Disclaimer: **beats the disclaimer into a bloody pulp with her mallet**
^_____^ I've always wanted to do that.
Quick note: Keep in mind what the 'horses' in dragoon look like. Not exactly what we're used to.
**Dream sequence** ************************************************************************ Dart's POV:
Ulara is one of the most beautiful places in the world, but even beauty cannot mask its grim purpose for long. Built all of those thousands of years ago as a haven for winglies opposed to Dictator Melbu's rule, over the years it had evolved into the lone fortress standing against the Moon Child. It's not a fortress in the normal sense of the word; the fortresses we're used to seeing have tall battlements and towers and other instruments of war. Ulara, sealed within its boundaries of wingly magic, has none of these. Built in the Death Frontier amidst sun baked sand dunes and tall featureless crags, it maintains a silent vigil over the world: here, no war has been forgotten, the mistakes and triumphs of the humans and the winglies are noted and remembered. Ulara uses this knowledge in attempt to counter the coming of the Moon Children. Caron explained it to me once: If nothing is forgotten, then nothing can be lost. And because of the magic the winglies of Ulara are able to generate from this, anything can be found. And once the Moon Child is found, they send in their only true weapon for the task of obliteration. The Black Monster.
At first the time passing seems almost tedious, but soon night and day blend into one endless blur. Laying beside one of the many streams and rivers that flowed about the base of the city, one could fall asleep one day and wake up a week later without noticing the passage of the time. Not that you'd miss out on a lot. On the upside of things, I didn't have to worry about Ragnarok getting bored and using me to destroy something while I slept. I guess the prospect of Charle swooping down on him and dragging him off to some luncheon was too much for him to bear.
Nights usually brought sleep for me, but for some reason, tonight I was restless. Walking back and forth between the rose gardens and the teleporting devices, I tried to shake off the feeling of foreboding that seemed to follow me around like a dark cloud. I tried to check with Ragnarok, but he was occupied with some minor thought or another in the back of my mind. Finally I just gave up and went to bed.
** A storm had swept unexpectedly into the area overnight. Waves dashed themselves upon rocks as the wind screamed through the cracks and crevasses of the jagged cliffs around the island village. The storm waters, unstoppable and destructive as a flow of lava, had driven the residents of the small sea platforms into the village hall on dry land. They crouched around a small fire, casting frightened glances at the warriors lining the walls. Tall and forbidding, they were dressed in an odd black armor. Steel helmets rested upon their heads, surmounted by a twisted piece of metal that swept down to protect the face. Spiked shoulder guards were strapped to chain mail vests; the bare arms were vacant of protection save a pair of blackened gauntlets. Grieves protected their shins and knees, the tops once more sweeping inexplicably up into long, dangerous looking spikes. Armed with short, broad bladed battle spears, the warriors stood motionlessly, a dark promise to the villagers of the terrible violence that would erupt should anyone object to their presence.
At the end of the hall there was a closed door guarded by an armored man a full foot taller than the rest. Instead of a spear he carried a set of long dirks at his sides, their polished stone hilts gleaming dully in the guttering torchlight. A long pike rested against the wall beside him, but it was clear that should it come to a fight he would most likely rely upon the knives. He stood with his head bowed, all but blocking the door from sight. From behind the door could be heard the hoarse cries of a woman in labor.
For the longest time no one moved; the cries had continued for the past several hours. Then, after what seemed an eternity, they stopped. A few minutes later the hulking warrior moved aside and the door opened. An emaciated old man wearing a long white robe trimmed with black stepped forward, holding in his arms a ragged bundle of stained white cloth. Eyes burning with fanatical light, he held up the bundle, for all to see. "On your knees, servants of the faith, " he keened, "For the holy Moon Child has come at last to purge this world of the unholy ones whose sins and misdoings stain the purity of Soa's great will!"
As one man, the warriors dropped to their knees, the sound of their muttered praise for the child swelling and filling the room until the air its self seemed to reverberate with the muted song.
Turning to the villagers crouched in the center of the room, the old man held out the newborn. "Bow before the power of the Moon Child! " He shrilled. And once more the people bowed down, their eyes beginning to gleam with fanatical light. All of them bowed, except for one. A figure cloaked and hooded in a coarse black robe remained on its feet, staring back at the screaming old man, unperturbed.
Flecks of spittle flying from his mouth in rage, the old priest demanded to know why the figure did not bow down like the rest of them.
"Why should I?" Pushing back the hood, the stranger regarded the old priest coolly. "Why should I bow before what I would destroy? It is not fitting for the hunter to bow before his prey, nor for the eagle to cower in fear before a mouse." He stepped forward, still unconcerned.
"Monstrous!" He gasped, in response to the apparition's insolence. At a wave of his hand the warriors began to close in on the youth.
The stranger laughed quietly then, the sound stopping the men in their tracks. "Prepare for my coming, old one, if you can. Be grateful for that warning and nothing else. For I swear, you and your brethren shall burn in my black fire."
Enraged by the taunt, the priest tore pulled back the cloth from the body of the infant. "Is that so," He screamed, and lifted the squalling child so that the stranger could see its face. "Behold, monster, the face of your destroyer!"
And though it was but a dream, the moment Dart's eyes fell upon the Moon Child, pain exploded into his head, scrambling his thoughts and jarring him into wakefulness**
I sat bolt upright, breathing heavily. /What the hell was that?/ I demanded.
