Chapter 7: Creeping Shadows

Author's Notes: For my older readers: This is an edited/re-written version of this chapter.

Her headache was back, and if anything, it had gotten worse. Chris had arrived at the knights' camp on the Amur Plains the night before, and had benefited only from a quick facewash and a scant few hours of stolen sleep before getting down to business. She had spent the last several hours poring over documents and overseeing the countless minutiae that went into arranging a successful round of negotiations. Salome handled most of the details, but as the captain, it was her duty to put the finishing touches to any and all decisions. She needed a break.

Returning to her private pavilion, she found that a bath had already been drawn for her. Retiring behind the wooden screen that added privacy to the steaming bathtub, she quickly undressed and eased into the hot water with a sigh of contentment. Moments later, there was a rustle of canvas from the tent flap, and a woman's voice broke the silence.

"Milady. Begging your pardon." Chris turned her head to find an unfamiliar woman curtseying beside the bathtub. Light brown hair arranged in two flat braids hung over the woman's shoulders. "My name is Jena, milady. I've been sent to serve as your chambermaid."

Chris frowned in confusion. "Where is Sophia?"

"I regret that Miss Sophia had to return home immediately to help deliver her sister's child, milady. She asked that I attend you in the meantime."

"I see," Chris said, hiding her disappointment behind a pleasant smile. Inwardly, she already missed Sophia, and felt a little hurt that her chambermaid had not come to see her before leaving. She had not even known Sophia had a sister! I've come to rely on her, and on Louis, she realized. Without them, she suddenly felt lonely and lost.

From a delicate carved box, Jena took out bath salts and soap, which she added to the water. She then produced a bucket of warm water, loosened Chris's braid, and set about washing and soaping her hair.

"Perhaps you don't remember me, milady. I served as Sir Galahad's chambermaid," Jena said.

"Truly? I am sorry; Sir Galahad was a good man. You must have been devastated by his death."

"Yes, it was a great loss to all of us. But life goes on, and so must we. That's what my dear old mum always used to say. She was a feisty one, mum. You see…"

Jena droned on and on, and Chris found herself soothed by the woman's voice. As the chambermaid gently massaged her scalp, Chris drifted off, and her mind wandered into the past.

Chris stalked across the courtyard, stiff-backed as an angry cat, her hands bunched into fists. She could still hear the others laughing.

As usual, trying to stay calm had not helped. The other recruits knew just how to push her buttons. She wanted to punch someone. Preferably more than one person. She had to calm down. Somewhere far from where she could hear their laughter.

She was halfway down a corridor in the knights' barracks when a stern voice stopped her right in her tracks. "You must not allow them to rile you so easily."

Chris gave a start and turned to salute, fist to chest. Before her stood none other than Sir Galahad, Captain of the Knights. Even in the relative privacy of the knights' barracks, he still wore full armor. The merciless midday sun's heat did not seem to affect him at all.

"Milord! You surprised me."

Captain Galahad slowly walked towards her. "Why do you let their words affect you so?"

She regarded the captain uncertainly. "I'm just as good a swordsman as any of them, except perhaps Percy. My horsemanship is among the best in the barracks, too. But just because I'm a girl, they treat me like I'm some sort of freak. They don't respect me at all!"

Galahad regarded her for a moment. When he spoke, his words surprised her. "Why should they?"

Shaken, Chris gaped at the captain. She cast her eyes down. "Sir Galahad, do you think I'm cut out to be a knight?"

She felt his hand on her shoulder. "That is a question only you can answer, Chris."

She frowned at the marble floor tiles. Surprisingly, the question was harder to answer than she had thought it would be. "It's my desire to be a knight, like Father before me," she started. "I want to make him proud."

"Indeed," Galahad said. "And I told you that would not be possible, what would you do?"

Chris bristled, and looked up to meet the captain's eyes. "I'd refuse to accept it."

"And yet, when the other squires tease you, when they put you down, you accept it?"

