'Freedom or the Fire' Chapter Four- Tearfang

For Shoryu (Show-ree-you), routine was life.  The village's way of life had been based on it, and had thrived for many generations.  The Cuyotai (werecoyotes) of his people had survived many struggles against the Lizardmen of the east simply by adhering to the rules and routines of their daily life.  Nothing had changed with his generation.  Sure, the occasional scuffle broke out, but the Hunters and Knights of the tribe dealt with them swiftly and with deadly force.  Few and far between were the battles that they had to give ground to the reptilian warriors.

            On this morning, Shoryu awoke from his sleep and put on his Hunter raiment.  The old leather creaked in a satisfying way to his pointed ears, and he already could smell the inviting scents of the morning meal his caretaker prepared.  The village Chieftain, his caretaker since his father's death, possessed many amazing skills, one of which was being an exceptional chef.  Shoryu reached under his bed and extracted his yew bow and his quiver of arrows, slinging both over his shoulder with practiced grace.

            Shoryu Tearfang was a pup by Cuyotai standards, only thirty-four years of age.  In another year he would undergo the Rite of Adulthood, a grueling test of his mettle in his chosen path, but already he had been praised and exalted by the tribesmen as their finest archer and scout.  He could run for days without rest, and could hit a moving enemy from a half-mile away.  He brought home the largest kills for meals, and could move through woods and open plains as stealthily as any Ninja.  Unfortunately, this did not just get him the attention of his village, but of his tribe's enemies as well.  Many of the Lizardmen who attacked the village itself did so in order to find and dispose of the young Hunter.  But all that attempted the task found themselves riddled with arrows before they could reach the outermost homes of the tribe.  The Senior Hunters allowed no error when it came to defense, and Shoryu often watched as the Lizardmen cried for his blood; none cried for more than a minute or so. 

            One of the Seniors, Moksha Milak, a wiry and energetic woman, approached Shoryu, her face painted for the morning hunt.  Along her lupine snout three red dashes had been brushed through her fur, both sides of her mouth marked so.  Her hair she braided on one side into a series of strands, each twisted in a different fashion, and the overall effect gave her an exotic and alluring look.  Though forty years his senior, Shoryu couldn't help but feel protective of her, like she were the sister he never had.  His own kindred had died out years ago, but to him, his best friends and comrades took the mantle of family just as well.  "Good morning young Shoryu.    How are your spirits this day?"

            "I am in fine spirits Senior Moksha," Shoryu replied, the light, boyish quality of his voice belying his battle-ready countenance.  "What beast do we hunt this day," he asked, drawing his bow.  His grip on the weapon appeared natural, as though the weapon itself drew life from his hand. 

            "We track a morenian, Shoryu," Moksha said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.  "They are the tri-horned beasts with a hide like leather armor.  You have hunted one before, have you not?"  Shoryu smiled, but felt a pang of regret.  Morenians were not exactly the most difficult kill to attain, and with no challenge, he felt somewhat disappointed.

            "Yes, I have Senior Moksha.  Perhaps you won't need me then?"

            "Oh, we will Shoryu," Moksha began, walking away from him.  Shoryu followed obediently, knowing that routine was life, and life was routine.  One needed the other, and vice versa.  "You see, this is the morenian mating season.  The morenians become ferocious creatures indeed during this season.  They shall not be so easily slain."  Shoryu's heart lifted a bit.  If the creatures had indeed become menacing during the mating season, perhaps he would have an actual challenge ahead of him. 

            "All right Senior Moksha.  I shall be ready in a moment.  I would like to ask the Chief something before we depart."

            "Be swift about it, young Shoryu.  The others are already awaiting us on the western front."  Darting back through the village, the young Cuyotai Hunter made good time returning to his hut.  The Chieftain stood in the central chamber, lost in meditation, until Shoryu came stumbling through the front door. 

