'Freedom or the Fire' Chapter Eight- Ruin and Recollection

Byron and Shoryu had been riding hard for several days, and now the wind whipped at them like a gale force.  Somehow, they had lost ever more ground on Vandross and his forces, likely a result of the magic users in his forces being able to increase their speed exponentially.  As the sun began to creep up above the horizon on yet another new day, they arrived at the top of a steep hill.  At the bottom, smoldering and blasted, sat Fort Flag.  The stench of burnt flesh and blood wafted up the hill at them, taunting them, mocking them for their failure to arrive in time to aid the Fort and its men.  Hanging his head in private shame, Byron led Shoryu and Alex down to the ruins of Fort Flag.  But they did not even get to the Fort when they came upon a tattered body they recognized.

            The reptile General who had challenged Byron in Narfan lay prostrate, facedown in the grass.  Stab wounds covered his back and sides, and Byron dismounted, knelt beside him, and rolled him over.  Bael's eyes were closed, and his entire front had been scored by claws and blackened by magic.  Byron shook his head slowly.  Paladins hadn't done this, he knew.  "What happened to him," Shoryu asked softly.

            "From the looks of it, Vandross didn't have any use for him anymore.  Poor fellow," Byron said, inspecting the wounds.  "Doesn't look like he had much of a cha-" but he was interrupted when Bael's hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm.  The reptilian eyes cracked open wide, his breath harsh and rasping.

            "Po, tion," he rasped as blood spilled over his lower lip.  "Back, pack," he said, pointing at his torn bag.  Shoryu rummaged through it, his hand closing on the green vial of healing fluid.  For a long moment, he thought about crushing it in his claw, denying the Lizardman the mercy his caretaker had deserved.  But no, he thought, this man didn’t kill him.  The one-eyed one, he was to blame for that death.  Shoryu pulled out the potion, and sped over to the Dread Knight with it in hand.  Byron poured the viscous liquid down Bael's throat, and green light emanated from his wounds, sealing them over and healing them.  But Bael was still very weak, and Byron had to help him into a sitting position.  "Thank you," Bael finally said after a minute.  "It's funny," he said morosely.  "First I threaten you both, and then you turn out to be my saviors."  He looked imploringly up at Shoryu, his lips moving but his heart not finding the words.  "I am, sorry, young one, for your losses.  I do not deserve your mercy."  Bael lowered his head.  "I have done many despicable things under the command of Richard Vandross, and should pay for my deeds.  You should have let me die."  For a long moment, there was silence, only broken by early morning birdsong.  Though he felt awkward, Shoryu put a gentle hand on Bael's shoulder as he stooped. 

            "Everyone deserves mercy, um,-"

            "Bael."

            "Everyone deserves mercy, Bael," Shoryu said with a pat.  "I'm a Cuyotai!  I can forgive you if you can forgive yourself, Bael!"  The Lizardman was speechless.  For so many years he had hated the Cuyotai out of instinct, out of upbringing.  He had been raised by his father to hate their entire Race.  Yet here was a young Cuyotai, barely an adult, and he had known the boy for all of five minutes and liked him.  Perhaps he had been raised with the wrong ideals.

            "What happened here, Bael," Byron asked, motioning Shoryu to take a seat.  "What happened to you?"  Bael took a swig from his canteen, wiping his scaled and parched lips with his forearm. 

            "Well, where to begin?"

            His axe had cleaved easily through the outer defenders' armor, hacking and chopping them into bleeding piles of meat.  The metallic scent and taste of blood filled the air and his nostrils until Bael felt he would surely vomit from it.  Bael had slain many an enemy before, but never a Paladin.  And something about it felt very wrong indeed.  But he hadn't had much time to think about it, as he barely rolled out of the way of lord Vandross's spell, which had torn apart the north wall.  A breach had been made in enemy defenses, and his militaristic nature and training took over.  He pointed to the opening with his weapon and led his men inside.

            But he had noticed that Vandross had not joined them.  He briefly checked on his leader, and then stormed back into the courtyard.  The number of defenders inside the walls was stupefying.  How could so many men live in such a small base?  His forces were easily outnumbered three to one, but the Shadowbeasts tore through the Paladins and Knights with ease.  Bael himself moved easily through the ranks of defenders, until he felt a small weapon stab through his armor in his back.  But it had not stopped with one stab.  In the chaos of battle, he turned with his weapon in hand, but stopped short.  Vilec Roak stood before him, a bloody dagger in hand and a grin plastered across his black face.  "There are going to be some changes around here, lizard," he had hissed.

            Bael had been teleported by Roak's magic outside of the battle, out of the fort altogether, where three more demons waited for him.  Shocked from displacement, they had been able to tear into him quickly, but he had regained his senses long enough to fight back and destroy two of them.  Roak reappeared, using the same magic to move himself to that point as he had Bael, and blasted him squarely in the chest with a ball of black force.  Bael lay on the ground, quivering and bleeding to death.  Vilec Roak and the other Shadowbeast had returned to the fort to report to Vandross that the job was done.  Bael had watched them go with hatred in his heart, for both Vilec Roak and himself.  How had he not seen this coming?  He should have known that Vandross would eventually do this to him, especially after their quarrel over their goals.  But darkness had encroached upon his vision, pulling down over his sight like a curtain over a stage.  The smell of his own blood and wicked magic curled into his nose, and the soft grass under him seemed to sing to him a soothing lullaby. 

            He could not remember his dreams in the hours that followed, except that they had been filled with delirium.  Still, sleep was peaceful, and didn't expect anything from him.

            "And that was when I felt a great wave of negative energy coming from the fort.  Surely lord, I mean, surely Richard Vandross has taken the third Orb of Eden’s Serpent."  Bael tore through the stew that Shoryu had prepared for the trio, his body longing for more sustenance.  He hadn't eaten such a good meal in a long time, being a military man.  Bael usually had to settle for cold, dried meat and hard bread.  To him, Shoryu's 'simple meal' was fit for a king.  "Is there any of that stuff left," he asked, looking at the pot.

            "Well, sure, there's a little, but it's the stuff at the bottom of the pot and-" but Shoryu stepped back as Bael tipped the pot back, draining the last contents directly into his mouth and stomach.  He set the pot down, and Byron and Shoryu exchanged a glance.  Byron shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to get between the former General and a hot bit of food.  Shoryu took the pot off a short way and began washing it with some of his canteen water.  "Thank you for the food, Shoryu," Bael called back, and Shoryu smiled and waved at him.  It had been a long time since Bael had seen an honest and innocent smile, and didn't know what to make of it.  "Is he always so cheerful," Bael asked Byron quietly.