//The Moon Child was born// Ragnarok replied tersely. //Hurry up and get a move on. The Charle already knows; she'll be along in a moment to get you//
I hurriedly pulled on my shirt. /How did you do that?/
//Do what?//
/The apparition. Was it really there, or did I dream it?/
//Oh, that. It's an old trick. Yes, they really saw it//
/Why did you warn them?/
//Because I couldn't stand the look on that petty bastard's face. Besides, people get careless while they're nervous. This priest will probably gather most of the cult's forces to try and stop us. If we're lucky we can take them all out at once//
I was fastening on my sword belt when Charle arrived. She waited patiently as I strapped on the carrier belt and threw on my coat. When I was ready she wordlessly led me out of my quarters and down the walkways to the large teleport.
Caron waited there with a group of solemn looking winglies. Stepping onto the teleport and hearing it begin to rev up, I turned to face them.
Caron stepped forward and clasped my hand. "The child was born a few hours ago in the village of Lidiera, Illisa Bay. They should still be in the village hall, unless they've anticipated your coming. If so, check the island s nearby and the sea around it. There are a fair amount of cult members with the Child, so they shouldn't be too hard to spot." Caron paused for a moment, then handed me a Down Burst. "That should come in useful. Good luck Dart. I think you're going to need it."
She stepped back to join the others. I saw them standing together for a moment, watching me gravely, before the wining of the teleport grew to a roar and everything disappeared in a flash of green light.
When I finally came to a stop I found myself staring at the massive sandstone structures of the Home of the Gigantos. Huge monolithic statues lined the road, keeping their silent vigil over the ruins of what at one point must have been one of the most incredible non-wingly structures in the known world. After the fall of the Giganto civilization it had been used as many things; a bandit's hideout, a Tiberoian outpost, and, most recently it seemed, an attraction for a few young idiots that wanted to go on some vague quest of some sort.
The 'questors' sat around a small campfire amid a circle of tents, chatting brainlessly. They looked like typical travelers; they wore long cloaks over dark tunics covered by steel plate armor. A few had light rapiers slung at their sides; one fellow older than the rest leaned on a long throwing javelin. None of them could have been much more than nineteen or so. Behind them, almost invisible outside the range of the firelight, could be seen the faint outline of horses grazing on the meager grass.
//One of those horses could save us some time// Ragnarok mused. //If we cut across country to the north we should come to Illisa Bay. It's only a short flight to Lidiera from there// He paused a moment, trying to deciding what to do. //Go ask for one of their horses. Be rather direct about it. We don't have a lot of time, and it looks as though these wannabes may try something otherwise//
Taking Ragnarok's advice, I walked into the circle of tents and wordlessly sat down across the fire from the group. Startled, they went silent. We stared at each other for a moment before the man with the javelin cleared his throat nervously and spoke up. "Can we help you, stranger?"
"I need one of your horses." No point in avoiding the topic.
The man's face clouded slightly, and he shook his head. "Sorry mister, but-"
"I don't quite think you get the point. I'm not asking you," I said, pushing back my coat and resting my hand on the hilt of my sword.
"Aaron, I think he's serious," One of the other men whispered to the man with the javelin. It's funny how people always whisper in situations when everything's quiet. It's pointless, seeing as it's almost as audible as when you speak aloud.
"I know that," Aaron snapped back. He gripped the haft of his weapon tightly, coming to a decision. He got to his feet and took a step forward. "I don't think we'll let you have the horse," he declared firmly. " I don't like your attitude." He nodded to his companions and they too rose to their feet.
I remained sitting where I was. "I think you'll like my attitude much less if you don't give me a horse." With a few barely detectable movements, I unclipped my sword from the steel clasp that held the bare blade at my side.
"You're outnumbered," Aaron pointed out. "We can have our blades in your guts before you move." He sounded quite confident about that. To emphasize his words, he lowered the javelin so that it was level with my chest.
Ragnarok made several suggestions of what to do. Choosing the easiest, I rolled to my feet and slashed upward with my sword, cleaving the javelin in half just below the iron tip. Spinning around, I knocked rapiers out of the hands of the two men closest to me and jumped backwards to put space between the startled looking people and myself. "Guess what? I moved."
Aaron stared dumbfounded at the broken weapon in his hand. "H-how did you. that's impossible!"
"If there's one thing during my life I've learned kid, it's that nothing is impossible." I clipped the sword back onto the sword belt. "Now," I stated, "are you going to show me this horse, or do I have to repeat that little exercise?"
Aaron's face blanched and he nodded hurriedly. "N-no sir. The h- horses are this w-way."
"Sensible kid."
//Nicely done//
/I thought so myself/
Muttering quietly to himself, Aaron slowly approached one of the beasts and caught it. Slipping off its halter, he shoved the bit in its mouth and fastened the bridle so that it rested over the ears. The animal tossed its head slightly as the girth on the heavy saddle was tightened, but otherwise stood quietly. Pulling the reins over its head, Aaron led it over.
He handed me the reins. "You should be okay with this one. She can be a bit of a handful, but she should be fast enough for whatever the hell you're going to do." He shot a dark glance in my direction, but said nothing.