            "Hail Chieftain, mighty and wise," Shoryu said, bending low at the waist in the traditional manner used when addressing any Cuyotai Chieftain.  "My apologies for interrupting, but I have come with a heavy request."  The Chieftain stood perfectly still, his bulky, muscular frame silhouetted by the light coming from the windows of the hut.  His hands clasped each other before his long, proud snout in prayer, and his furry forehead beaded with sweat from concentration.  He was an impressively built figure for a Cuyotai, whose race generally could be described as wiry or lithe.  But not this particular tribe's Chieftain.  His brawn could only be matched by his wisdom, for his mind held many secrets and much knowledge that had become privy only to a select few among the tribe.  The Chieftain knew bits and pieces of magic lore, a fact or two about the sciences, and he even retained the ability to speak in nearly half a dozen tongues, quite a feat for a small tribe Chieftain.

            Slowly, purposefully, the large Cuyotai unknotted his hands and turned his head to gaze at the young Shoryu.  "Your apologies are accepted, pup," he said, adding this last word with a hint of irritation.  "What is this request of yours, my son?"

            "Mighty Chieftain, I request that you grant me access to my father's enchanted bow and quiver."  The Chieftain's head snapped around to look at Shoryu with darkened, clouded eyes.  His lips pulled taut over his fangs, and for a brief moment, Shoryu hoped to his deity  (Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt) that his caretaker was smiling.  A low, menacing growl rasped through the Chieftain's teeth however, and the big Cuyotai took a heavy step towards him. 

            "You know that I cannot allow that yet.  You have not yet completed the Rite of Adulthood.  I cannot afford to show you favor just because you are like my own son.  Now," he said, stepping away and turning his back to his charge.  "Is there anything else you require?"  Shoryu hung his head, his snout touching his deflated chest.  The smell of candle wax wafted into his nostrils, and for a moment he resisted the relaxing effect the aroma had on him.  But he refused to be overly emotional, and so he took a deep breath of the sweet scent, straightening himself to his full height. 

            "No, wise Chieftain.  I must make haste, for the Senior Hunters are awaiting me for the daily hunt."

            "Go well, child," the Chieftain muttered, leaving the main chamber and going into his personal bedroom.

            "Stay well," Shoryu said loudly and clearly.  He pivoted on his heel and fled the hut, knowing full well that he couldn't argue the point with his caretaker.  Instead, he focused on the hard pounding of his feet on the ground as he ran past dozens of villagers.  He could hear the sounds of a people who took life as seriously as they had to, and no more.  Cuyotai were all fairly carefree in nature, making them great companions with Elven folk, who were of a similar mindset.  Shoryu had only himself met four Elves in his lifetime, but they all seemed amiable enough people.  One of the females had even caught his eye, and he found himself instantly attracted to her. 

            Shoryu thought himself strange for this.  Cuyotai rarely mated outside of their race, but he felt that when the time came, he would like to be mated with an Elven woman.  Even as he approached the line of Senior Hunters, he couldn't help but feel that no woman of his tribe would possess the qualities he sought in a companion.  But as he stood pole-straight at attention, these thoughts escaped the forefront of his mind, burrowing deep into his inner mental chambers like refugees of a war.  As Senior Hunter Moksha called off the names of the assembled Hunters, Shoryu focused his attention on the wood line.  The village had always existed in harmony with the woods that surrounded the large clearing, harboring only the occasional threat of attack from Lizardmen, and the rare beast that had no place in those woods.  But something inside of Shoryu's heart warned him, called out to him in anticipation of horror.

            Like any good soldier, though, he had learned to keep these thoughts and ideas in his own heart.  Eyes and ears open, mouth shut, he had heard a Senior Knight once say.  Wise words, he thought to himself.  Senior Moksha began to run ahead of the pack, using hand signals to give out her orders.  Shoryu immediately took up a position near the left flank of the group, running ahead with his bow in one hand, his other hand fixed to the quiver on his back.  He would be prepared to strike first, as always.  Within scant seconds, the pack of Hunters had entered the woods themselves.  This territory opened to Shoryu like a mother's embracing arms, for he knew every tree trunk, every shrub, and spot on the ground where the fallen twigs and branches tended to collect.  The scent of mighty pine trees permeated the air softly, lifting his spirits. 