            "Most times," Byron replied, looking over at the young Hunter.  "He never even took the Rite of Adulthood in his village, so I'm guessing he's still very young.  The Cuyotai live a very long time you know.  Physically, he may be forty or fifty years old, maybe more.  But according to their lifespan, he's just a teenager."  Byron took a swig of Bael's whiskey, feeling the warm glow of it in his stomach.  Bael shuddered.  Teenagers, gugh.  "What are you going to do now, Bael?"  The Lizardman hadn't given this much thought since Byron and his odd friends had shown up.  He couldn't very well go and exact revenge on Vilec Roak.  They all thought he was dead.  But then his anger flared once again, and his thirst for revenge seemed suddenly unquenchable. 

            Shoryu came rushing over to the two men, his face flushed and his eyes filled with fear.  "Byron, there's a large pack of Lizardmen coming this way!"  Bael and Byron both got to their feet, weapons in hand.  One of the reptile warriors, a scout from the looks of him, looked up from the ground and stood shocked, staring at Bael.  He shrieked something in his native tongue, and the entire group of Lizardmen came charging towards Byron's company.  But they did not raise weapons, and were cheering and smiling from the looks of it.  Byron sheathed his weapon, but kept his magic at the ready, and Bael put his axe back on his hip. 

            "Garag nishiiii, Bael," they roared in unison as the scout leaped upon the former General, embracing him like a father.  Bael, awkward and unaccustomed to such displays, patted the boy's back slightly.  Then he realized it was the boy Vandross had told him to protect in the Cuyotai village.  Both Bael and Byron looked over at Shoryu as the young Hunter growled and aimed his bow right at the foremost reptile.  The pack backed away a short distance, but Byron lowered Shoryu's bow.

            "Put your weapon away, Shoryu," Byron pleaded, seeing the look of confusion and loss in the young Cuyotai's eyes.

            "Why," Shoryu spat, not taking his eyes off of the pack or his hands off of his weapon.  "These bastards took my life from me!  They burned and killed my home and people!  Why should I grant them mercy?!"

            "Because you have granted Bael mercy.  Like him, these men followed ord-"

            "NO," Shoryu screamed in Byron's face.  "I have seen them before!  Many of them!  They attacked us constantly, made war against us for generations!  These are no strangers to me!  They are enemies!"  But his rant lasted only as long as he could dam up the tears in his eyes, and he dropped to the ground and wept openly.  With the sound of Lizardman speech behind him, Byron stooped to the ground, and in a moment of unsurety, wrapped his arms around the youth.  Shoryu responded immediately, nearly crushing Byron's armor with the force of his embrace.  But somewhere inside of Byron, some restraint snapped, and he stroked Shoryu's head like a father would his child.  He was feeling something he hadn't felt in the longest time; affection.  Had this been the gift spoken of in his dreams?  Had he regained some of his Human nature?  He didn't know, or didn't care, for a moment later Shoryu pulled away, much to his spine's relief.  "I'm sorry," he said, trying to smile.  Shoryu stood and put his bow away.  "I apologize to you all."

            "You needn't apologize to usssss," hissed one of the larger reptiles.  "We truly have been unfair and unkind to your kindred.  We can perhapssss make ressstitution now.  Our leader sssays he wishes to aid you however he can.  Though he issss no longer a military leader, he issss ssssstill our leader."  A unified cheer went up from the pack, and Bael beamed with pride. 

            "How shall we assist you, Byron of Sidius," he asked as he turned to Byron, whose jaw had somehow slid up on one side, giving him a grinning appearance. 

            "First off, Bael, it's just Byron.  I no longer belong to the Sidius clan.  Secondly, tell me what you can about Richard Vandross.  And I want to know everything, down to what he wears when he sleeps."  Bael raised a scaled eyebrow at Byron, who still grinned.

            "You're quite serious, aren't you?"  Byron nodded and sat down once more.  Bael asked him first for the use of a horse, so one of his men could check the situation in Desanadron.  Byron let the young scout who had embraced Bael take his own steed, and the scout took off at a high speed gallop.  "Well, first off, he sucks at chess.  Man can't think more than three moves ahead."

            "Played him a lot, did you," asked Byron.

            "Yes, almost every night.  He and I were friends in the beginning.  But after Koreindar, when he took the first Orb, he changed.  He became distant, distracted.  He was focused on having the other Orbs, and did nothing but talk and think about the power he would wield with them.  I know much about him, so you may want to prompt me with some questions, Byron."  The undead warrior thought long and hard as Shoryu talked at length to the reptile warriors behind the two men, showing them how to better aim their arrows.  "Doesn't miss a beat, does he?"

            "No, no he doesn't.  He didn't have many friends in his village, I think.  Sure, he cared about them all," Byron said, looking at Shoryu.  "But I don't think anyone got too close to him.  Maybe his father and a few of the Seniors as he called them.  But beyond that, I think he's going to look for every opportunity he can get to be sociable.  Amazing considering he was ready to kill them all a few minutes ago.  But such is the way of most Cuyotai.  They're fickle folk."  He turned his attention back to Bael, who was taking a swig of his whiskey.  "Not too much of that, Bael.  I want you to remember what you can."  Both men looked at each other a moment and laughed hoarsely.  "Why did he send troops to Desanadron?"

            "To lure a group of Paladins from the fort," Bael said, lowering his eyes to the ground.  "It was my idea, actually.  I just got into the role of General and lost my reason.  I think in strategic terms all the time now, and it's hard to get out of the soldier mode, you know?"  Byron nodded, knowing full well what that was like.  "Well, Vandross also decided to take a foothold here in the west before he heads back east to his new home.  Mount Toane."  Byron trembled inwardly at the name of that cursed place.  The place he had lost his humanity, his pride, his very body, and nearly his soul. 

            "Why does he seek to make Mount Toane his seat of power?  Why not someplace nearer to the center of Tamalaria?"

