The Veil Descends

With a sneer, the Dragonfang wrenched his spear free of the goblin corpse.

All around lay the ruins of a village in the very northern reaches of Highland Kingdom. It had been filled with peasant homesteaders, a focal point of trade for many nearby farms.

Now it was filled with corpses.

A massive goblin invasion had flooded south from a vast forest several miles north. The nasty little humanoids had come in the hundreds, a vanguard of worg riders rushing ahead. The main body of that force was still heading south, but Dorn didn't care. He had landed Araka here and destroyed the goblin raiders that had sidled off to attack this village.

He had come late, without the intention of saving anyone, and the last few dozen villagers watched him in silent horror as he cleaned his spearhead of black goblin blood.

He was encased in his black dragon armor from head to toe, only the grim line of his lips visible on his lower face. His dark eyes shone through the visor slits as he gave the peasants a contemptuous glance.

He had made it clear he was no friend of theirs and they huddled together away from him.

The village square was littered with bodies, human and goblin. The lancer's black cape fluttered in a cool northern wind as he turned, lifting his spear above his head. Its wicked steel blade glittered in the weak sunlight of an overcast morn, and an acknowledging roar suddenly answered in the distance.

With one last glance at the huddled peasants, Dorn suddenly readied and leapt high as a massive shadow passed overhead. With practiced ease, he came into the saddle of Araka as the black wyvern swooped low to retrieve him.

Afterward, they headed east toward the so-called Temple of Fiends. Dorn knew from previous reports that his foe would be there. Anger and a ready thirst for vengeance spurred him on...

IIIIIIIIII

Gantz cursed himself for an utter fool.

Here he was with three fool guards in his bloody undershorts and dark elf assassins were coming. He could almost smell them.

Well, not exactly smell them, but for some odd reason, his previous experience with these creatures made him alert of their presence. He wasn't really certain, but he could almost feel odd vibrations coming to him as stirrings in the musty air...

So he was getting warnings from the air itself now.

"What do you mean, boy? Dark elves? It cannot be. They are only legends," Captain Marcus muttered.

Gantz rolled his eyes. "So are Light Warriors. Trust me, these particular pointy-eared legends are real enough and more deadly than any human I've ever fought."

The man was incredulous. "You say you've fought them before? Preposterous."

Gantz sighed in irritation. Why was he wasting his breath? "Listen to me, you pompous git. We can use this narrow corridor to keep them coming at us only a few at a time, but that means we keep our backs together and stay tight, understand?"

"This is a poor jest if I'd ever heard one."

Gantz growled and turned. Marcus stood with his arms folded, his two subordinates at his flanks. The dungeon corridor was barely wide enough for the three men abreast and Gantz couldn't believe he was going to have to trust them to watch his back. If the dark elf assassins had any kind of numbers, it was the only way the four of them were going to get out alive.

The thief gave the gold-armored Guard-Captain a pointed look. "I'd believe me real quick if I were you. Stay together and watch my back. Do that, and I'll keep them off yours. I'm fast enough to keep this side of the corridor clear, but only if you three can handle anything that comes from your side."

Marcus just shook his head. "I'll humor you, boy, but this is ludicrous."

Gantz felt another stirring, another warning. "I'll remember you said that. Anyway, I need two knives, and I need them now."

"Knives, what good will that do?"

"I can't fight armed foes with my bloody bare hands. Give me some knives. Surely you guards have knives."

The captain just shook his head, but one of the younger men nodded. "I've got a brace of them. They are just tools really, for cutting fruit or idle carvings. They're not very sharp."

Gantz prompted the man to give them up. "Yeah, I know, you nobles and you're bloody swords. Don't worry, they'll do, just give me two."

The guard unsheathed them and handed them over. Gantz took them and inspected them with his appraising eye. Sure enough, they were far inferior to his own, but what choice was there? None, that was bloody what!

"Ready yourselves," Gantz said as he turned his back to the guards, his keen dark eyes searching the ill-lit corridor ahead. The strange stirrings came urgently now. He shifted himself into a low guarded position, the knives held in a reversed grip in each hand.

Waiting now, he cursed himself again. What had happened to his caution, his professionalism? Ever since he had left the docks district he had done nothing but thumb his nose at nobles, acting like a mint green footpad. It had started when he'd met that bloody uptight Valor.