            Leaping up into a nearby tree, Shoryu turned his ears up, increasing his chances of hearing any sudden movements in the woods.  For a while, he heard nothing but the trilling of wild birds and the squeaking of ground animals.  As he stood poised to strike, he felt a sudden, scurrying movement on his arm.  Turning his head slowly to his left, he came nose to nose with a squirrel, whose home he had apparently trespassed on.  The critter seemed to smile at him, and he gave the little nuisance a half-hearted grin.  As one might expect, a lycanthrope's smile always appeared suspect, if not outright threatening.  The squirrel interpreted the gesture in the blink of an eye, and could be seen swiftly scurrying up the tree trunk.  Shaking his head dismally, Shoryu returned his attention to the floor of the woods below.

            And none too soon, either.  As he swept the landscape with his hawk-like gaze, he spotted a pair of morenians sizing each other up.  A third beast stood a few yards away, and from the vantage point of the tree, Shoryu could tell that the two beasts circling each other were males, and they were about to engage in a fight to determine who would have this female for mating rights.  Shoryu shimmied silently down the trunk of the aged pine he stood on, all the while keeping an eye on his prey.  All movements around him became shaded in a gray smoke as he focused all of his attention on the two circling morenian males.  The beasts were indeed of good size, but they seemed to pulse strangely under their flesh.  Senior Moksha had mentioned that the morenians became fearsome creatures during their mating season, and Shoryu no longer had any doubts of this. 

            The smaller male reared up, screaming primal rage and fury as a jagged row of bone spikes exploded from beneath its flesh.  Blood rained down in droplets as fat as a small house cat over the woodland floor, splashing obscenely off of everything they touched.  Shoryu watched, transfixed by the suddenly war-like beast, as it reared up in the air and claws of ivory bone sprang from its feet.  The hooked claws appeared to be serrated, and looked long enough to plough through five feet of solid tissue.  In a moment, the larger male imitated this frenzy, only its own hidden weapons appeared to be considerably smaller and less formidable.  The claws had no serrated edge, and the spikes only measured a few feet from Shoryu's perspective.  In most matters of the forest, the larger you were, the better your odds.  Apparently, that formula didn't apply to morenians.

            Then, to his horror, Shoryu heard a loud snap of twigs and brush a little to his right.  Head darting around to see the source, he caught a glimpse of several of the Senior Hunters preparing to fire on the beasts.  Both male morenians looked at one another for a moment, and nodded in unison.  The female darted off through the woods as quickly as her stout, reptilian legs could carry her.  The males, Shoryu realized, had decided to make a temporary pact and put aside their battle in order to deal with the intruding parties.  As the beasts moved towards the Senior Hunters, the sharp twang of nearly a dozen bows filled the air.  The beasts shrugged this volley of arrows aside with their now armed forepaws.  Shoryu watched with mounting trepidation as the Senior Hunters fell back a short distance, the enraged morenians now stampeding towards them, mouths opened to expose several rows of razor-sharp teeth.

            In all of his years as a Hunter for the village, Shoryu had never seen a morenian behave in such a battle-ready fashion.  They had anticipated the arrows' speed and trajectory, and had reacted accordingly.  These morenians must have survived previous hunts, or they would surely be slain by now.  Moving through the woods, riding the rails of adrenaline, Shoryu darted in and out of tree cover and brush, keeping himself alongside the Senior Hunters.  Senior Moksha spotted him as she let loose another of her arrows, and she shouted at him, "Shoryu!  The beasts' hides have hardened!  Our arrows will not pierce them!  You must flee to the village!  We will handle things here!"  But Shoryu had had enough of following those sorts of orders.  He had come out here on this hunt believing he would have little challenge.  Now that a suitable one had come up, he would not relinquish or shirk his duties because of an order.