            "Because, there is deep and dark magic at play in that mountain and its catacombs," Bael said, not looking at Byron.  "I know you have been there.  Vandross spoke often of your former being after you trounced him outside of Koreindar.  He ranted for days afterward about his revenge.  I told him that you would slaughter him if you truly had returned to your Paladin self, but he said it didn't matter.  He said that you could only annoy him, that you could never kill him."  Bael seemed to be edging away from Byron, as if he knew something that he didn't want Byron to know, for fear of the Dread Knight's reaction.

            "And why would he say such a thing," Byron asked, too curious for his own good.

            "Because, Byron," Bael said, staring into those pinpoints of light.  "He helped create what you are today.  He was the apprentice of Tanarak of Sidius."

            It had reached noon when the scout returned from Desanadron, and Byron's horse nearly fell dead on its side.  Shoryu tended to it while the scout reported the condition of the great city to a still-stunned Byron.  Apparently, the army and the unit from Fort Flag had managed to contain the fighting and turn what should have been a blitzkrieg into a long siege.  Walls of magic fire and ice had been put up by denizens of the city, and Vandross's army had been forced to camp outside of the city and wait until they could mount an effective assault.  Only a few score broke through the defenses now and then, but the scout had been clever, and had found a way into the city.

            The city itself had been badly torn apart in sections, but after the first wave of attacks, the city had summoned its defenses.  It was slowly losing ground in the overall campaign, but it would hold for a few days more.  A few guards had accosted the scout himself, but he had informed them that a group of deserters from Vandross's army lay in wait near Fort Flag, ready to give aid to the city.  The city's temporary leader, a woman by the name of Selena Bradford, had told him to return immediately with this group to aid the city.  A squat Paladin had been with her, a man by the name of James Hayes.  Byron thought this name was also familiar, but in the same way that Vandross's name had been.  It was a name from another life, his Human life.  Many of those memories were lost on him, but day by day he recovered more of them.  Byron thanked the scout and headed over to Bael, relaying the information.

            "Well, that's simple then.  We march for Desanadron!"  Byron shook his head at Bael.  "And why not?"

            "Because, Bael, you have only twenty or thirty men here.  And while you are healed by the potion, your strength is still not recovered.  Take your men and go to the city of Whitewood, the Elven Kingdom capital.  Tell them what you know and convince them that you want to help.  Shoryu, Alex and I will meet you there in about a week.  If you cannot convince them, find others of your brethren and camp with them."

            "That is convenient," said Bael with a smile.  "My home village is in the Elven Kingdom.  Perhaps a side trip to see my father is in order."  Byron grinned at him, grasping his hand firmly and shaking it.  "We shall be off then, sire."  Bael saluted Byron, who returned the motion as Bael barked orders at his men to form ranks.  Once a soldier, he thought, always a soldier.  Bael and his company marched in step south, continuing until they were out of sight. 

            "What now," squeaked Alex, who had surprisingly little to say throughout the day's events.

            "You ask that an awful lot," said Shoryu as he packed up his rucksack and slung it on his back.

            "Hey, I'm just looking for a little direction in my life, that's all," said Alex as he doused the Cuyotai with a bucket of water.

            "Now we join the fight in Desanadron, my friends."  Alex rolled his eyes as he sat on Byron's shoulder.

            "I was afraid you'd say that."

            A shimmering wall of fluid light flickered back and forth in the evening light, preventing Byron and Shoryu from gaining entrance to the city of Desanadron.  Of course, the scout had never told him exactly how he had gained entry into the smoldering city streets; he had merely told them that he had been 'clever'.  Byron dismounted from his steed and gave it a firm slap on the hindquarters.  It had driven itself nearly to execution twice on his behalf, and as it whinnied and galloped gratefully away, he waved to the equine sprinter in thanks of all his service.

            So he led Shoryu and his horse, along with Alex, who kept a safe distance back and above the group, south around the perimeter of the barrier.  For hundreds of yards he slowly stepped over rubble and blasted earth, trying to discern with his eyes a visible sign of some weakness in the defense.  But thus far, he could find none.  And he had nearly gone clear to the southern side of the city.  Shifting direction, he turned back north, towards Vandross's force.  Though they were about three miles away, there were still hundreds, nearly a thousand of the creatures, spanning the range from Human to Shadowbeast.  Scores of campfires were being lit to prepare meals of a sort and warmth for those of Vandross's followers who required such comfort.  They had become thoroughly entrenched, and could wait out the inhabitants of the city.  They could afford another week or more of sending their own men into the temporary openings in the walls of magic, letting Desanadron use up its supplies and its defenders weaken, both physically and mentally.  They could make one final push to defeat the city's army and Hayes' unit in one fell swoop.

            Unless Byron figured out a way to get inside and assist the city with Shoryu and Alex.  He still couldn't find a way in, and they would be in danger of being seen by Vandross's troops if they went any further around the barrier.  Vexed at his situation, Byron sat on the ground and contemplated his options.  The stifling smell of magic wafted into his face as he leaned back against the barrier, arms crossed in front of his chest.  He began to tap his skull with a finger, when he fell backward through a sudden opening in the barrier.  He stared up at Shoryu and Alex, his mouth agape.  "I, uh, knew I'd think of something," he sputtered, embarrassed that he had been taken off guard.  Shoryu and Alex looked at each other, and then behind them.  "What?"

            "I don't think it's coincidence, sire, you falling through the wall," Alex reported tight-lipped.  "The defenders of Desanadron are weakened right now from strain and concentration, and there's a rather large number of people with pointy and sharp objects running this way, and I just thought we might-" But Byron had cut Alex off by grabbing the Ki Fairy in one huge fist and sprinting through the streets into the city of Desanadron.  Shoryu followed immediately behind, his horse galloping past Byron in panic.  Armed guards came charging out of alleys with weapons raised, screaming war-cries and advancing on the trio.  Byron tucked his arms into his sides and barreled through them with the force of a battering ram, splitting their wedge and forcing them aside.  But he never once used his magic or his weapon.  Together, he and Shoryu dodged and parried as many of the attacks as they could, watching as the crushing weight of at least a hundred of Vandross's creatures stormed the city. 