"I…" She frowned. "But I don't. I get so angry—"

"Acceptance takes many forms," Galahad scolded. "Do you have brothers, Chris?" She shook her head, and he nodded in the way that said he already knew this. "Perhaps this would have been easier if you'd had. Chris, sometimes acceptance comes in the form of bearing with something that feels, at the time, unbearable. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I'm… not sure," she admitted.

"The boys will always look at your differently, because you are different. You cannot change that. But you can use it to your advantage. Tell me: what are the three things that separate a knight from a common thug?"

"Dignity, honor, and dedication," she recited from memory. Sir Feren had drilled the words into the recruits until she could recite it while half-asleep.

"And which of those is most important?"

Chris hesitated. "None," she suggested. "They're all equally important."

Galahad smiled. "Dedication and honor are great things, but they can be difficult to see. Dignity, on the other hand, is obvious. It is what people see. It is what inspires others, and fills their hearts with admiration."

"I didn't come here to be admired, milord," Chris said stubbornly.

"Then you have come to the wrong place," the captain declared. "A knight's duty is to her people, and that duty includes the obligation to ensure the survival of the knighthood. None of us will live forever. Others must take our place when we are gone. And without knights of dignity and charm, who will inspire our children to grow up to become knights themselves?"

Chris frowned, considering this. "But, milord, how do I make people admire me when even the other recruits won't respect me?"

"By acting the part. You must master your emotions. Shape your face into a mask that reflects only a knight's dignity."

"But the others do nothing of the sort!" It wasn't fair. It really wasn't.

"The others are not girls. People will expect different things from you. You cannot change that. But you can still be a great knight – perhaps the best there ever was. You just have to work harder than the others. And you have to master your emotions. Do you think you can do that?"

"I don't know," she admitted. She'd always had a temper, and it had only gotten worse after Father died.

"Leo is almost ready to take his vows, you know. Once he's made a knight, I shall need a new squire."

Chris gaped in surprise. "Really?"

Galahad narrowed his eyes in stern appraisal. "I will not settle for a half-hearted squire. I will need someone who will work harder than everyone else. Someone who is committed to becoming a true exemplar of the Knights of Zexen. I ask you again: do you think you can do that?"

Chris sank to one knee and lowered her head. "I swear it, milord. I won't let you down!"

"Good." Galahad chuckled. "We shall make a knight of you yet."

"There! All done!"

Jena's voice snapped Chris back to reality. "You have such beautiful hair, milady," said the chambermaid. "I will positively kill for those silvery locks." She sighed foppishly. "You should wear your hair down more often. Best not, I suppose, for the good of the men…" Jena gave a good-natured laugh.

Feeling as supple as kidskin, Chris got out of the bath and dried herself with a towel. She then used the Water Rune's magic to remove the water from her hair, and sat down in a folding chair while Jena braided it. When the chambermaid finished, Chris picked up a hand mirror and looked herself over, inspecting Jena's work. She could do without the woman's incessant prattle, but she had to admit Jena was good.

Rising from her seat, she girded on her sword and stepped out of the pavilion.

A brisk wind swept over the rooftops as Hugo, Lulu, and Sergeant Joe made their way across the plaza. Vinay's central hub was a great open space, all buried under a cover of cobblestones that radiated out from its central fountain. Entire crowds of people moved across the plaza, some crossing the space on their way somewhere else, and others stopping to sample the wares from any of dozens of carts rolled out to display the wares of hawkers and traveling merchants. If Hugo and Lulu had stared at the storefronts at Brass Castle, here they gawked twice as hard.

The Council Hall was a sprawling, multistory building that sat like some enormous clay brick at the top of broad steps flanking the square. A copper dome rose from its top, capped with a fluttering banner displaying the orange and white of the Zexen Confederacy. The whole building looked clumsy to Hugo, like a pile of rocks stacked too tall.

As the three of them drew closer, Hugo became aware of some sort of commotion at the front door. A young woman stood arguing with the guards at the door, while her two companions tried to calm her down.