Gantz shook his head. Yes, he liked rubbing nobles the wrong way, but he was also a professional. Now more than ever he needed that caution. Now more than ever, he needed to be alert.

Regardless, he wouldn't let this happen again. Getting caught naked without even his throwing daggers to fall back on. That was just pure stupid foolishness. He was a Master Thief, and he'd better get it together.

A strange stirring wind interrupted his thoughts and soon they came, wicked blades flashing...

IIIIIIIIII

Robin Magus laughed uproariously, as she replaced her mask and wide-brimmed hat. All her previous self-doubt vanished as she watched the living dead claw their way free of the earth.

With her rod gripped in one hand, she held out the other, muttering mystic incantations under her breath. Just above her outstretched palm coalesced a brilliant sphere of crackling incandescent flame. With a roar, she hurled it down into the midst of the wandering dead.

It exploded before a clutch of milling zombies, blowing them to pieces and burning what was left.

She turned, able to look upon the graves below from her perch upon the mausoleum. It gave her a clear view over much of the graveyard. It was a massive place, filled with row upon row of stirring graves and the now milling dead in incredible numbers.

They were such pitiful things, groaning with the insatiable need that drove their un-lives. From so many, it was a veritable dirge.

It sickened the black mage to no end and she turned to destroy them where they shambled below, none of them able to come to grips with her before she sent them into a fiery oblivion.

Then suddenly something struck her from behind. She flew off the mausoleum and landed upon a soft mound of freshly churned earth, surrounded by a pungent mixture of decay and char.

Having just missed a fractured gravestone, Robin managed her feet, lucky to have landed on soft earth. Her blazing eyes widened, however, when she looked up upon the mausoleum and saw something perched there.

It was a dark mottled gray-skinned creature, distended and emaciated. It stared at her intently with feverish yellow eyes set in an unholy skull-face, a long grayish tongue writhing from its mouth.

Before Robin could even summon another ball of flame, the creature was gone.

The black mage immediately took hold of her fear and quashed it as she saw a shambling group of zombies coming up to her, dead arms reaching for the warmth of her flesh.

She turned and stretched forth a hand, summoning a searing cone of flame that consumed them all utterly.

Still, Robin did not relax. These lesser undead could surround her now that she had lost her advantage. She didn't know where that other creature had gone, but she had the distinct feeling it was toying with her. It had come upon her utterly silent and could have killed her. Instead, it had knocked her down here to let the lesser undead have her. She knew instinctively that she had not seen the last of it.

Robin moved, backtracking her way through the graves. Clutches of zombies and skeletons pursued her and she blew them apart as they approached. They were no match for her magical flame, but she could not cast forever and they outnumbered her greatly.

She had to form a plan... so she moved.

IIIIIIIIII

Valor was starting to worry now.

It had been nearly two hours and the noble guests were stirring anxiously. The king had not come to the Great Hall in all this time.

Something was most certainly wrong.

Valor stood before one of the banquet tables, his wine glass empty again. Erin stood to his side chatting with the Lord and Lady Hanin, nobles of a middling House sworn to her own.

Suddenly, Valor's wife-to-be touched his arm. "My Lord, are you well?"

The Chosen of Earth shook his head. "This is far beyond fashionably late, Erin. There is something wrong, I can feel it."

Erin nodded. "Yes, it is quite odd for the king to be so late to his own banquet."

Valor knit his brow. "Indeed."

Suddenly, a herald at the end of the Great Hall near the open double doors called out. "The Lady Duchess Aria of Loftlan and her honored guest, the High Priest Dalton of the Order of the White Staff."

"Finally," Valor breathed. "Please, Erin, Lord and Lady Hanin, if you would excuse me."

They nodded - Erin reluctantly - and Valor moved. He went across the mosaic floor, his mother in an elaborate white dress slashed in silver, her argent hair done up in a silver net studded with sapphires. Dalton stood to her side, the short old Headmaster dressed in his plain white robes. He'd never wore anything different as far as Valor had seen, stroking his beard pensively while gripping his ashen staff.

Valor let out a relieved sigh at seeing them. "Finally, you two have arrived."

His mother gave him an oddly sad smile. "Yes, it is time, my son, time for it to begin in earnest."