I pulled myself into the saddle and took up the reins. "My thanks," I muttered. "And a word of advice to you, kid. Take your friends and get out of here; this place is way too dangerous for people of your level of fighting experience. Besides," I added, half turning in the saddle, "This was a holy place to the Gigantos. It should be preserved, not torn apart by fortune hunters like you." Turning away, I nudged my horse's sides with my heels. Eager to run, the mare moved off immediately. "You know, you're going to end up locked in a prison one of these days!" Aaron shouted at my retreating form.
"Already been done," I called back. Feeling the pull on the reins, I let the mare slip into a slow canter. Dust swirled lazily in our wake, floating on the light night breeze. Overhead a few clouds drifted across the moon, causing the faint light to fade into darkness momentarily. Far off to the north, over the mountains, could be seen the telltale thunderheads that marked the beginning of the storm that was currently ravaging Illisa Bay. Face set, I settled in for a long ride. If I rode hard, we should be able to reach the foot of the mountain range by sun up. If all went well it would only be a few hours flight to Lidiera.
The dusky rose of dawn had begun to spread across the sky when I finally pulled my sweating mare to a halt. Dismounting and leading her away from the wasteland into a narrow band of trees, I removed the saddle and bridle. Tossing them carelessly on the ground I looked over at the mare, which was watching me curiously.
"Go on, get out of here."
She didn't move, but instead reached down to graze on the few wisps of grass growing about her feet. Flicking one ear, she snorted.
"Fine then. Stay here." Bowing my head, I reached with my mind for the fist-sized stone buried in my chest. It flared brightly in response, the glow clearly visible through my chest. The glow spread rapidly over my arms, legs, and torso, consolidating quickly into the silver-gray armor of the Divine Dragoon. Six wings sprouted in unison, beating in a slow rhythm even before they were finished forming. Last of all came the stone-studded headband, the largest of the stones sliding down to cover my own left eye.
When the light faded the mare was nowhere to be seen, but her path of retreat was clearly visible through the trail of smashed and broken branches and shrubs leading deeper into the forest.
Over the water it was rough flying. The storm's winds gusted and blew in conflicting directions, creating sudden air pockets or hitting so suddenly from one side or another that I was almost knocked out of the sky. Lightning danced across the seat of the clouds and forked downward to try and catch the mast of whatever unlucky ship was sailing below. The ships, already having to deal with the gigantic waves, were sitting ducks. More than once I was sure I saw one take flame or explode. Once I caught sight of a mast slowly sinking below the waves. That so many ships would be caught out in this storm was strange. Usually sailors can see a storm coming days in advance. One or two might be caught in it, but not whole fleets like I was seeing now. For this storm to have come on so suddenly meant only one thing: it couldn't be natural. Already the birth of the Moon Child was disturbing the events of the world.
Finally the island of Lidiera came into sight, a dark smudge low on the horizon at first, then growing in size until the small houses of the village could be seen, huddled together as the waves battered and broke upon their wooden walls. More than a few, I saw, had collapsed inwards under the force of the breakers.
Back from the shore, protected from the waters by a curtain of trees, stood the village hall. It was dark, save for one candle guttering in a back room. Surrounding the building where the soldiers, their strange black armor glistening wetly in the faint daylight. They had obviously made an effort to hide themselves, but they were still clearly visible. Landing on the muddy ground and leveling my cannon with the group nearest to me, I make a point of proving to them that they were not as invisible as they might like to believe.
There was a stretched moment of silence as the remainder of the soldiers stared at the smoking pit in the ground where their comrades had crouched a moment ago. Then with a colossal roar, they attacked. For a brief moment I was reminded of the fight in the dark streets of Fletz all those years ago. The faces of these soldiers had the same mindless fanatic look; they rushed forward into the fight without any concern as to their personal safety. If it weren't for the width of the battlefield, I might have had some problems.
Note that I said might. The only real danger would be if the managed to surround me, but I couldn't see that happening.
Raising the cannon again, I let off two quick blasts before the fanatics closed in on me, cutting long swathes through their disordered ranks. They recovered quickly, lunging forward as one man. Coming forward to meet them, I was vaguely aware of Ragnarok's war cry escaping through my own mouth. Red sheets of mist fell across my eyes as battle madness set in. And this time, I made no move to control it.
Ragnarok's POV:
Dart's mind slipped out of my touch as the feeling of total war consumed him. That was fine. He fought better when he didn't care about injury. Instead, it was my job to worry about injuries. The dragoon armor is effective against almost any type of weapon, but the barbed spearheads when a definite threat. Dart was doing a good job of taking out anything within a ten foot radius of him, but there was always a chance that one of the fighters would be able to get in close and stab him through a joint in the armor. From somewhere in the back, one of the soldiers had gotten his hands on a bow. While most of the arrows ricocheted harmlessly off the armor, one buried itself into Dart's sword arm. It snapped off against the shoulder guard as he took one particularly wide swipe but the head of the arrow remained stuck in his arm, weakening the sword arm ever so slightly.
As the soldiers began to press in, I cursed to myself. In the heat of battle, Dart was only concentrating on swordplay, since he didn't have enough room to bring the cannon effectively into play. And now that they where so close in, he wasn't able to get off the ground and fly. For any other dragoon that wouldn't be a problem, but if you take away flight and the use of the cannon, you deprive the divine dragoon of his two most effective weapons.