"Foreigners?" Hugo suggested. One of the men had darker skin than anyone Hugo had seen before, and all three of them wore strange, outlandish clothes. The girl's clothes were the most flamboyant of all, and a wide-brimmed feathered hat sat on her head. In the breeze, the girl had to hold the hat down as she shouted at the guards. A slender blade with a basket hilt hung at her hip.

"Looks like it," Lulu said. "I wonder what they're arguing about."

Sergeant Joe shook his head. "That's really none of our concern, Lu. We'd better not get involved."

"Looks like she's got about as much love for the ironheads as we do," Hugo said. He shared a look with Lulu, and they both grinned.

Hugo and his friends mounted the steps to the Council Hall just as the guardsmen were about to lose their temper. The girl's attendants had to drag her away kicking and screaming, and Hugo stepped aside to let them past before ascending the last few steps to stand before the guards.

"I'm Hugo," he said. "Son of Chief Lucia of Karaya. I come bearing a message of peace from the Karayan chieftain to the Council of Zexen." Hugo smiled inwardly. He'd practiced the words over and over, and in the end, it had all come out rather nicely.

The guards gave each other looks that said they wished they were somewhere else. "Do you have an appointment?" one of them asked with barely concealed frustration.

"Err, no. But—"

"Come back later, lad. The council is busy."

Hugo's back stiffened. "What? But this is a message of peace from Chief Lucia. Didn't you hear—"

"Boy, I don't care if Chief Lucia sends her sweaty trousers. Council's busy and you'll just have to wait in line with everyone else."

Hugo's fingers itched. He took a step forward and got right up in the guard's face. "What did you say about my mother?"

Sergeant Joe grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Easy, Hugo," the sergeant warned.

Hugo shook him off. "Fine." He turned back to the guards. "Is the truce some sort of joke to the council? They've got better things to do than to make peace with the clans? Don't you want this damn war to end?"

That got the men's backs up, but they weren't backing down. "That's for the council to decide," the guardsman said. "It's none of our business, and certainly none of yours. Now get out of here, and come. Back. Later."

Hugo drew a deep breath. "Fine. How long?"

"Leave your name and current place of residence, and the council will contact you when they are able to fit you in."

Spirits! Ironheads and their audiences and their permits! Do they need a piece of paper to break wind, too? "How long is that going to take?" he asked, trying to hide his impatience.

The guardsman shrugged. "Two weeks. Maybe just one, if you're lucky. The councilors are very busy men."

"A week!" Hugo shouted. "That's outrageous!" But the guardsmen wouldn't budge. Giving up, Hugo half-heartedly gave his name and the Flared Peacock as his stated residence. As he turned to stalk down the steps, he wasn't sure whether to be angry or sad. Mother trusted me with this message. But a week? Or more… No, that's just not gonna happen. I can't be gone for two weeks.

They gathered at the foot of the steps. "What are we going to do?" Lulu wondered.

Hugo shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Lu." Idly, he looked around, and noticed the flamboyantly dressed girl who had been shouting at the guards standing nearby. She was taking her anger out on her attendants, this time.

"Two days!" she shouted. "How dare they make me wait for two whole days!"

Two days? Hugo turned to Lulu and grinned. "Hold on. I've got an idea."

The girl didn't see Hugo until he was standing right beside her. In fact, one of her attendants was the one who noticed first, and alerted his mistress to Hugo's presence. The girl turned to regard him, hands on her hips.

"I'm Hugo," he introduced himself, "I'm the—"

The fury that had flushed the girl's cheeks until only a heartbeat ago melted away in an instant, replaced with a sweet smile. "I am Lilly Pendragon. Yes, that Lilly Pendragon. A pleasure to meet me, I'm sure." She held out her hand, palm down and fingers slightly bent, as if he were meant to do something with it. Hugo took her hand and shook it uncertainly, in the way he'd sometimes seen the ironheads do.

"Uh, nice to meet you," he said. He had no idea how wrong he was.

Diplomacy was all a bunch of silliness, Chris decided. A ridiculous dance of gestures and concessions carefully designed to protect men's fragile egos. Dealing with it all would have given Chris a headache, had she not already been nursing one.