            Shoryu dropped off the pace a bit, running parallel to the rampaging beasts.  They had not spotted him, or if they had, they had determined that he posed little or no threat.  This would be their fatal mistake.  Shoryu watched as the world around him seemed to go into a slow-motion, as though time itself had ceased to retain its strangle hold on him.  With pain-staking care, he notched a single red-wood arrow, his favorite kind due to its incredible strength.  He ran along, keeping his target in his sight; the larger morenian's right eye.  Morenians' eyes were situated on the sides of the skull, in order to allow them a larger field of peripheral vision, and thus survive in the wild.  But this would also pose as their largest weakness, Shoryu figured.  A big, soft target on either side of the head, he thought. 

            Still he waited, restraining himself until the smaller morenian had lined itself up with the larger one.  As the Senior Hunters ran rag-tag through the wood line, Shoryu spotted his opportunity, and let fly his redwood arrow.  Like a single bolt of lightning it spun through the air, a single, deadly shaft of wood.  Guided by instinct and skill, the arrow split the air around it with a high-pitched whine, complements of some customization the young Cuyotai Hunter had done to his weapons.  In a second, there came a wet, slick splashing noise as the arrow tore through the large morenian's skull, exiting the left eye and flying straight through the smaller morenian's head.  With a death wail, both beasts fell to the ground, flailing and lashing out with their claws as the last grains of sand in the timer of their lives slipped silently into the bottom.

            With one last heave, the beasts fell silent, their bodies slumping beneath them on the soft clearing grass.  The stench of their last expulsion of urine and feces filled the air, stinging the eyes and noses of the Senior Hunters and Shoryu.  Yet all wore broad smiles on their snouts as they pelted toward the young Hunter, hoisting him up on their shoulders and shouting praise at Shoryu.  The Senior Hunters carried him thusly all the way to the village center, parading down the rows of the huts.  At last they set him down, and all gave the traditional salute to the Chieftain as he approached their pack.

            "Hail Chieftain, mighty and wise," cried Moksha to the large Cuyotai.  "We are returned from our hunt, which nearly became our last!"  The Chieftain raised an eyebrow at this, his unspoken question evident.  "This is the morenian mating season, mighty Chieftain, and we came upon two males preparing to do battle for the right to mate with a female."

            "Indeed," the Chieftain asked, his eyebrow raising another notch.  "Even though I have voiced my dislike and disapproval of hunting them in this season, you went anyway, Senior Moksha?"  His question lashed the proud Cuyotai woman like a whip, but he held her with his gaze.  "Continue."  Moksha related the tale of the hunt to the Chieftain and the gathered villagers, all of whom whooped and cheered for Shoryu as Moksha ended her tale.

            "It was a shot that legends alone can live up to, wise Chieftain," Moksha said, a slight gleam in her eyes.  Shoryu had become suddenly suspicious of Moksha's intentions.  The Senior Hunter had always seemed unusually friendly towards him, and he knew that after he completed the Rite of Adulthood, she would probably present herself to him as his first mate.  Or rather, she would present herself to his caretaker, and he would make the decision, according to tribe custom.  His suspicion grew only further when Moksha said loudly, "Should this not earn him his place in Adulthood?"  The Chieftain stared wide-eyed at her for a moment, and then noticed her eager, but subtle, gaze at his adopted son.  An impish grin spread across his face as he recognized Moksha’s intention, as his son already had.

            "Hmm.  Perhaps, Senior Hunter Moksha.  Though it is not yet his time, he has done a great deed, and should be commended accordingly.  I shall consider this.  Now, Seniors, bring the kills here, that they may be prepared for a great feast.  As for you, my boy," he said, stooping close to Shoryu's ear.  "I think we need to have a little man-to-man talk."  Hanging his head in newfound dismay at the situation, Shoryu followed his caretaker to their hut.  He was in for a long day.