//Dart!// I yelled. No response. I tried again, more forcefully this time. //Dart, you have to snap out of it! You aren't going to win this by simply hacking people to pieces! There's too many of them! Listen to me! You have to get into the air so you can use the cannon//
For a moment there was no response. Then one black armored man got in close enough to shove his spear through a gap in the armor and into Dart's leg. For the first time during the course of the entire battle, Dart screamed in pain. Dropping his sword, he hauled the spear out of his leg and returned it to its owner, via the man's chest. Stumbling back a step or two, he tossed a pale green container into the crowd.
Caron's downburst sent the mass of soldiers sprawling, giving Dart time to get into the air. His leg gave him a bit of trouble, but in a moment he was hovering in the air above the battlefield and gathering energy for a spell.
"Divine Dragon Ball!"
After the smoke cleared very little was left alive. Though the weaker of the two cannon attacks, the divine dragon ball was still powerful and could attack in almost all directions at once. As Dart landed the only sounds to be heard were the pelting rain and the occasional rumble of thunder.
//How's your leg?//
/I'll live. Is the Moon Child still in that hall?/
//I think so. Level the place//
Obediently Dart lifted the cannon once more. Gathering power, he was almost ready to fire when a spell smashed into the side of the gun, knocking his shot askew. The bolt of energy shot harmlessly off, missing the top of the village hall by about twenty feet or so.
//What was that?//
Dart's POV:
It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at. My confusion stemmed mostly from the fact that I had never seen the Dark Dragoon armor on a man before. It looked slightly bulkier than it had on Rose, covering more of the body and adding more protection to the shoulders. The man carried a long hooked pike in one hand and a long dirk in the other. A second dirk rode in an elaborate sheath at his waist. Recognizing the weapons, my thoughts wandered back to the dream I had had the night before. This was the man who had guarded the door to the back room. But how had he managed to get his hands on the darkness stone? The image of a cult member stealing Albert's stone in Fletz stole unbidden into my mind. Of course. If they'd stolen Albert's, why wouldn't they have gone after the others as well?
//Dart, right now it doesn't matter how he got it. All we're concerned with is getting it back// Ragnarok snapped. He seemed no more pleased with this turn of events than I was. //If that cult has managed to get control of the other stones, we could be in for a rough time//
He was right, of course. Turning to face the dragoon, I once again lifted the cannon to fire. The dragoon stared back unwaveringly at me, giving a sick half-smile when I was forced to fly because of the pain in my leg. The cannon glowed: energy was sucked up from the world around me, charging the massive weapon for one more act of destruction. The weapon cocked itself, the barrel opening up so that the blast would be able to pass through without difficulty.
"Coward." The word stopped me dead in my tracks.
"Coward," The dragoon repeated in a singsong voice. He smiled viciously at me. "What's the matter with you, monster? Are you afraid of the power of the dragoons? Is that why you seek to annihilate me before the fight has even begun?" He obviously didn't know what I was.
I almost did fire then. His taunts meant nothing to me. But something held me back. He actually thought he was worthy of being a dragoon, that the armor he wore was rightfully his. For some reason, that offended me. The only true Dark Dragoon was Rose; anyone else wearing that armor would seem like a disgrace to her memory. Lowering my cannon, I raised my sword.
/You want a fight, you bastard, come and get one!/
In the instant I lowered my cannon the man lunged forward with his long pike extended in front of him, trying to drive it into my stomach. Catching the barbed tip of the pike on the end of my sword I flicked it aside. The other dragoon turned at the last instant to avoid my blade, slashing at my exposed shoulder with his dirk as he did so. Once he was behind me he spun about, trying to get at my back with his pike. I turned ponderously to meet him, letting my injured leg hang limp and useless.
Seeing my weakness, the dragoon began to focus his attacks on my left side; thrusts at the leg and the area around the base of the cannon. I blocked his attacks as best I could with my sword, allowing the arm wielding it to seem weakened after each blow. In reality the arrowhead buried in it had only weakened it slightly, but I wasn't about to tell him that. Let him think that I was ponderous and slow, weakened by exhaustion and injury. I would be laughing over his dead body by the time this was over.
I shook my head, momentarily loosing my concentration. Where had that thought come from?
Taking advantage of my distraction, the dark man drove at my face with both dirks, catching me high on the right cheek. Blood streaming down over my face, I lunged after him.
The next few moments were a blur; blades flashed as we thrust and parried, hacking away at each other as we each tried to find an opening. At last it seemed that my opponent had found one. With a yell of triumph, he hurled both dirks straight at the exposed area below my neck. The yell of triumph turned to one of despair as they ricocheted off my shoulder guard. Too close in for him to use his pike, he was a sitting duck.
Dropping my sword, I grabbed him by the shoulder and twisted him around. Lashing out with my good leg, the talon-like claws set into the grieves tore through the armor, opening long gashes in his back and knocking him out of the air. He hit the wall of the village hall with a sickening thud and a scream. The thud had been from the impact. The scream was when an overhead beam from the roof fell across his legs, effectively pinning him to the spot.
Twenty feet up, I once again lifted the cannon. And this time I didn't hesitate to fire.
Well that was fun. Goes to prove that I shouldn't listen to Linkin Park while writing battle scenes. **shakes head** Oh well. Reviews are once again appreciated.