Salome, however, had a knack for it. The knight had rightly pointed out that while each of the Grasslander clans was represented at the Amur Plains negotiations by their chief, the barbarians considered the Zexen council's absence both conspicuous and potentially insulting. The clan chiefs well knew who held the reins of power in Zexen, and were not about to show full honors to a mere emissary – even if that emissary were the captain of the knights.

No one wants to appear weak before their enemies, Chris thought.

In his infinite wisdom, Salome had shown great tact in arranging for a single representative of each political body to meet on neutral ground between the two camps. The choice of representative for the Zexen people was obvious. Unfortunately.

A grand pavilion had been set up for the purpose at the heart of the plains. It was a measure of the level of distrust between their peoples that men from both sides had gone over every inch of the pavilion beforehand, expecting some trap or trick. Now, however, the pavilion would be empty, except for two people.

Chris stepped into the pavilion. The space beneath the four great tent poles was cavernous, nearly as large as the chapel at Vinay. The tent was of Zexen construction, but the floor was covered in Karayan rugs woven in intricate patterns with many colors. A bed of cushions piled in the center, and seated atop one of them was the Grasslanders' chosen representative.

Lucia somehow managed to look a giant even in the huge space. The Karayan chieftain was a tall woman with stern, calculating eyes and short, golden blonde hair. She looked to be in her late thirties, and she had a warrior's build, every inch of her body well-toned muscle. She wore a skin-tight black garment that left only hands, feet, and shoulders bare, and over that, a colorfully patterned dress cinched at her waist by a wide, belt. Her wrists bristled with wood and bronze bangles, and a headband in the same pattern as her dress held back her silky hair from her face.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Chris took a seat on the pillows in front of Lucia. Try as she might, she could not find a position that felt as comfortable as the barbarian woman looked.

"Chief Lucia," she said, bowing her head respectfully. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting."

"So," the Karayan chieftain began, "You're the Silver Maiden of the Zexen knights? You're as beautiful as they say, though I must admit to some disappointment – you somehow fail to live up to your grand stature in the stories."

Chris fought to keep a smooth expression on her face. The other woman's opening salvo had taken her by surprise. "Not all stories are worth the telling, I assure you. There are many stories of you as well, Chief Lucia."

The woman grinned, and raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."

"Perhaps another time. I thank the Goddess for allowing us to meet here today as friends. It is my hope that friendship will continue to flourish among our peoples, as well."

As she spoke, Lucia regarded her with a look of frustration. "Yes, yes. The peace conference and all that. You speak of friendship, Silver Maiden, and yet you guard your tongue as if vipers were crawling over your lips. Where is the open-heartedness? Where is the boisterous good nature between friends?" The barbarian leaned forward on her elbow. "Tell me, Silver Maiden, what brings your blood to boil? What stirs your loins?"

Chris could not stop her mouth from gaping open in shock. This woman was not what she had expected. "My… loins? I must confess, Chief Lucia, I am taken aback by your forthrightness. This is not the way of my people." She took a deep breath. "But, there is some merit to your words. We should attempt to be friends. In the interests of peace, I will do my best to, ah, open my heart. If you will do me one favor."

Lucia lounged back and grinned. "A favor? How bold! What is it?"

"My name is Chris. Do not call me 'Silver Maiden' again. Or I shall be forced to call you some of the unflattering names by which I have heard you called in Zexen territory."

Lucia gave a hearty, belly-shaking laugh. "Ah, yes! You must tell me of these names!"

"Bring out that bottle of firewine you brought," Chris said, gesturing to the bottle half-hidden behind one of the tent poles. Given how thoroughly the pavilion had been searched beforehand, the chieftain must have brought it herself. "Pour me a glass, and I will tell you."

Sometime later, when the firewine had depleted somewhat and the mood had improved sufficiently, conversation turned to more intimate things.

"Some of your knights are strapping, I must admit," Lucia was saying, balancing a glass of the fiery orange drink in her hand. "Too stiff by far, though. I'd worry I'd break them."