            In the woods to the north, a single wicked creature looked into the village with the aid of a spyglass.  He used the only eye he had available, for that creature was the one-eyed devil Richard Vandross.  Several dozen local Lizardmen had joined his cause willingly, eagerly, for they so badly wanted the Cuyotai's land that they would follow anyone who could deliver it to them.  Bael stood at his side, masked from enemy view by Vandross' illusions.  "My lord, what do you seek to gain from this reconnaissance?  There are enough of my troops and your Orcs and Ogres to easily crush these Cuyotai right now!  We should strike with the advantage of numbers."

            "Perhaps you didn't just witness the same activity as I," hissed Vandross at his second-in-command.  He watched through the spyglass as a Cuyotai larger than the rest walked off with the talented Hunter, one fatherly arm draped over the shorter Cuyotai's shoulders with ease.  "Which is to say nothing of the power in their apparent Chieftain.  The Lizardmen we just obtained for our cause have told me much about these particular Cuyotai.  They will fight tooth and nail to defend what is theirs.  We have the advantage of numbers, but not of strength and skill.  As such," he said, taking the spyglass away from his eye and facing his General.  "We shall have to use the elements of surprise and superior tactics.  That's why I have you, Bael.  You have experience with military tactics.  My own experience has been mostly limited to, practice and theory," he said, kicking the ground with a metal boot.  "What sort of specialists do we have on hand?"

            "A few Shaman, lord, and a single Beastmaster from the local Lizardmen.  We also have a couple of Orcs with limited Pyromancy knowledge.  Perhaps we can find a way to utilize their unique talents?"

            "Yes," Vandross said, a wicked smile curling his lips.  "Bring them all to me.  I have some homework for them to complete."  Bael saluted smartly, and sprinted off into the woods to locate the specialists.  Vandross paced impatiently for a time, trying to cycle through his options.  That young Hunter ground through his thoughts most, as the pup would obviously present a clear danger to his minions.  He had no doubt that when it came to archers, he had none in his troupe that could rival the youth.  But if that bow were to go up in flames...

            Moments later, Bael addressed him by clearing his throat.  "Lord Vandross, these are the men you requested."  Vandross looked at the assembled creatures, and inwardly cringed.  They might not be enough after all.  But he would be damned if he was going to let this opportunity pass him by, and he could not send for the additional forces he had left behind at his temporary camp outside of Koreindar.  Since regaining consciousness after his encounter with Byron, he had been hell-bent on getting the second Orb.  That would give him the power he needed, but he would wait to challenge Byron until he had all of the Orbs.  The Dread Knight was on the top of his list of people to destroy now.  But the truly vexing question was how the undead Paladin had managed to survive the death of Tanarak.  How could he still be alive, and what's more, under his own free will again?  Had he forgotten something?

            No matter, he thought.  I'll figure it out later.  For now, he had to concentrate on forming a plan of attack.  How would these creatures best serve him?  Suddenly, looking at the ancient Lizardman who appeared to be the Beastmaster, he had an idea.  "You there, Beastmaster.  What is your name?"

            "I am Lornya," the old reptile rasped.  "In the tongue of my people, it is Ra-pa-manamokshun.  Lornya is a Human translation for easssse.  What do you require of me, oh posssssesssser of might?"  The ancient reptile bowed reverently to show respect to Vandross, and he teemed with pride.  He could now control any creature with the sort of wicked soul and heart that most of these creatures possessed.  How easily he could amass an army with this power of the Orb alone.  But he felt compelled now by a sort of hunger, a lust for more of that glorious, tainted power.  He had to have it, and nothing would stand in his path.  Nothing.

 His goals, his purpose, had started simply enough.  Attain enough power to carve a kingdom of his own out of the lands of Tamalaria.  Yet the moment he had absorbed the first Orb, that goal seemed somehow beneath his full potential.  Richard Vandross had not been the only one to notice or realize this change in plans, however.  His General, Bael, had noticed, but thus far had remained silent on the matter. 

            "You have control over certain types of beasts and animals, yes," he asked, pacing back and forth, his plan taking shape slowly. 

            "Indeed, my lord."

            "Those creatures that the Cuyotai hunted today, what were they?"