            "Put up the wall and hold your weapons," cried a loud, commanding woman's voice above the din of metal weapons.  The soldiers looked puzzled, and mages appeared on the tops of nearby buildings, closing the barrier and trapping half of the charging creatures inside the dome that currently served as Desanadron's doorway to battle.  A regal, beautiful woman with long, auburn hair and a flowing red dress approached the trio.  She was Human, and Byron could smell soot and smoke from her.  So this was the Pyromancer, he thought.  Behind her limped a beaten and bloodied Human Paladin.  Upon seeing his face, though sore and battered, Byron remembered him.  James Hayes.  "You are the strange ones who the reptile said would come to aid us.  Where are the others," she asked, her tone commanding and firm.  Byron turned his gaze on her, but she did not flinch.  Attractive and brave, he thought.  Good qualities to have in a woman.

            "I have sent them ahead to Whitewood, capital of the Elven Kingdom in the south, m'lady," Byron rumbled, smoke pluming out of his throat.  His eyes glowed wide, and he tried to cough casually to one side, to make certain he didn't blow it in this woman's face.  She was on to him, however, and she laughed lightly, musically.  Byron tried to smile, but his skull wouldn't cooperate.  "You are a funny man, creature.  What is your name?"  But before he could answer for himself, James Hayes stepped forward. 

            "He is Byron of Sidius, formerly Byron Aixler," said Hayes in a subdued tone.  The Paladin's eyes appeared hollowed out, devoid of hope or a soul.  "But he has not come to kill us.  He is here to do something, but our deaths are not on his agenda.  Tell me, Byron, what news have you of Fort Flag?"  Byron lowered his eyes to the ground, trying to figure out how to break the news that all of his kinsmen, Paladins of Oun, had been slaughtered. 

            "There are no survivors.  The fort was attacked after your unit departed for this city.  It has all been a trap laid by Richard Vandross to attain the Orb of Eden’s Serpent from your Order."  Hayes simply nodded and stared into the Dread Knight's chest, as if looking through him, not at him.

            "It does not matter.  We are all forsaken."  Byron stood in stunned silence as Hayes turned away from him and the others, limping as well as he could away.  Hayes struggled in his heart with the enormity of what had happened to him, Byron knew.  But a member of the Order of Oun never spoke in such a way.  Scowl upon his bony face, Byron spun Hayes around by the shoulders, gripped him, and shook him hard.  Over Hayes’s shoulder, Byron watched as the men and women who had trained weapons on him and Shoryu dispatched the last of the fresh batch of intruders.  Six of those Desanadron warriors lay dead on the street in the aftermath.

            "A true member of the Order would never say such a thing!  Never!  I know!"  He shook Hayes once more, but the Human Paladin struck him hard in the side of the face, knocking him to the ground.

            "How can you say how a Paladin should speak?  Did not Oun and our Order forsake you?  Look at you, Byron of Sidius!  Look at what has been made of you by Tanarak!  Do you not think that Oun has forsaken you?!"  Byron's temper flared, and his eyes glowed crimson for a moment.  Dark thoughts and impulses ran through his mind and his heart, his mind’s eye already shaping a vision of violence as he got to his feet.  His left hand itched to release arcane power into the injured Hayes’s face, a point-blank burst of power that would leave a spouting funnel of blood from his neck, where his head should be.  Yet, he resisted these images.  He had once felt as Hayes did now, he understood the Paladin's mindset.  He'd traveled that long, black road alone for a very long time. 

            "I did, once.  But my soul was sealed away in this body.  I had no choice in the acts I committed.  But I'll tell you this, Paladin.  Oun only forsakes those who forsake him.  A man is measured by his whole life and choices of free will.  Not one portion of it.  And you chose to come here, away from the fort, to do his will, and defend those who needed protection from evil.  You cannot be forsaken yet."  Hayes seemed to think this over a minute, and his legs gave out under him.  He still stared into space, but his eyes had a more focused look again.  He was coming back around.  "Now, proud Hayes, Paladin of the Order of Oun," Byron said, extending one armored hand to Hayes, helping him back to his feet.  "Let us get somewhere inside, and tell me what has transpired here."  The assembled group shuffled away from the area, leaving the bodies and combatants behind.  Smoking, smoldering buildings stood all around them, ruination claiming many of the residences and businesses.  A few sections of walls fell into the streets around them, and they carefully navigated around the rubble and destruction, giving brief nods to the soldiers they passed here and there.  Some moved to intercept them, but Selena Bradford held a hand up to stay them.  They all got into an abandoned tavern, and everyone poured themselves a drink.

            "All right, Byron," Hayes said.  "I'll tell you now what happened."

            James Hayes led the charging battalion on into the night, the thunder of seventy plus sets of hooves stomping the ground, sending tremors through the land.  The smell of smoke filled his lungs as the battalion neared within a half a mile from the city.  In the middle of the night, Desanadron was lit up like a bonfire, casting huge, garish shadows across the ground all around the unit.  As they rode closer, shapes began to take form in these shadows, and a second too late, Hayes gave the order to ready for combat.

            The first rider had already been knocked from his mount by a tall, gangling Shadowbeast, its arms formed into spiked cudgels.  Blood oozed from several punctures in the fallen Knight's armor, but he got to his feet and cleaved the demon in twain with a timed slash from his sword.  The Knight remounted, and Hayes smiled despite himself.  Ambushed, and yet his man had survived.  Or so he thought.  As the Knight mounted his horse once more, his skin began to turn as white as a sheet, and the blood began to pump out of his wounds a sickly greenish hue.  His eyes clouded over, and the Knight turned and with the same swing technique, decapitated one of the Elven Paladins following behind him.

            Chaos broke out in the ranks as dozens more of the minor demons surfaced from the shadows and darkness of night.  A pack of four huge Khan stormed at the confused and flailing riders, knocking half a dozen men to the ground and snapping their spines over thickly muscled legs with a flat crunching noise.  Hayes dismounted, his horse becoming too frightened and skittish to be trusted in battle, and most of the rest of his unit followed suit, sending their mounts off at a high speed escape.  Two of the Khan knocked their way through the ranks of Knights and Paladins to reach him, but Hayes was more than prepared.  He thrust his sword in one's chest all the way to the hilt, leaping up over the other's claws and kicking him squarely in the jaw with a metal-plated boot.  The first beast fell over dead, and the second had regained its feet, crouching in preparation of a killing leap.  But Hayes held his ground, thrusting his fingers toward the Khan.  "Habnas, eturgai," he mumbled, and a streak of holy magic erupted from his fingertips, lancing through the Khan's body.  It shuddered and lay still on the ground.  It would remain still forever.