Valor frowned. "Of what do you speak, mother?"

Old Dalton stroked his beard anxiously. "The Veil descends –"

Suddenly there was a flush of nervous cries from the far end of the Great Hall near the other double doors. One of them was opened now and dark figures moved in with a strange fluid grace. They stood enfolded in black from head to toe, even their faces covered over by coifs of black cloth. All of them were oddly lean and menacing just standing there. For some reason, they reminded Valor of the fool urchin, Gantz.

There were a dozen of them, and they formed a semi-circle, parting only to let a single man through.

He strode in between them, and the Valor's eyes widened. It was the Lord Sumpter Baigan. He came in wearing an odd uniform of black with crimson embroidery up the sleeves. He stopped and gave a curt signal. As one, each of the shrouded figures with him unsheathed wicked scimitars.

Many nobles in the hall gasped or cried in alarm.

Valor noticed that Baigan himself carried a crossbow held down at his side. It was of lighter compact model, already loaded with a deadly quarrel. Baigan gazed around the room with an oddly smug smile. "Ah, it seems I've interrupted something. Another fool gathering of ingrates ready to fawn over the feeble king of a dying country."

Valor's jaw immediately clenched in outrage, but his mother gripped his arm to stop him. He looked back and caught the urgency in her eyes and her quick head shake. Strangely, she gave him another sad smile. "You must not act now, my son. Things must happen a certain way. Do not worry, you will be able to take action soon enough. First, however, watch your fiancé."

The boy shook his head. "Erin? Whatever for, mother?"

"Watch, my son, and learn."

IIIIIIIIII

Sana-Lynn knew now why True had brought her white staff. He stood beside her, both of them next to the mural near the west wall of the Great Hall. She looked up at him, and his violet eyes were calm. He affected an air of skillful nonchalance, but Sana could see that one of his white-gloved hands gripped the hilt of his rapier as if he meant to draw it anytime.

The entrance of the black-clad figures and a blond burly nobleman in a black outfit had interrupted the gathering decisively and it seemed all eyes were on the intruders.

Not taking his gaze from the man, True leaned down to whisper. "That is the Count Baigan, and, as I suspected, he had something planned for this night. Do not worry, we were not wholly unprepared for this."

She gave him a grin. "There is no need to reassure me, True. I am the Light Warrior here, remember?"

He chuckled in spite of himself and looked down. "You are truly a vision of strength, Sana-Lynn, but this night will not end with a Waltz, I fear."

Sana gave a grim nod and hardened the grip on her staff. The ashen length of wood felt good in her hands, as always. It was no quarterstaff, but a tall crooked length of smooth ash, the symbol of her order. Yes, it could be used as a sort of cudgel if it came to it, but mainly it was a focus for the sacred power that Sana now had humming within her being...

The subtle might of the Holy.

As she watched the dark figures with their blades bared, scanning all in the room, Sana suddenly gulped. She had never been in a real battle before. She had trained and trained for years, working with the power of the sacred Holy and gaining its blessings, but she had never been in a real fight.

Again without looking down, True spoke. "Do you now of the spell called Dia?"

Sana-Lynn gave a nervous twitch, but nodded quickly. "Yes, it summons a burst of holy light. It is especially effective against undead and other beings of darkness." She hesitated. "Those dark-clad creatures are not undead, however. The Holy would allow me to sense such a thing."

True nodded, before idly adjusting his feathered red hat with his free hand. He looked down, as if to cover what he was saying. "Yes, they are not undead, but they are creatures of darkness. Dia will not destroy them, but it will hinder them. When the fight begins, you must use it."

She looked up at him. "Do you know what they are, True?"

"Yes, and I would rather they were undead."

IIIIIIIIII

Valor stood still at his mother's side and at her behest, but his whole body was tense. The feeling of wrongness would not leave him. It seemed to permeate the room thick as any miasma. It should have been visible. He could almost smell its evil tainting everything in the Hall.

Yet he stood and watched as Baigan strutted purposefully up toward Erin Arlington. Every instinct in Valor's being screamed that he should rush to her side; that he should protect her. He was straining against himself not to do exactly that.

His mother put a hand gently on his shoulder. "She was never what she seemed, Valor. I tell you this now because the end is close. Before this time, it had to be my secret from everyone. Even you, my son."