            "Thosssse, lord Vandrosssss, were morenians.  They are currently in their mating sssseassson, and they can become quite fierccce during thisss time cccycle.  But they alssso become more difficult to control.  You may not have sssseen them before, asss they are indiginoussss to the region."

            "Good, then there will be at least a handful at your command within, what, five, maybe six hours?"  The ancient Lizardman took a step back, flummoxed. 

            "I shall need the aid of at leassst one of these Shaman, in that casssse."

            "Done," Vandross said, nodding to Bael.  The General pointed to one of the four Shaman and indicated that he accompany the Beastmaster.  "You two, Orcs, you are adept at some form of Pyromancy?"  The dumb, sloth-like creatures gave a slow, simultaneous nod.  "Good.  From what range can you hurl your flames?"

            "We could do it from here, lord Vandross," said the smaller of the two. 

            "Excellent.  Get yourselves up on the ridge there when dusk comes.  You will launch your attack when the morenians our friend retrieves begin their charge.  Bael," he said, turning to his General.  "You will take a battalion of thirty Lizardmen into the village after the morenians make their first assault.  Minimize casualties to our forces.  A smaller force of ten of your best troops will wait just outside of the village in order to pursue anyone trying to escape."

            "Begging your pardon, lord, but why not let them escape," asked Bael.  “When you establish your new seat of power as a legitimate king, their territory will fall under your ownership,” the Lizardman said, trying to reinforce the idea, at least for himself, that his master’s original goals still remained. 

            "Because I am here not just to take the Orb of Eden’s Serpent, but to send a message.  This is not going to be a battle, General.  This is going to be my next magnum opus!  This is going to be a slaughter!”

            Shoryu sat complacently as his father almost merrily taunted him with Senior Moksha's suggestion.  "You know," he added, grinning almost madly.  "She's had an eye on you for some time.  Perhaps, in light of your accomplishments, I should grant you the title of Adult.  Then, you may be granted access to your father's bow."  Shoryu knew this was a bait tactic, and he wasn't about to bite.

            "I am not yet of proper age, wise caretaker," he said, playing the very card he'd struggled against for so long.  "I should wait just as all the others have."  The Chieftain smiled broadly at him.  Such a great young man, he thought with pride in his heart.  Before he could speak further, he caught the slightest whiff of something strange in the air.  "What is it, caretaker," Shoryu asked, standing to his feet.

            "Hmm.  I am not certain.  I feel however, that something is amiss," said the Chieftain, leading Shoryu out into the village center.  Night was swiftly approaching, and something had changed, some quality of the air.  He immediately approached Senior Hunter Toremiam, the strongest of his Hunters, and inquired as to the location of their scout guards.

            "I know not where they are, sir," he said, his gruff, low voice modified by worry.  "They should have returned an hour ago.  Night will soon be upon us, and I fear that if they are not back by then, that something foul has occurred."  He blinked rapidly, running through the possibilities.  "They reported earlier that there had been some suspicious looking Lizardmen milling about in the woods.  Perhaps they have been engaged in combat."

            "That is a possibility," admitted the Chieftain.  "How many did they spot earlier?"

            "A small vanguard, sir, eight or nine of them.  Large numbers for a foraging or spying party."

            "So you think they're preparing to attack the village again," interrupted Shoryu, his voice cracking slightly.  The Senior nodded curtly. 

            "Make ready the packs, then," growled the Chieftain.  "Conceal one group in the southern tents.  Stand one pack here in the center of the village.  Shoryu, you shall stay here with the center pack.  There is something I must see to," he said, his words distant, distracted.  Senior Toremiam began barking orders, organizing packs and placing them where he felt they would be most effective.  Toremiam possessed the keenest tactical mind among all the Seniors, and had been placed in charge of defenses for some time.  Shoryu looked at the posted assignments, and made note of the clever use of spacing.  In the event an ambush charge came, there would be at least two packs of four men and women to defend any entrance to the village, with the open center of the village itself defended by his own pack, which included him, Toremiam, Moksha, and Senior Knight Balgresh.  In the event they were needed elsewhere, they would travel swiftly over the same distance to whatever side weakened. 

