? In spite of herself, the laugh chilled Freya, and she unobtrusively let herself fall a step or two behind Gilneas.

"Ah, delicious irony, one might say. There were thousands of us from all across the globe – dwarves from Conde Petie, gnomes, pygmy dragons with physical speech, Alexandrians, even the undead! – and we were trained and suffused with power so that we could return home and defend them against Kuja's dark armies. Unfortunately, mistake was compounded by error, and both were multiplied by misfortune and foul circumstance. Kuja evaded the dragons' inner eyes, and attacked without their noticing!" Freya noticed that her friend's hand kept grasping his sword hilt, and she put another foot between him and her. "We went through Hell, then returned just a week ago only to discover that our enemy had been defeated a month earlier by a ragtag group of unlikely heroes. What were we to do, Freya? The Great Ones assured us we would someday be needed again, and that even if that weren't for centuries, we would still be around. They expect us to live for centuries, Freya. What other abilities have they given to us that they neglected to tell us about?" They trudged wordlessly through the underbrush for a few awkward minutes, then Gilneas shook himself and said, "But enough of that. What have you been doing?"

"Oh, nothing of importance," Freya quickly answered.

Gilneas chuckled, acting more like himself again. In a way, the suddenness of the shift – to the edge of sanity and back again in less than five minutes – disturbed Freya more than anything else. "I know you too well to believe that, my friend. You are completely lacking in the ability to be idle. In all seriousness, now; did you ever find your faithless boyfriend?"

Freya noticed that a chill wind had begun to blow, and shrugged her shoulders to adjust the position of her pack's straps. "Hmph. I see that your opinion of him hasn't changed."

"And neither has yours – I cannot believe you still feel as you do about him. Or that he left you."

He shook his head ruefully. "But that is your business. Did you ever find him?"

"As a matter of fact, I did."

"When?"

"Just a few months ago."

"Where was he, anyway?"

"I still don't know where all he has been, but we met again in Cleyra."

"I see. And is everything wonderful between you two again?"

"It will be."

"Will it now? Will anything ever be alright again?" There was suddenly a note of despair in his voice, and again Freya wondered at the sudden mood shift – and what it was about, since it certainly wasn't over her and Fratley. Though Gilneas had always disapproved, he'd never let it get in the way of their friendship. "She's gone, she's gone . . ." He shook his head as he said it, and cut himself off, even sniffling a bit.

Who is he talking about, and why is he acting like this? "I beg your pardon?"

"They didn't know, and they sent me back to Burmecia – in ruins now, imagine them neglecting to mention that little detail! Now she's gone, and I'll die out here, never finding her . . ."

"Gilneas, what are you talking about?"

"She's supposed to be in Thesdren, but now we'll never know because we'll never make it before I either lose my mind or take my life."

Freya could not ignore the hopelessness in his voice, and when she put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around to face her, she could not ignore the fact that his eyes were lazy. They seemed not quite able to focus on any one point, and Freya furrowed her eyebrows. What's wrong with you, Gilneas? What happened to you?