            He spun around, trying to get a quick head count on his men.  Though the attack had come suddenly, his unit had dealt with it well.  He could see that he had only lost ten men total, not bad considering the strength of their enemies and the severity of the assault.  In mere minutes, Hayes's unit had pushed its way into the city of Desanadron, where several of the city's own officers met him with a salute.  "Captain Hayes," said a short Jaft man in uniform.  The sounds of far off battle reached his ears, drowning out most of what was said among the city officers.  The Jaft man walked right up to Hayes's side, nauseating him with his natural odor.  "Captain Hayes, sir, now that you're here, we're going to put up a magical barrier to protect the city and limit the number of enemies that can get through!  One of our chief mages, miss Bradford, thought of it a couple years ago, when the vampire Dolec van Geshul attacked us!  We held him off and killed his minions a few at a time!"

            "I remember," shouted Hayes over the screaming and fires only a hundred yards away.  "But this is a much larger and much livelier bunch than van Geshul's zombies and ghouls!  Is Bradford here?"  The Jaft shook his head affirmative in an exaggerated fashion. 

            "She's in charge now!  The Commander fell in battle two hours ago!"  Hayes drew his weapon, readying himself for the approaching battle.  But he had no need.  Desanadron's defenders made short work of the Lizardmen and Orcs that approached, but not without suffering about two dozen casualties themselves.  The din of battle died away as the last invader was struck down.  "Come with me," said the Jaft, lowering his voice.  "I'll take you to her."  Hayes followed the Jaft, his weapon still in hand.  He could sense that something else had come through the barrier, something that had not joined in the senseless charge against Desanadron's army.  Through several dank and putrid smelling alleys they walked, stepping over corpses here and there.  Already two waves of marauders had come through, the first one breaking on the city unexpectadly.   The casualties in that first assault had been many, and as Hayes looked at the bodies they walked around, he saw that there was no prejudice in death's domain.  Women, children, the elderly and simple pets were slaughtered where they had stood.  Even the drunk and homeless men here and there hadn't been spared.

            Finally, the officer brought him up in front of one of the several libraries Desanadron was home to.  "She's in there, sir," the Jaft said, saluting.  Hayes returned the motion, and the Jaft left him to return to the bulk of the defenders.  He looked up at the beaten and burned building with trepidation rising in his throat.  Something was wrong, something approached from the encroaching darkness, but he could see nothing as he looked around.  He walked up the stone slab steps and entered the library, moving slowly, with caution.  A fine thing too that he did, for as he opened the door, a spear comprised entirely of flames whipped past his head and buried itself in the solid oak door.  He rolled inside, his weapon raised, and saw the most beautiful Human woman he'd ever laid eyes upon.

            Selena Bradford was an elegant woman, her skin darkly tanned and her auburn hair long and flowing.  Her eyes sparkled with flickers of flames, and her crimson lips were full and perfectly pouted.  Her hand, however, at that moment, was extended towards Hayes, which brought him quickly out of his reverie to look at the spear that dissipated now into smoke.  "Hold, Selena Bradford!  I am James Hayes, Captain of Fort Flag and leader of the unit that has come to give aid!"  Bradford put her hand on one hip, tilting slightly to the side.  Her blazing red dress was figure hugging, and revealed the vuluptuous curves of her body, but Hayes tried to steady his mind.  No impure thoughts, he said to himself, no impure thoughts.  But that was getting difficult as the woman approached him, her hips swaying suggestively.

            "I'm terribly sorry about that," she said in her husky voice.  She had an accent similar to those who lived in the city-state of Tarum [Russian], and though it was not unpleasant, it held a tone of aggression.  That wasn't surprising, though.  The woman was a Pyromancer, and they tended to be more war-like than other mages.   She extended one slender, dainty hand towards Hayes.  "Please, accept my apologies, da?"  Hayes shook her hand firmly, and her grip was anything but ladylike in his hand.  "I thought you might be with them."  Hayes looked at her, confused.

            "Who?"

            "Them," she said, pointing out of the still open door.  On the street, advancing slowly, stealthily, were half a dozen winged Shadowbeasts.  Hayes only looked at them out of the corner of his eyes.  "Don't worry about them, though.  I'll deal with it."  Selena waved her hands in front of her, spinning to face the advancing beasts at the last motion, and they stopped dead in their tracks.  "Flaguel, Burn to Death," she screamed, magic coursing through her arms and flowing out into the air above the creatures.  They looked about them, confused.  There was magic at work, yes, but where would it strike from?  Hayes watched in awe as the magic hovered over them, forming into flaming stones and slamming down into their midst, exploding on contact with their bodies or the ground.  Ten, twenty, thirty of the flaming spheres thundered into them, the concussion force knocking him back to the floor.  As Selena stood over him, the smell and taste of ashes and attar stole over him like an assassin, clouding his thoughts and muting his speech. 

            He sat up with her help, and looked out at the smoldering piles of black flesh and demonic meat.  The sound of sizzling and cooking meat filled his ears, moans and final death throes shaking their ruined bodies.  He smiled up at the Pyromancer.  "Pretty handy work," he said, more impressed than he had been before.

            "Da, that it is.  But now is not the time to have a friendly chat.  Now is time to discuss strategy."  Hayes walked with her back to the main defending force, where assingments and shifts were being changed to give everyone a chance to rest.

            "How are we on supplies," asked Hayes of the Jaft officer.

            "We can hold out for a week, maybe a little more.  After that, we will have no food, and only enough fresh water to last us another four days, at best.  If we are under siege for too long, we will become weak and easily defeated."

            "What about Aquamancers," Hayes asked, a visible shudder coming from Bradford.  Pyromancers were especially vulnerable to water and ice magic.  "Couldn't they create water?"

            "Possibly, yes," said the Jaft.  "But we only have three, and they are taking turns two at a time holding the inner ice barrier around the city.  The third takes rest, and they rotate.  We will exhaust them if we ask the third to make water."  Hayes cycled through his options, trying to think through the situation.

            "What about Gaiamancers?  They can create food from fertile soil, maybe even create irrigation tunnels to the streams and rivers near the city."  The Jaft shook his head, lowering his eyes.

            "We had five of them, sir, but they all were felled in the second assault.  None survived.  The majority of our local Gaiamancers’ Guild are on a trip to the Elven Kingdom."  Damn and blast, thought Hayes.  He looked at Bradford, seeking help or suggestions. 