            But they could not be ready for what was to come.

            The Beastmaster returned with not two, but three of the brute creatures under his guidance.  One of the Lizardmen was unaccounted for, however, and Vandross raised an eyebrow at the ancient Beastmaster.  "An unfortunate but necessary ssssacrifice, my lord," he said with a bow.  "They are hungry, after all."  Vandross smiled broadly, toothily.

            "No matter.  Everyone has to eat, ancient one.  And you have exceeded my expectations I see.  You will be justly rewarded, I assure you," he lied, laying it on as thick as he had to.  When he had control of the second Orb, he would dispose of the old man.  Though useful, such a creature could easily turn on him, and he would not have any of that.  "Get them into position."  The old Lizardman tottered off with the creatures in tow.  Vandross nodded at the Pyromancy-wielding Orcs, and they placed themselves on the ridge.  All was prepared. 

            "My lord," hissed Bael, approaching at speed and saluting. 

            "What is it?"

            "My lord, they have smelled something, I am certain.  They have arranged defenses."  Bael smiled cruelly, though his heart was not in the gesture.  Still, it would keep Vandross happy.  "Not that they'll be ready for our assault, but my scout was worried."

            "Really," asked Vandross, his expression puzzled.  "Worried?  Bring him to me."  Bael returned shortly with the youngest Lizardman of his troops.  Vandross patted the scout on the shoulder, feeling the muscles contract and shake under the scaled skin.  "Are you afraid, young scout?"

            "Yesss, massster," slithered the creature.  He looked about hurriedly, as if afraid of specters in the night.  "I have lived in these woods for all my life, and have fought often these Cuyotai.  They are fierce warriors, masssster, and I fear I shall not sssurvive thisss encounter!"  Vandross tightened his gloved hand on the youth's shoulder, feeling the bone begin to give.  The scout writhed and gibbered under the force of his grip, thrashing to get his shoulder free.

            "You have sworn fealty to me, yes," he asked, lightening his grasp slightly.  The creature nodded mutely.  "You have seen what sort of things I can do to a man, yes," he asked, and once more the creature nodded.  "Then you know there are much more dreadful things to fear than death at the hands of a Cuyotai, yes?"  He beamed at the scout, his pearly whites flashing menacingly in the moonlight at the youth.  Finally, the scout seemed to calm down, and nodded.

            "I shall fight for your cause, massster," he murmured. 

            "There's a good lad," Vandross said, patting him in an amicable fashion.  "Now, go get ready for the fight."  As the scout scampered off, Vandross motioned Bael toward him.  "I've seen the boy fire a bow.  He's quite good.  Try to boost his morale, and make sure he isn't killed."

            "I shall try, sire," Bael said, saluting.

            "Don't try anything, Bael.  Just do it."  His General looked at the ground for a second, then nodded.  Night had finally come in full force, as the sun set beyond the horizon.  Vandross stalked from the tree line, up on the ridge next to his fire-wielders.  He raised a single iron-gloved fist in the air, waiting as he watched the Cuyotai below.  With the power of the Orb, he could see them perfectly in the night, gauging their movements.  They were waiting for an attack.  What he would bring them was an onslaught.  With a single snap of his arm, his eye fixed on the second Orb's dark glow, he signaled the beginning of the attack.

            "Go now, and crush them my children," whispered the Beastmaster to the morenians, who began to stampede down the slope toward the northern defenders.  Wild battle cries ripped through the air as the beasts crashed into the first Cuyotai pack, arrows flying and swords gashing along the beasts' sides. 

            "Morenians," one of the defenders shouted.  "We are beset by beasts," he cried, as a huge set of claws ripped three holes in his stomach and chest.  The damage was too severe to be regenerated by the lycanthrope, and he fell to the ground, the first to die.  In the village center, Shoryu used his piercing gaze to look to the north, where the first assault had taken place.  Beyond that, however, up atop the slope in the distance, he could barely make out more shapes, more bodies.  Lizardmen!  And something else, some sort of Greenskin race.  Before he could tell Toremiam, the Senior was leading his pack north, to the already faltering defenders. 