Quick note: Keep in mind what the 'horses' in dragoon look like. Not exactly what we're used to.
**Dream sequence** ************************************************************************ Dart's POV:
Ulara is one of the most beautiful places in the world, but even beauty cannot mask its grim purpose for long. Built all of those thousands of years ago as a haven for winglies opposed to Dictator Melbu's rule, over the years it had evolved into the lone fortress standing against the Moon Child. It's not a fortress in the normal sense of the word; the fortresses we're used to seeing have tall battlements and towers and other instruments of war. Ulara, sealed within its boundaries of wingly magic, has none of these. Built in the Death Frontier amidst sun baked sand dunes and tall featureless crags, it maintains a silent vigil over the world: here, no war has been forgotten, the mistakes and triumphs of the humans and the winglies are noted and remembered. Ulara uses this knowledge in attempt to counter the coming of the Moon Children. Caron explained it to me once: If nothing is forgotten, then nothing can be lost. And because of the magic the winglies of Ulara are able to generate from this, anything can be found. And once the Moon Child is found, they send in their only true weapon for the task of obliteration. The Black Monster.
At first the time passing seems almost tedious, but soon night and day blend into one endless blur. Laying beside one of the many streams and rivers that flowed about the base of the city, one could fall asleep one day and wake up a week later without noticing the passage of the time. Not that you'd miss out on a lot. On the upside of things, I didn't have to worry about Ragnarok getting bored and using me to destroy something while I slept. I guess the prospect of Charle swooping down on him and dragging him off to some luncheon was too much for him to bear.
Nights usually brought sleep for me, but for some reason, tonight I was restless. Walking back and forth between the rose gardens and the teleporting devices, I tried to shake off the feeling of foreboding that seemed to follow me around like a dark cloud. I tried to check with Ragnarok, but he was occupied with some minor thought or another in the back of my mind. Finally I just gave up and went to bed.
** A storm had swept unexpectedly into the area overnight. Waves dashed themselves upon rocks as the wind screamed through the cracks and crevasses of the jagged cliffs around the island village. The storm waters, unstoppable and destructive as a flow of lava, had driven the residents of the small sea platforms into the village hall on dry land. They crouched around a small fire, casting frightened glances at the warriors lining the walls. Tall and forbidding, they were dressed in an odd black armor. Steel helmets rested upon their heads, surmounted by a twisted piece of metal that swept down to protect the face. Spiked shoulder guards were strapped to chain mail vests; the bare arms were vacant of protection save a pair of blackened gauntlets. Grieves protected their shins and knees, the tops once more sweeping inexplicably up into long, dangerous looking spikes. Armed with short, broad bladed battle spears, the warriors stood motionlessly, a dark promise to the villagers of the terrible violence that would erupt should anyone object to their presence.
At the end of the hall there was a closed door guarded by an armored man a full foot taller than the rest. Instead of a spear he carried a set of long dirks at his sides, their polished stone hilts gleaming dully in the guttering torchlight. A long pike rested against the wall beside him, but it was clear that should it come to a fight he would most likely rely upon the knives. He stood with his head bowed, all but blocking the door from sight. From behind the door could be heard the hoarse cries of a woman in labor.
For the longest time no one moved; the cries had continued for the past several hours. Then, after what seemed an eternity, they stopped. A few minutes later the hulking warrior moved aside and the door opened. An emaciated old man wearing a long white robe trimmed with black stepped forward, holding in his arms a ragged bundle of stained white cloth. Eyes burning with fanatical light, he held up the bundle, for all to see. "On your knees, servants of the faith, " he keened, "For the holy Moon Child has come at last to purge this world of the unholy ones whose sins and misdoings stain the purity of Soa's great will!"
As one man, the warriors dropped to their knees, the sound of their muttered praise for the child swelling and filling the room until the air its self seemed to reverberate with the muted song.
Turning to the villagers crouched in the center of the room, the old man held out the newborn. "Bow before the power of the Moon Child! " He shrilled. And once more the people bowed down, their eyes beginning to gleam with fanatical light. All of them bowed, except for one. A figure cloaked and hooded in a coarse black robe remained on its feet, staring back at the screaming old man, unperturbed.
Flecks of spittle flying from his mouth in rage, the old priest demanded to know why the figure did not bow down like the rest of them.
"Why should I?" Pushing back the hood, the stranger regarded the old priest coolly. "Why should I bow before what I would destroy? It is not fitting for the hunter to bow before his prey, nor for the eagle to cower in fear before a mouse." He stepped forward, still unconcerned.
"Monstrous!" He gasped, in response to the apparition's insolence. At a wave of his hand the warriors began to close in on the youth.
The stranger laughed quietly then, the sound stopping the men in their tracks. "Prepare for my coming, old one, if you can. Be grateful for that warning and nothing else. For I swear, you and your brethren shall burn in my black fire."
Enraged by the taunt, the priest tore pulled back the cloth from the body of the infant. "Is that so," He screamed, and lifted the squalling child so that the stranger could see its face. "Behold, monster, the face of your destroyer!"
And though it was but a dream, the moment Dart's eyes fell upon the Moon Child, pain exploded into his head, scrambling his thoughts and jarring him into wakefulness**
I sat bolt upright, breathing heavily. /What the hell was that?/ I demanded.