            "We have a Q Mage," she said, her eyes moving to one of the soldiers in the nearby group.  "She can use her magic to strengthen one of the Aquamancers enough to buy time for the other to make more water.  But," she said, lowering her eyes.

            "But what," asked Hayes, growing impatient with the situation.

            "The effort of making water will tire the Aquamancer, and he will also have to rest.  The Q Mage will have to exhaust her resources helping the barrier hold.  The Aquamancers are old and mighty in their craft.  But the Q Mage is young and not as experienced.  The effort could render her unconscious for a long time." 

            "It's worth the risk," said Hayes firmly, coldly.  Now was not the time to be emotional; it was time to be tactical.  “Get her rested and ready.  She'll support the next Aquamancer, the one resting now.  That will minimize the effort on everyone's part.  I'm aware that the strain will still be great, but it must be done if we're to have a fighting chance at surviving a long siege.  My own men require rest as well.  I'll send half to the library to rest, and keep half awake to aid the army.  Agreed?"  Selena Bradford hesitated a moment, then nodded.  The Jaft officer walked away, returning with a young female soldier, a short Werewolf woman with white fur.

            "This is Corporal Natalie Bloodclaw, sir.  She is the Q Mage, but her skills are best used in combat.  Salute the man, Corporal, he's a Captain!"  The Werewolf gave a perfunctory salute, which Hayes returned. 

            "Have you been told what is expected of you, soldier," Hayes asked, raising an eyebrow at the fully armored lycanthrope.  She was huge, he thought.  How could any amount of magic tire her?

            "Yes sir," she said, her voice deceptively child-like.  How old was this pup, Hayes suddenly thought. 

            "How long have you been using magic, Corporal?"

            "Two years, sir," she responded, much to Hayes's dismay.  Only two years?  She would only have a handful of magic energy to offer!  How would she do what he demanded?  He began to have second thoughts about his strategy, when another opening appeared in the city barrier, and several dozen creatures came rushing in, seven or eight gargantuan Khan among them.  Bloodclaw moved to join the fight, but Hayes stopped her with a mighty grip on her wrist.  "Sir!"

            "No, Corporal!  We need you right now for our plan!  Go with my men to the library and rest.  You will be fetched when the next Aquamancer takes his shift."

            "Sir, that's in an hour," said the Jaft Lieutenant at his side.  Hellfire, Hayes thought as he spat.  Hell and blood!

            "Well then, sit down Corporal!  You're going to need your strength for your task.  And don't even think about moving!"  Hayes moved swiftly to his unit, deploying half to the battle, and the other half to the library for rest.  The battle itself only lasted a few minutes, but the Khan had slaughtered thirty of the city's men alone, and half a dozen of his own men.  "Lieutenant," he bellowed, the Jaft officer coming over in a rush.  "How many men are left to defend the city, Lieutenant?"

            "We still number about five hundred throughout the city, sir.  I'll be getting a report from other units soon, sir, via runner.  Do you want to hear the numbers then as well?"  Hayes nodded, and the Jaft ran off again, barking orders at the top of his lungs.  Five hundred was a good number, but if the other units were taking the same losses as this one, those numbers would dwindle quickly.  Hayes lowered his rucksack to the ground, sitting on the steps of what was once a smithy's shop.  He removed some dried meat and some bread, taking in a meager meal.  He didn't want to use the city's supplies unless absolutely necessary.  After he cleaned himself up, the Jaft returned, his eyes hollow and his mouth slack.  Bad news was coming, he knew it.  "What's the report, Lieutenant?"  The Jaft shook his head and dropped to the ground.  Hayes rushed over to him, slapping the man's cheek, bringing him to and sitting him up.  "What's the report?!"

            "The Eighth Battalion has been decimated by a pack of Black Fur Werewolves.  They are coming this way, fast.  They numbered fifty men.  The other units haven't seen combat."  Fifty men, Hayes thought.  Impossible!  By a pack of Black Furs!?  Inconceivable!  "My son was in command of the Eighth," muttered the Lieutenant to himself, but Hayes felt the impact of his words.  The man had just lost probably his only son.  The Jaft Race weren't known for being very fertile, and their numbers reduced with almost every generation.  The loss of his son probably meant the end of his bloodline, something that the Jafts held dear.

            "Get up Lieutenant.  You have even more reason to fight now!  We must get revenge for your men, for your son!  If you survive this, you can have another child!  But you have to live now!"  The Jaft stood up, but shook his head and tears silently, slowly ran down his cheeks, as clear and crystalline as water dripping from an icicle. 

            "My wife died in the first assault.  She was a Sergeant in command of the Fourth Battalion, and they were the first to die."  Hayes stared in shock at the Jaft.  His family was dead, and likely he no longer cared about his own fate.  The man would be a danger to himself.  Hayes led him by the arm to Bradford, who stood with the Jaft's unit, the Fifth Battalion. 

            "Selena Bradford," Hayes called to the Pyromancer, who shuffled over to him.  She looked worriedly at the stiff Jaft, whose eyes had glazed over.  "I am hereby stripping this man of his command!  He has lost his family and is no longer fit to command in his condition!"  Hayes reached up and striped the single bar from each of the Jaft's shoulders.  "Assign a suitable replacement for him.  Lieutenant, can you hear me?"  The Jaft nodded.  "Your command will be returned to you when you are able to command again, but for now, you're in no state to do so.  Do you understand?"  Again, a small nod.  "Good.  Now for the love of Oun, go to the library and rest.  If trouble comes, defend yourself, but by no means join a fight you don't have to.  Understood?"  Nod nod.  The Jaft wandered away like a dead man, his gait zombie-like.  He was barely out of sight, when a scream went up from the Fifth. 

            Hayes looked up, and saw a pack of eight Black Fur Werewolves storming around a corner towards them.  With Hayes's men, the group numbered just shy of one hundred men, but numbers hadn't mattered for the Eighth Battalion.  He was in command here, and began to give the orders to do battle, when battle began despite him.  The Werewolves wielded no weapons, using their claws and teeth to tear through handfuls of men at a time.  They were swift, and from their movements, Hayes could tell they were possessed of Monk Class abilities.  They used self-defense techniques, martial arts grapples and strikes, and moved effortlessly through the defenders of the Fifth.  Black Furs, he thought, stupefied.  The only known tribe of Werewolves to ever be wholly considered wicked.  But as Hayes's Paladins and Knights broke into them, they faltered, and two of the eight went down in a bloody heap, five or six swords in their chests and faces.  