Chris hid a flush behind her hand, coughing to sell the subterfuge. She found the firewine a wonderful aide in taking the edge off of the diplomatic proceedings, but this talk was rather too intimate for Chris. "Speaking of men," she deflected, "I met a Karayan on my way here. His name is Hugo. You must know him?"

Lucia's eyebrows shot up, and a strange glint came into her eyes. "Did you, now?"

"Yes." She hesitated, wondering how much of the story she should tell. Surprisingly, she found herself liking the barbarian, and she had to remind herself not to let her guard slip too far. These are still your enemies. The people responsible for Sir Galahad's and Sir Pelize's deaths. She still yearned to ask about the assassin in Brass Castle, and the raid on Tarnay, but she felt the timing was wrong. This was no place to bring up wild accusations, especially when there had not been a single Grasslander body recovered from among those slain at the village. Illusions, indeed, she thought, shivering. "I found him rather… interesting. A brave young man. And an expert climber." She downed the last of the firewine in her glass, and felt the warm liquid burn its way down her throat. Lucia leaned in to refill the glass.

"An expert climber, you say… Now why do those words worry me?"

Chris shook her head. "Yes, well… The boy is fine, of course. He was on his way to Vinay, last I saw of them. But I thought I might ask…" Lucia raised an eyebrow, and the look on her face was rather too intrigued for Chris's liking. "When you see him, would you pass a personal message to Hugo, from me?"

"I'm sure that could be arranged," Lucia said, smiling.

"Tell him I apologize for the way I spoke to him the last time we saw each other. He is a stubborn boy, but… I was mistaken about him."

Lucia chuckled. "Stubborn, you say? Now I am certain I know this boy you speak of."

Hugo was starting to regret ever approaching Lilly. The girl's attendants bowed and scraped at her every word, and for good reason. When even the smallest thing went against her, the girl would kick up such a fuss, Hugo had never seen anything like it. Every other word out of her was to boast of her own supposed achievements, and the other half was to coax flattering words out of those she spoke to. In short, Lilly Pendragon was the most self-important, spoiled brat Hugo had ever met.

But Lilly had something Hugo needed – an appointment with the council in two days' time. And Lilly was the kind of girl who would swallow without hesitation any explanation that appealed to her vanity. So when Hugo told her that he and his friends were local guides and would be honored to escort the famous scion of Tinto's House of Pendragon throughout Vinay, free of charge, Lilly was as delighted as she was flattered.

With some help from his friends, Hugo managed to keep the charade up as they explored the city together over the next two days. It didn't take much, really. Fortunately, Lilly was thoroughly unimpressed with everything she saw, and spent most of the two days telling stories about her own home, the Tinto Republic, and its dusty steppes and arid mountains.

He'd expected to have to work hard to sell his cover story – anyone with half a brain could see they weren't native Zexeners, after all – but Lilly wasn't the type of person to take an interest in people's lives. Not when those people weren't named Lilly Pendragon.

Hugo's patience had paid off, though. After two days of listening to Lilly's prattle, carrying her shopping, and suffering her frequent tongue lashings, Hugo had finally convinced the girl that she should bring him to her meeting with the council. After all, he'd argued, even though Lilly was a master diplomat and a person of supreme refinement, she did not fully understand the lives of the humble people of Zexen. A local guide could help smooth over whatever tiny mistakes she might make, and spare the councilors the embarrassment of looking stupid in her presence. Lilly had, of course, agreed.

Truthfully, Hugo had started to look forward to the council audience with a sort of morbid excitement. He'd no doubt the meeting between Lilly Pendragon and the council would end in scandal. He just had to see how.

As they approached the Council Hall, Lilly fixed Hugo with a disapproving look. "Now, Hugo, I know you're a simple boy without any training in the fine art of subtlety, but as a favor to me, do try to behave when we stand before the council."

Gritting his teeth, Hugo nodded. "Of course, Miss Pendragon. I'll just follow your lead."

Lilly wagged her finger as she walked. "I'm sure you know a great deal about the Zexen ways, but I am a born ambassador, trained in the diplomatic arts since before I could walk – no," she stopped, then proclaimed, "since before I could crawl! Samus, isn't that right?"