//The Moon Child was born// Ragnarok replied tersely. //Hurry up and get a move on. The Charle already knows; she'll be along in a moment to get you//
I hurriedly pulled on my shirt. /How did you do that?/
//Do what?//
/The apparition. Was it really there, or did I dream it?/
//Oh, that. It's an old trick. Yes, they really saw it//
/Why did you warn them?/
//Because I couldn't stand the look on that petty bastard's face. Besides, people get careless while they're nervous. This priest will probably gather most of the cult's forces to try and stop us. If we're lucky we can take them all out at once//
I was fastening on my sword belt when Charle arrived. She waited patiently as I strapped on the carrier belt and threw on my coat. When I was ready she wordlessly led me out of my quarters and down the walkways to the large teleport.
Caron waited there with a group of solemn looking winglies. Stepping onto the teleport and hearing it begin to rev up, I turned to face them.
Caron stepped forward and clasped my hand. "The child was born a few hours ago in the village of Lidiera, Illisa Bay. They should still be in the village hall, unless they've anticipated your coming. If so, check the island s nearby and the sea around it. There are a fair amount of cult members with the Child, so they shouldn't be too hard to spot." Caron paused for a moment, then handed me a Down Burst. "That should come in useful. Good luck Dart. I think you're going to need it."
She stepped back to join the others. I saw them standing together for a moment, watching me gravely, before the wining of the teleport grew to a roar and everything disappeared in a flash of green light.
When I finally came to a stop I found myself staring at the massive sandstone structures of the Home of the Gigantos. Huge monolithic statues lined the road, keeping their silent vigil over the ruins of what at one point must have been one of the most incredible non-wingly structures in the known world. After the fall of the Giganto civilization it had been used as many things; a bandit's hideout, a Tiberoian outpost, and, most recently it seemed, an attraction for a few young idiots that wanted to go on some vague quest of some sort.
The 'questors' sat around a small campfire amid a circle of tents, chatting brainlessly. They looked like typical travelers; they wore long cloaks over dark tunics covered by steel plate armor. A few had light rapiers slung at their sides; one fellow older than the rest leaned on a long throwing javelin. None of them could have been much more than nineteen or so. Behind them, almost invisible outside the range of the firelight, could be seen the faint outline of horses grazing on the meager grass.
//One of those horses could save us some time// Ragnarok mused. //If we cut across country to the north we should come to Illisa Bay. It's only a short flight to Lidiera from there// He paused a moment, trying to deciding what to do. //Go ask for one of their horses. Be rather direct about it. We don't have a lot of time, and it looks as though these wannabes may try something otherwise//
Taking Ragnarok's advice, I walked into the circle of tents and wordlessly sat down across the fire from the group. Startled, they went silent. We stared at each other for a moment before the man with the javelin cleared his throat nervously and spoke up. "Can we help you, stranger?"
"I need one of your horses." No point in avoiding the topic.
The man's face clouded slightly, and he shook his head. "Sorry mister, but-"
"I don't quite think you get the point. I'm not asking you," I said, pushing back my coat and resting my hand on the hilt of my sword.
"Aaron, I think he's serious," One of the other men whispered to the man with the javelin. It's funny how people always whisper in situations when everything's quiet. It's pointless, seeing as it's almost as audible as when you speak aloud.
"I know that," Aaron snapped back. He gripped the haft of his weapon tightly, coming to a decision. He got to his feet and took a step forward. "I don't think we'll let you have the horse," he declared firmly. " I don't like your attitude." He nodded to his companions and they too rose to their feet.
I remained sitting where I was. "I think you'll like my attitude much less if you don't give me a horse." With a few barely detectable movements, I unclipped my sword from the steel clasp that held the bare blade at my side.
"You're outnumbered," Aaron pointed out. "We can have our blades in your guts before you move." He sounded quite confident about that. To emphasize his words, he lowered the javelin so that it was level with my chest.
Ragnarok made several suggestions of what to do. Choosing the easiest, I rolled to my feet and slashed upward with my sword, cleaving the javelin in half just below the iron tip. Spinning around, I knocked rapiers out of the hands of the two men closest to me and jumped backwards to put space between the startled looking people and myself. "Guess what? I moved."
Aaron stared dumbfounded at the broken weapon in his hand. "H-how did you. that's impossible!"
"If there's one thing during my life I've learned kid, it's that nothing is impossible." I clipped the sword back onto the sword belt. "Now," I stated, "are you going to show me this horse, or do I have to repeat that little exercise?"
Aaron's face blanched and he nodded hurriedly. "N-no sir. The h- horses are this w-way."
"Sensible kid."
//Nicely done//
/I thought so myself/
Muttering quietly to himself, Aaron slowly approached one of the beasts and caught it. Slipping off its halter, he shoved the bit in its mouth and fastened the bridle so that it rested over the ears. The animal tossed its head slightly as the girth on the heavy saddle was tightened, but otherwise stood quietly. Pulling the reins over its head, Aaron led it over.
He handed me the reins. "You should be okay with this one. She can be a bit of a handful, but she should be fast enough for whatever the hell you're going to do." He shot a dark glance in my direction, but said nothing.