            One of the Black Furs, the slimmest and fastest, seemed to be working his way towards Hayes directly.  The Paladin balled his left hand into a fist, and readied himself.  A moment later, the Black Fur tossed a Knight from Hayes's group aside with a side kick to the chest.  Teeth bared and growling, it came at Hayes in a whirl of claws, teeth, and timed kicks and jabs.  For a short bit, Hayes parried the blows with his sword, but a kick to his leg knocked him to his knees, and another claw swipe ripped through his armor and tore deep into his right arm.  Thick, crimson blood sprayed up at the Black Fur's face, matting his snout and staining it red with Hayes's life fluid.  In pain Hayes screamed, the sound of his cry turning from agony into righteous fury.  The Black Fur retreated a step, his eyes suddenly filled with fear and worry.  The sound of Hayes's scream was terrifying, almost like that of a great Dragon enraged. 

            All of the Black Furs hesitated for that moment, enraptured by the Paladin's war cry.  This was supposed to happen, however, for Hayes was calling upon one of his Paladin abilities, commonly referred to as the Terrible Shout.  Seeing that their enemies were stunned, the remainder of the Fifth stabbed and slashed, killing the Black Furs almost instantly.  Hayes himself grabbed the slender Werewolf by the lower jaw, pulling his mouth open.  He shoved his now glowing left fist into the Black Fur's mouth, and discharged an explosion of holy force that blasted the creature's body into a thousand gory pieces, leaving his head intact on Hayes's arm.  The Paladin softly chuckled to himself, almost in reverie of his violent deed.  But shame soon overtook him, and he pried the dead beast's head off of his arm, dropping it with a wet smack to the ground.

            Midnight had fully fallen on the city, and it was time for the Q Mage Werewolf to give her support to the Aquamancer and the city barrier.  The effect was immediate as the Q Mage channeled her energy into the Aquamancer; the city barrier began to shimmer and became almost see-through.  Hayes watched as the other water mage prepared a large basin with liquid from thin air.  It would be enough, he decided, his spirit drained.  His own forces had suffered heavy losses, and there seemed to be no end to the siege in sight.  A scout reported that more wicked creatures had arrived to support the force north of the city, and another troop had been deployed to the southern edge of the city, filled with magic users.  Now the defenders would have to watch both ends of the city, stretching even thinner their forces. 

            Hayes peered up at the roof where the Aquamancer and Q Mage stood.  He stared helplessly as the Q Mage's body began to shake and quiver.  It was too much for her, he knew, and she would soon exhaust herself completely.  The dome barrier shimmered and pulsed rapidly, as if in tune with her heart.  "There is enough water now," he screamed at the Aquamancer.  "Go and help her!"  But it proved to be too little, too late.  As the second Aquamancer took his post, the Q Mage Werewolf fell from the roof, landing on the ground three stories below in a heap.  Hayes rushed to her with a Cleric from his unit at his side.  But the Cleric shook his head, his eyes shut, and made a sign over her.

            "Her heart has failed, sir.  I am sorry, but it was too much for her.  However, her magic has been permanently fused to the barrier.  She sacrificed herself for the city."  Hayes was already stalking away, however, his heart heavy with guilt.  It had been his fault.  The death of his own men, the death of the girl, and the horror of those Black Furs as they were butchered without being able to move.  He had brought death to the city, to those near him.  He felt no better than the savages that had assaulted the city.  Spiritually drained, he had retired to the library to rest.  He secretly wished for death to befall him.  But his rest had been interrupted by Selena Bradford, who had summoned him.  There had been a strange fluctuation of magic in the barrier the next day, and she had returned to the Fifth with Hayes in tow.  Their numbers were even fewer now than they had been when he had left them late the night before.

            And that was when he had seen Byron of Sidius with a Cuyotai and a Ki Fairy.

            "And that brings us to now, Byron.  I am sorry I have despaired, but I have had little left to me but despair."

            "No matter," Byron said, waving off Hayes's apology.  The man had been through a lot, and Byron's news probably hadn't helped matters.  "What of the Lieutenant?  I assume he is better?"

            "Much," said Selena, taking a sip of water from her dirty glass.  "He has returned to his duties with a fervor.  He wants revenge badly, and it has made him fierce in the battles since we first noticed you.  We let you wait a few hours while we thought about what the scout had said from before, the Lizardman youth.  Do you have a plan, Byron?"  She eyed the Dread Knight suspiciously, obviously not comfortable with his presence.

            "Indeed, I do.  I am quite versed in matters of magic, as is my friend Alex," he said, nodding to the Ki Fairy who was sitting on the table.  "You see, Q magic is a sort of battle support magic.  It amplifies other magic and can endow warriors with temporary enhancements.  I intend to use the latent magic that girl left behind in the barrier to our advantage."  Alex grinned atop Byron's shoulder, already aware of what the Dread Knight intended to do.  "You see, the only reason that Vandross's men aren't gaining the advantages of the barrier is that they are passing through breaks in it.  They can't pass through the barrier, or touch it, right?"  Selena Bradford and James Hayes nodded.  "But your own men and women can touch it.  They can absorb some of that Q magic.  How many fighters remain in the city?"

            "About three hundred," said Hayes, whose eyes slightly sparkled.  He too was beginning to understand Byron's plan.  "And they will be prepared, Byron."  Byron looked deep into the Paladin's eyes, and nodded, grinning as best he could. 

            "Would you care to tell me what you plan to do, since it seems everyone else already knows," snapped Selena Bradford testily. 

            "I plan to lead half of those three hundred men through the barrier, and out to do battle with those scum.  Our men will be largely outnumbered, but they'll all be enhanced by the magic in the barrier."  Byron put his fingertips together and leaned back, pleased with himself and his quick thinking.  Vandross's forces surely wouldn't expect an outward attack, and couldn't know how the barrier's magic would affect the fighting men and women of Desanadron.  "We will all of us accompany them as well.  We will benefit from the barrier as well, though I am not certain how much, or in what way.  I am a Dread Knight, formerly a Paladin.  Hayes is a Paladin.  We both possess fighting prowess and magical powers, so I'm not sure which category will be buffed.  We'll just have to pass through and see."  Selena Bradford laughed under her breath.  Her own mighty Pyromancy would be amplified?  Surely then this Vandross fellow would suffer greatly, she would make sure of it.  Desanadron had been her home for her whole life, and these bastards had come and ruined it.  She would taste the sweet flavor of revenge.