"Yes, ma'am, right you are, ma'am."

Lilly cleared her throat. "As I was saying, Hugo, I know what I am doing, so don't you dare interrupt me!"

"Of course, Miss Pendragon."

"Good luck, Hugo," Sergeant Joe said. He and Lulu would wait on the steps outside, as would Lilly's attendants, Samus and Reed.

Their appointed time reached, the group was let right in through the doors by the guardsmen when Lilly waved a document in their faces. Hugo worried the guardsmen would recognize him from the other day, but the men stationed at the door weren't the men he'd argued with. He heaved a sigh of relief.

The Council Hall's interior was a huge chamber – the largest Hugo had ever seen. He stood gawking at the decorations, the grand staircase, the carved balustrades of the mezzanine. Lilly had to snap him back, and for a moment, he did feel like a bumpkin, staring at everything as if he'd never been outside his mother's hut.

Lilly marched up the stairs to the council chamber, and pushed open the door. The poor man who'd been assigned to escort them to the room ran to keep up with her, and apologized profusely to the old men sitting around the table.

"Lady Lilly Pendragon, of the Tinto Republic," the man stammered, then withdrew and closed the doors behind Hugo and Lilly.

The building's grand hall had been lavish, the council chamber was something more than that. Crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling decorated end to end in colorful murals. Grand paintings mounted every surface around the room. The wall trim was covered with gold leaf. And the fifty-foot-long table looked like it had been carved from a single piece of wood and had been polished until it shone like gold.

A dozen chairs flanked the table, and upon these seats sat the men who made up the Zexen council. Assistants swarmed around them, carrying paper, moving bottles of ink, and rolling or unrolling scrolls. All eyes fell on Lilly as the girl sauntered into the room. Hugo clutched the scroll bearing his message beneath his cloak.

"Greetings, good sirs!" Lilly proclaimed. "I am Lilly Pendragon, daughter of President Gustav Pendragon of the Tinto Republic."

"Ah, yes," the man at the head of the table said. "We've been expecting you, Miss Pendragon. I am Head Councilor Rean. Please, have a seat." He gestured at the chair opposite him, and two servants hurried to shift the chair back for easier access.

"Very good," Lilly said, taking her seat as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

A servant put a piece of paper in front of Rean, and the head councilor studied it briefly before looking up at Lilly. "I understand you've come on behalf of the republic to speak about our mutual bandit problem?"

"Indeed!" Lilly exclaimed. "Let us cut right to the chase. We are concerned that the good people of Zexen are shirking their duties, that you are not doing enough to…"

Hugo could see from the looks on the councilors' faces where this was going. He decided to act before things descended into predictable madness. Clearing his throat, he stepped forward, and all eyes settled on him. "Before that…" he began.

Lilly looked at him as he'd sprouted horns. "Hugo! I thought I told you in no uncertain terms, not to interrupt—"

"Sorry, Miss Pendragon," he said, "But your nonsense can wait." Lilly's face went pale as a ghost, and she started shivering. Hugo judged he had about three seconds to make his case before the girl exploded. Fortunately, that was all the time he'd need.

"I'm Hugo, son of Chief Lucia of the Karaya. I come bearing a message of peace from the Karayan chieftain to the Council of Zexen."

Lilly gasped. "Hugo! Is this true? Are you—"

Rean recovered fast. The head councilor clasped his hands on the table and smiled, and Hugo had to admit it was a pretty convincing smile. "Ah, yes. We hadn't expected you quite so soon. We have been awaiting Chief Lucia's message."

"Well, here it is," Hugo said, walking around the table and passing the letter straight into Rean's hands. The head councilor stared at the rolled-up scroll as if he didn't know what to do with it. A dozen assistants stood around him looking lost – all of them had been prepared to receive the message.

On his way out, Hugo turned at the door and bowed to the council. "Spirits be with you," he said, and left the room. Behind him, he could hear a chair scraping across the floor, and Lilly shouting his name.

He kept walking.