I pulled myself into the saddle and took up the reins. "My thanks," I muttered. "And a word of advice to you, kid. Take your friends and get out of here; this place is way too dangerous for people of your level of fighting experience. Besides," I added, half turning in the saddle, "This was a holy place to the Gigantos. It should be preserved, not torn apart by fortune hunters like you." Turning away, I nudged my horse's sides with my heels. Eager to run, the mare moved off immediately. "You know, you're going to end up locked in a prison one of these days!" Aaron shouted at my retreating form.
"Already been done," I called back. Feeling the pull on the reins, I let the mare slip into a slow canter. Dust swirled lazily in our wake, floating on the light night breeze. Overhead a few clouds drifted across the moon, causing the faint light to fade into darkness momentarily. Far off to the north, over the mountains, could be seen the telltale thunderheads that marked the beginning of the storm that was currently ravaging Illisa Bay. Face set, I settled in for a long ride. If I rode hard, we should be able to reach the foot of the mountain range by sun up. If all went well it would only be a few hours flight to Lidiera.
The dusky rose of dawn had begun to spread across the sky when I finally pulled my sweating mare to a halt. Dismounting and leading her away from the wasteland into a narrow band of trees, I removed the saddle and bridle. Tossing them carelessly on the ground I looked over at the mare, which was watching me curiously.
"Go on, get out of here."
She didn't move, but instead reached down to graze on the few wisps of grass growing about her feet. Flicking one ear, she snorted.
"Fine then. Stay here." Bowing my head, I reached with my mind for the fist-sized stone buried in my chest. It flared brightly in response, the glow clearly visible through my chest. The glow spread rapidly over my arms, legs, and torso, consolidating quickly into the silver-gray armor of the Divine Dragoon. Six wings sprouted in unison, beating in a slow rhythm even before they were finished forming. Last of all came the stone-studded headband, the largest of the stones sliding down to cover my own left eye.
When the light faded the mare was nowhere to be seen, but her path of retreat was clearly visible through the trail of smashed and broken branches and shrubs leading deeper into the forest.
Over the water it was rough flying. The storm's winds gusted and blew in conflicting directions, creating sudden air pockets or hitting so suddenly from one side or another that I was almost knocked out of the sky. Lightning danced across the seat of the clouds and forked downward to try and catch the mast of whatever unlucky ship was sailing below. The ships, already having to deal with the gigantic waves, were sitting ducks. More than once I was sure I saw one take flame or explode. Once I caught sight of a mast slowly sinking below the waves. That so many ships would be caught out in this storm was strange. Usually sailors can see a storm coming days in advance. One or two might be caught in it, but not whole fleets like I was seeing now. For this storm to have come on so suddenly meant only one thing: it couldn't be natural. Already the birth of the Moon Child was disturbing the events of the world.
Finally the island of Lidiera came into sight, a dark smudge low on the horizon at first, then growing in size until the small houses of the village could be seen, huddled together as the waves battered and broke upon their wooden walls. More than a few, I saw, had collapsed inwards under the force of the breakers.
Back from the shore, protected from the waters by a curtain of trees, stood the village hall. It was dark, save for one candle guttering in a back room. Surrounding the building where the soldiers, their strange black armor glistening wetly in the faint daylight. They had obviously made an effort to hide themselves, but they were still clearly visible. Landing on the muddy ground and leveling my cannon with the group nearest to me, I make a point of proving to them that they were not as invisible as they might like to believe.
There was a stretched moment of silence as the remainder of the soldiers stared at the smoking pit in the ground where their comrades had crouched a moment ago. Then with a colossal roar, they attacked. For a brief moment I was reminded of the fight in the dark streets of Fletz all those years ago. The faces of these soldiers had the same mindless fanatic look; they rushed forward into the fight without any concern as to their personal safety. If it weren't for the width of the battlefield, I might have had some problems.
Note that I said might. The only real danger would be if the managed to surround me, but I couldn't see that happening.
Raising the cannon again, I let off two quick blasts before the fanatics closed in on me, cutting long swathes through their disordered ranks. They recovered quickly, lunging forward as one man. Coming forward to meet them, I was vaguely aware of Ragnarok's war cry escaping through my own mouth. Red sheets of mist fell across my eyes as battle madness set in. And this time, I made no move to control it.
Ragnarok's POV:
Dart's mind slipped out of my touch as the feeling of total war consumed him. That was fine. He fought better when he didn't care about injury. Instead, it was my job to worry about injuries. The dragoon armor is effective against almost any type of weapon, but the barbed spearheads when a definite threat. Dart was doing a good job of taking out anything within a ten foot radius of him, but there was always a chance that one of the fighters would be able to get in close and stab him through a joint in the armor. From somewhere in the back, one of the soldiers had gotten his hands on a bow. While most of the arrows ricocheted harmlessly off the armor, one buried itself into Dart's sword arm. It snapped off against the shoulder guard as he took one particularly wide swipe but the head of the arrow remained stuck in his arm, weakening the sword arm ever so slightly.
As the soldiers began to press in, I cursed to myself. In the heat of battle, Dart was only concentrating on swordplay, since he didn't have enough room to bring the cannon effectively into play. And now that they where so close in, he wasn't able to get off the ground and fly. For any other dragoon that wouldn't be a problem, but if you take away flight and the use of the cannon, you deprive the divine dragoon of his two most effective weapons.