The boy gaped at her, still not understanding. She only smiled sadly at him again.

Baigan brandished the crossbow as he came to tower over Erin. The noble Hanins to her flank shrank back, but the girl stood her ground, if only reluctantly. She was quite shocked; it was plain to see from here.

Baigan gave her a mocking bow. "Ah, my Lady, as you can see, I am here to fulfill my part of our bargain."

Erin recovered quickly and lifted her chin. "I have no idea of what you speak, Lord Baigan."

He grinned rather malevolently, showing his teeth. He spoke loudly enough that no one in the Hall could miss his words. "Of course you don't. Nonetheless, my time of pandering to you is at an end. My master gave me a new gift very recently. I am eager to show it to all the fools of this hall... yet, I am a man of my word. I promised you a death for your favor, and a death you shall have."

This set off murmuring amongst the nobles. Erin looked around incredulously, her control tenuous. Valor could not believe what he was hearing.

Baigan reared back his head and laughed raucously. "Where is your father, Erin, the Lord Oster Arlington? Has he attended this peacock's parade of fools tonight? I surely hope so, for I have a gift for him."

Yes, the older man was there, wearing only the simplest of finery. Friends looked to try and protest his going, but Oster did not allow it, striding up to the Lord Baigan with an angry tilt to his jaw. "You callow cur, what in the Realm and Wrath are you doing here, spouting such treacherous nonsense!"

Baigan laughed again. "Oh you poor old fool. You have no idea then, that your daughter is false. Yes, she is lovely and undoubtedly has played the faithful child to you and your idealistic wife. Unfortunately, this side of her is but a mask she uses to hide the viper beneath."

Oster growled, reaching for the longsword at his side, but before it even rasped free, Baigan lowered the crossbow and – without hardly aiming - fired. The quarrel left with a twang, striking the old knight in the right shoulder, hitting with such force that it spun the man around before dumping him to his back.

Everyone gasped, including Valor, and his mother restrained him no more. Valor rushed up and knelt before the old knight, his father's friend. Oster gritted his teeth, and looked up to meet the boy's gaze. The quarrel was securely lodged in his shoulder, staining the old knight's dress uniform in blood.

Dalton reached the man's side in a shuffle of white robes and took in the whole wound in a second. The old scholar nodded decisively before bringing up his staff. Baigan interrupted his casting preparations, however...

"Careful, old mage. Heal Oster, and I swear to all the Dark Gods of the Abyss that I will slay his daughter with my bare hands here and now."

Dalton looked up, his bushy brows knit. "That you should swear to demons shows how blackly stained your soul has become, wicked one."

Baigan only barked a laugh. "The blackest soul will pale compared to what I have become. In fact, I am tired of playing these games." He dropped the crossbow and it clattered to the floor. With that very hand, he turned and slapped Erin hard across the face, causing gasps throughout the room.

The girl fell to the floor and Valor found a bestial roar escaping him. Without thought, he took off running, his right fist clenched down by his side. Baigan barely saw him coming, just turning his head as Valor's fist struck him with full force. With the Earth Crystal's blessing, Valor's strength was much more than he knew, and there was an audible crack as Baigan's jaw shattered and the man himself flew across the room to slam into the side of one of the murals.

The whole Hall breathed audibly again, as the Count Sumpter Baigan hit with thundering force, cracking the mural in several places. He collapsed unmoving.

Valor then turned, awaiting the dark-clad figures to come to their master's aid. Strangely, however, they did not move, just standing with blades bared.

Then the boy looked back, still reeling at his own strength, yet utterly stunned to see Baigan standing from the floor. He did so with difficulty, a hand coming up to keep his jaw together enough for him to form words. "A... very good blow, boy. You would have made a fine son, had your mother not been so persistently stubborn in rebuffing my advances."

Valor shook his head. "She saw the fool in you long before this blatant display!"

Baigan stood, and suddenly his jaw was whole. He worked it a few times before taking several seconds to ostentatiously brush off the dust from his uniform. Murmuring started throughout the room. No one could have taken such a blow and lived. Valor himself still had trouble believing he had struck Baigan so incredibly hard, yet the man seemed little phased now.

"A fool you say? Yes, indeed, young Valor, I have been such a thing. No more, however ...no more..."

And then he began to change...