The underground passage reeked of dead things. Sarah drew upon the magic of the Wind Rune in her pocket to fan the pungent stench from her face. She sighed, and turned to the man standing beside her.

"Are you prepared?"

Yuber grinned, and slid his twin blades against each other like a butcher sharpening his knives. "For this? Always."

Sarah looked down the passage, trying to imagine the twisted path it would take on its way to the Great Hollow of the Lizard Clan. She wondered why the Lizard Clan had been chosen as the targets of their ruse. The beastly lizards were known for their hot tempers and warrior spirit. She would have thought removing one of the more moderate voices from the council of chieftains would be a more efficient way to revive the conflict. But then, she was no tactician.

"Very well," she said. "I will conjure the illusions, then."

"No," the dark knight said, sneering. "Your puppets are useless. I'll summon something better."

"It would be unwise to make changes to the plan at this stage," she said. "Need I remind you that this was Master Albert's plan?"

But the dark knight was not listening. With a flourish of blades, he awakened his True Rune. Tendrils of shadow rose from his arm as the sigil of the Eightfold Rune appeared in the air before him. He began to chant, his words guttural, alien, and horrifying. Each dark syllable seemed to tear at the fabric of reality, and Sarah shuddered with each sound. A whisper rose somewhere between the real and the unreal, then turned to a howl. At Yuber's feet, shadow extended in a circle around him, and the very earth began to boil as if it were a night-black sludge in a cauldron.

Inhuman shapes broke the surface around Yuber, crawling out of the ground, like newborn creatures pawing their way out of the womb. Sarah's mouth went dry at the sight. She felt dizzy. Suddenly her mind went blank. When her sight returned, she was sitting down. A great fog hung over her mind, and her vision swam as she tried to rise. She heard a voice, but it was distant, and she could not quite remember whose voice it was or what the words meant. When she finally came to, Yuber was kneeling before her, showing sharp fangs in a wide grin.

"Isn't it precious, my Eightfold Rune?" the dark knight said. "It has been too long since I drank of its power." He chuckled. "You humans have such fragile psyches. The World of Emptiness grates on your minds. This world you call home – and everything in it – is so, so fragile… Remember that well, little girl." He offered to help her stand, but Sarah ignored the outstretched hand. She took a deep breath to steady herself before looking around the passage.

A dozen amorphous shadows stood nearby. Their insubstantial bodies writhed like black fire, and pieces of dark metal armor flowed across what would have been their skin. None of the creatures had eyes, nor any other recognizable features beyond long, slender legs and arms that ended in wicked claws. She looked away, careful not to stare at any one of them too long.

By the Perpetuator's mercy, what have we gotten ourselves into?

She swallowed. "I will weave an illusion for your 'pets', as well."

"Must we?" Yuber taunted. Sarah did not dignify that with an answer. She tapped her staff against the rough stone floor of the passage, awakening the Chimera Rune floating in the Rune Crystal that capped the staff. A pale white light rose, and grew into a sphere that expanded to encompass the passage. As it swept over the summoned shadows, their shapes altered and took on more solid forms. Sarah shaped clothes, armor, and weapons, until no trace of the shadows' natural appearance remained. To all who saw the shadows, they would look like Zexen soldiers.

Yuber seemed to shiver as the Chimera Rune's influence touched him. When the light faded, the dark knight too had changed. It was a good likeness, Sarah thought as she surveyed her work, though the sneer on the knight's lips had no place on a human face.

Chris Lightfellow – Yuber – regarded the knight's sword in her hands. "It's been a while since I fought with a single sword." He grinned. "This'll be fun."

The Great Hollow was at rest. With most of the clan's warriors attending their fellow clansmen at the so-called truce negotiation on Amur Plains, the vast cavern that had been home to the Lizard Clan for generations untold lay in silence. Only a handful of males remained to guard the brood-mothers, hatchlings, and elders.