//Dart!// I yelled. No response. I tried again, more forcefully this time. //Dart, you have to snap out of it! You aren't going to win this by simply hacking people to pieces! There's too many of them! Listen to me! You have to get into the air so you can use the cannon//
For a moment there was no response. Then one black armored man got in close enough to shove his spear through a gap in the armor and into Dart's leg. For the first time during the course of the entire battle, Dart screamed in pain. Dropping his sword, he hauled the spear out of his leg and returned it to its owner, via the man's chest. Stumbling back a step or two, he tossed a pale green container into the crowd.
Caron's downburst sent the mass of soldiers sprawling, giving Dart time to get into the air. His leg gave him a bit of trouble, but in a moment he was hovering in the air above the battlefield and gathering energy for a spell.
"Divine Dragon Ball!"
After the smoke cleared very little was left alive. Though the weaker of the two cannon attacks, the divine dragon ball was still powerful and could attack in almost all directions at once. As Dart landed the only sounds to be heard were the pelting rain and the occasional rumble of thunder.
//How's your leg?//
/I'll live. Is the Moon Child still in that hall?/
//I think so. Level the place//
Obediently Dart lifted the cannon once more. Gathering power, he was almost ready to fire when a spell smashed into the side of the gun, knocking his shot askew. The bolt of energy shot harmlessly off, missing the top of the village hall by about twenty feet or so.
//What was that?//
Dart's POV:
It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at. My confusion stemmed mostly from the fact that I had never seen the Dark Dragoon armor on a man before. It looked slightly bulkier than it had on Rose, covering more of the body and adding more protection to the shoulders. The man carried a long hooked pike in one hand and a long dirk in the other. A second dirk rode in an elaborate sheath at his waist. Recognizing the weapons, my thoughts wandered back to the dream I had had the night before. This was the man who had guarded the door to the back room. But how had he managed to get his hands on the darkness stone? The image of a cult member stealing Albert's stone in Fletz stole unbidden into my mind. Of course. If they'd stolen Albert's, why wouldn't they have gone after the others as well?
//Dart, right now it doesn't matter how he got it. All we're concerned with is getting it back// Ragnarok snapped. He seemed no more pleased with this turn of events than I was. //If that cult has managed to get control of the other stones, we could be in for a rough time//
He was right, of course. Turning to face the dragoon, I once again lifted the cannon to fire. The dragoon stared back unwaveringly at me, giving a sick half-smile when I was forced to fly because of the pain in my leg. The cannon glowed: energy was sucked up from the world around me, charging the massive weapon for one more act of destruction. The weapon cocked itself, the barrel opening up so that the blast would be able to pass through without difficulty.
"Coward." The word stopped me dead in my tracks.
"Coward," The dragoon repeated in a singsong voice. He smiled viciously at me. "What's the matter with you, monster? Are you afraid of the power of the dragoons? Is that why you seek to annihilate me before the fight has even begun?" He obviously didn't know what I was.
I almost did fire then. His taunts meant nothing to me. But something held me back. He actually thought he was worthy of being a dragoon, that the armor he wore was rightfully his. For some reason, that offended me. The only true Dark Dragoon was Rose; anyone else wearing that armor would seem like a disgrace to her memory. Lowering my cannon, I raised my sword.
/You want a fight, you bastard, come and get one!/
In the instant I lowered my cannon the man lunged forward with his long pike extended in front of him, trying to drive it into my stomach. Catching the barbed tip of the pike on the end of my sword I flicked it aside. The other dragoon turned at the last instant to avoid my blade, slashing at my exposed shoulder with his dirk as he did so. Once he was behind me he spun about, trying to get at my back with his pike. I turned ponderously to meet him, letting my injured leg hang limp and useless.
Seeing my weakness, the dragoon began to focus his attacks on my left side; thrusts at the leg and the area around the base of the cannon. I blocked his attacks as best I could with my sword, allowing the arm wielding it to seem weakened after each blow. In reality the arrowhead buried in it had only weakened it slightly, but I wasn't about to tell him that. Let him think that I was ponderous and slow, weakened by exhaustion and injury. I would be laughing over his dead body by the time this was over.
I shook my head, momentarily loosing my concentration. Where had that thought come from?
Taking advantage of my distraction, the dark man drove at my face with both dirks, catching me high on the right cheek. Blood streaming down over my face, I lunged after him.
The next few moments were a blur; blades flashed as we thrust and parried, hacking away at each other as we each tried to find an opening. At last it seemed that my opponent had found one. With a yell of triumph, he hurled both dirks straight at the exposed area below my neck. The yell of triumph turned to one of despair as they ricocheted off my shoulder guard. Too close in for him to use his pike, he was a sitting duck.
Dropping my sword, I grabbed him by the shoulder and twisted him around. Lashing out with my good leg, the talon-like claws set into the grieves tore through the armor, opening long gashes in his back and knocking him out of the air. He hit the wall of the village hall with a sickening thud and a scream. The thud had been from the impact. The scream was when an overhead beam from the roof fell across his legs, effectively pinning him to the spot.
Twenty feet up, I once again lifted the cannon. And this time I didn't hesitate to fire.
Well that was fun. Goes to prove that I shouldn't listen to Linkin Park while writing battle scenes. **shakes head** Oh well. Reviews are once again appreciated.