            "Let's get going then," she said, standing up.  Byron got up, putting his hand up to stop her. 

            "It will very dangerous, m'lady," he said, feeling a tad foolish.  The woman was obviously powerful, he could sense it.  She didn't need his concern.

            "While I appreciate your intentions," she said, shouldering past him.  "I don't need warnings.  The only danger will be to our opponents.  The only real danger," she said, her eyes smoking and rimmed with flames.  "Is us."  The men in the room gathered themselves up, preparing to join the assault on Vandross's camp.  Even though he felt sure the one-eyed devil wasn't there, Byron would take great pleasure in demolishing his forces.  Looking at one another, each of the three men, the Paladin, Dread Knight, and Hunter, nodded.  Alex cackled like a madman as they left the building to join the assembled forces of Desanadron.  As they arrived, the Jaft Lieutenant saluted them, and they each returned the gesture. 

            "Her ladyship has told me everything you intend," said the Jaft, his great war hammer in hand.  "We have assembled one hundred and fifty-four men.  We would have split the number evenly at one hundred and fifty-two, but a couple of civilians joined from the underground shelters.  They are Monks, and could not sit by idly any longer."  Byron nodded and looked at the ranks of men and women.  Many of them would die in this effort.  But it would preserve the lives of an entire half of the army, a number of Hayes's men, and the civilians who took shelter somewhere beneath the city.  The sacrifice would be well worth it.  "We are ready to march on your command, sir," the Jaft concluded, speaking to Byron. 

            "I'm not in charge here, soldier," he said, looking at Hayes.  "He is."  Hayes smiled grimly, walking out in front of the ranks of men and women.

            "All right.  We march straight north, until we reach the barrier.  I will pass through first, to ensure that this plan of action is safe.  If the magic of the Aquamancers' barrier is lethal to us, we'll know immediately, for I will perish.  You will all have to resume your duties in that event.  Now, on cadence, four step rhythm, march!"  As one, the men and women of Desanadron's failing army and Hayes's decimated unit moved forward.  They marched in an organized pattern, all the way to the northern border of the barrier and the city.  The march took the better part of half an hour, as they had to move over and around rubble and corpses piled in the street.  How Vandross's own men moved so effortlessly through all of this waste when they attacked Byron couldn't understand, but they were not organized or forced into ranks.  They moved freely when they entered, so they didn't have to worry much about movement.

            Finally, Hayes stood fifteen feet away from the barrier, and called the troops to a halt.  He moved forward swiftly, determinedly.  He stretched one hand out and touched the barrier, feeling the thrill of magic entering his body.  Q magic raced through him for a brief second, and in that time, he did not feel the chill of the ice barrier.  He pushed his body through, and came out the other side effortlessly.  He felt stronger, faster, clearer.  He turned back to his men, and with a war cry they charged through, breaking ranks and rushing toward the camp of their enemy.  Byron, Shoryu, and Selena Bradford passed through last, each tingling with the sensation of Q magic running its course in them.  Hayes could see the first of Vandross's men look up from his campfire, dropping his bowl in shock.  Several dozen Greenskins nearby dropped their jaws, and stood stunned at what they saw; one and a half hundred angry, blood-thirsty soldiers and a few magic users charging at them, clearly bent on their total destruction. 

            Hayes tore through a dozen of the heavy-footed Orcs and Ogres before they could rise to defend themselves.  Blood sprayed through the air and matted his armor in seconds, his blade flashing and dancing back and forth, a crimson-stained harbinger of doom.  Hundreds of Vandross's men fell in the first two minutes of the battle, torn apart by blades, crushed by maces, blasted by magic, shredded by the few Werewolves in the Desanadron army.  Panic ripped through their numbers like an airborne plague, and scores of the wicked creatures fled for the hills.  Byron himself had used his dark magics to summon large raven-like demons to tear Shadowbeasts and Black Fur Werewolves into thousands of tiny, bloody lumps.  Shoryu's arrows flew into packs of Shadowbeasts and Greenskins, exploding on the ground and blasting them open, exposing ribs and organs and pools of blood.  Selena Bradford's Pyromancy reduced scores of creatures to flaming piles of meat and ashes.  In twenty minutes flat, Vandross's camp had been reduced to a smoldering, broken, bloody pile of carcasses and scorched earth.

            A victory cry broke out, initiated by James Hayes, who stood atop a huge Black Fur Werewolf, his sword sunk to the hilt in its chest.  He joined Selena, Byron, Shoryu and Alex a few minutes later, after the remainder of the men and women of the attack joined together to drink and celebrate.  Only a dozen of them had died, though many were wounded.  Byron couldn't have hoped for better results.  "Well, now what do we do," asked Selena Bradford.

            "Do you intend to join us," Byron asked, a smirk on his skull.

            "You have proven yourself worthy of my trust and admiration, Byron," she said, sitting on one of the Greenskins' cots, her legs crossed over a water basin.  She was trying to clean her hair of the blood it had accumulated, and she wrung it in frustration. “Where shall we go once we have rested up here?”  The Q magic was wearing off, and everyone was feeling worn and weary, but they celebrated nevertheless.  The barrier around Desanadron lifted away, and cries of triumph could be heard from the city itself as civilians were brought back to the surface.

            "I will join you as well," said James Hayes, though Byron was not in the least surprised by the Paladin's statement.  He had fully expected the man to want to join his group, now that he had renewed purpose.  Hayes had not come through this most recent battle unscathed.  He had several gashes and lacerations, but nothing he couldn’t heal with spells available to him for the most part.  A stab wound in his leg might slow him, but otherwise, he would be whole again for the trip ahead.

            "Very well," Byron said, taking a swig of scotch he had purloined from a Black Fur's tent.  "As for your question, miss Bradford, we go to Whitewood, in the Elven Kingdom in the south.  The next Orb of Eden’s Serpent that Vandross seeks is protected there.  We will go there, and we will wait for him.  When he shows up," he said, looking to the heavens.  "We will be waiting.  And we will stop him."