Foremost of them was Bazba. The Lizard Clan warrior had volunteered to stay behind, for the honor of guarding Chief Zepon's chambers. The venerable chieftain would not take part in the negotiations, though tunnels leading from the Great Hollow to the Amur Plains were readily available, should any seek his counsel. Chief Zepon seldom ventured from his chambers, these days. It was a source of great pride for Bazba that he was one of few even within the Lizard Clan who had been granted the honor of seeing the chieftain's face. Most would never be so blessed.

Bazba did not grieve that he would miss the truce negotiations. He had no love of the ironheads, and whether there be war or peace meant little to him. The clans and the ironheads had been at war for generations. A few years of peace with a brittle truce that would eventually shatter was all well and good, unless it led to complacent warriors and dulled blades. But even so, the Lizard Clan would persist. The Great Hollow was impregnable, and the ironheads would never force them from their land.

With these thoughts in mind, Bazba patrolled the Great Hollow, glaive slung over his shoulder. A sudden commotion near one of the side tunnels reached his ear holes, and he shambled over to investigate. As he drew near, a blood curdling scream rang out, and he saw the body of one of his warriors collapse to the floor. A dozen tiny humans came rushing out of the tunnel, wielding swords and spears. They wore plate armor with orange tabards over them, and at the head was their leader – a female with silver hair.

"Kill them all!" the female called out. "For Zexen! For the council!" A horrifying laugh issued from the female's mouth as she charged into the Great Hollow, cutting down everyone that stood in her way, whether they fought back or not.

Blood boiling with rage, Bazba leveled his glaive, and charged to meet the intruders. "Ironheads!" he roared. "Filthy, cowardly ironheads! To arms! Defend the Great Hollow! Defend Chief Zepon!"

The silver-haired female strode to meet him, a wicked grin on her face. "I won't be satisfied until your kind is wiped from the earth!" The female raised her sword and set her feet to meet his charge. "Time to die, lizard!"

Bazba barreled down on the female and swung his glaive with enough force to snap an oak tree. The female stepped to the side and ducked beneath the swing with contemptuous ease. She raised her sword as if to strike, but then danced back, laughing.

Roaring with wordless rage, Bazba stomped towards her. "You! You're the Silver Maiden… of the ironhead knights! How dare you? You coward!"

"Oh, yes!" the Silver Maiden hissed. "Tonight, my fame grows! Once I've wiped you from the earth, I'll be a true hero!"

"Not if I skewer you first!" Bazba rumbled. All around him, the cavern rung with the sounds of clashing weapons and dying people. His people. "This ends now!" he roared, and charged the Silver Maiden. He had her cornered. All he had to do was swing his glaive from the side, like so, and trap her—

With unearthly speed, the knight swayed out of the way of the incoming weapon. She closed the distance between them with two quick steps. "Not bad, lizard. Time to die, though." When she swung her sword, the attack was impossibly quick. Steel tore through scales and bit into flesh. Bazba collapsed onto the floor of the Great Hollow.

The Silver Maiden kneeled down to look into his eyes. She tilted her head sideways. "Not good enough, lizard. But don't worry - I'm going to leave you alive. Someone needs to know what happened here today." The female smiled. "I'll be right back with a little present."

Bazba lay there, struggling to breathe. He had to fight, had to rise, had to do something… but he could do nothing. His body would not obey him. All he could do was to lie there, watching, as the Silver Maiden returned from Chief Zepon's chambers, carrying a decapitated head.

A sudden unmistakable sensation tugged at the traveler's consciousness, as a certain True Rune was awakened for the first time in years. The familiar sensation wakened the traveler from his listlessness, and he felt a new sense of vigor flow through his body. Not that he had ever flagged in his quest, or hesitated even for a second. Time meant nothing to the traveler, and he would never grow frustrated. Still, it was good to have the scent of his ancient foe once more.

It was only a matter of time before he grew careless. It is his nature.

The traveler had been sitting cross-legged on the ground, his great two-handed blade laid across his knees. He made no fire, and lit no lantern, and in the darkness, his blade glowed faintly crimson as red runes danced upon the night-black steel. Lifting the blade, the traveler stood, and faced the location of his ancient foe.

His armor made no creak or rustle, nor any sound at all, as he began his long walk towards the Grasslands.