            "It is not just beasts," he shouted over the din of the battle they approached.  "There are Lizardmen and Orcs or something up there!"

            "Their Beastmaster," growled Senior Toremiam as he launched an arrow into one morenian's throat, killing it where it stood.  The other two, larger beasts had clawed and maimed three of the eight northern defenders, but the tide of the battle had finally shifted to the defenders' advantage.  "But why are there Greenskins?"

            "I don't know," Shoryu shouted, looking back to see that other packs had begun to approach at speed.  "It is surely an alliance to oust us from the village!"  Before he could further speculate, he looked up in time to see three fiery red orbs floating at the village.  "Fire magic!  These beasts are a ruse!  They intend to burn us where we stand!"  His cry and movement likely saved the defenders' lives, for they all retreated in time to avoid the engulfing ring of flames as the fireballs erupted on the backs of the morenians, reducing them to ash along with the nearby huts. 

            A swarm of Lizardmen were spotted approaching from the western slope, and all of the warriors began to charge the force of thirty or more reptiles.  Shoryu took careful aim back up to the north, and let fly two arrows in rapid succession.  They struck the fire-wielders, but not before two lines of fire ripped through the village, setting most of the homes ablaze.  The magic-users dealt with, he joined the defenders to meet the attacking reptiles.  The first ranks of the marching reptilian warriors crashed into the oncoming defenders with an earth-shattering impact, the force of which threw several combatants on both sides to the ground, leaving them open for swift strikes and killing blows.  Shoryu, Moksha, and Toremiam kept a safe distance, rapidly firing into the Lizardman ranks.  But they wore heavy plated armor, and several of the shots could not penetrate their defenses.  The Cuyotai Knights made up for this by engaging the Lizardmen from their flank.

            Shoryu turned his head about swiftly, looking for some sign of his caretaker.  The mighty Chieftain was finally spotted, on the southernmost tip of the flaming village.  He was rampaging through a force of some fifteen Orcs and four Ogres single-handedly, the rest of his warriors distracted by their hated natural foes.  Shoryu had to help, and quickly.  He ignored his impulse to simply join the Chieftain, making his way through the burning streets to his home.  There, kneeling next to his caretaker's bed, he grasped the enchanted bow and strapped its quiver over his shoulders.  Adulthood and rituals be damned, he thought.  I'll not lose two fathers.

            But as he exited the hut, he saw that the Greenskins all lay dead, and the Chieftain was now battling a strange, one-eyed Human and a huge and ferocious Lizardman, who wore the heaviest-looking armor he'd ever seen.  He stood there, frozen with dread, as the Human unleashed blow after devastating blow at his caretaker, who could only just keep up with the Human's enormous and swift-swinging sword.  The Lizardman's weapon of choice, a green-tinted axe, was heavy and ungainly, obviously not suited for prolonged combat.  He was tiring rapidly.  The one-eyed man took one hand off of his sword, and black strands of force lashed out at the Chieftain, knocking him back into the flames of a hut.  "Father," Shoryu shouted, leaping into action.  But he was not swift enough.  The single eye of the wicked Human caught him fully in its gaze, and for a moment, he faltered.

            "Bael, deal with him," the Human said.  Before he could react, the huge reptile shoulder-tackled him, sending the young Cuyotai sprawling.  Vandross smiled smugly, only to be blasted in the chest by the Chieftain's huge war hammer.  Through the air he flew, landing on the burnt-out remains of a home.  He kick-flipped to his feet, smiling menacingly at the large Cuyotai.  "Not bad, old one.  But you'll have to do better than that."  Once more he lashed out with his magic, this time using a lightning-fork to strike the old Chieftain to the ground, holding the energy flow as the Cuyotai writhed and shrieked in agony.  Vandross let up a little, kneeling next to him.  "The Orb.  Give it to me, and I may spare you."  The Chieftain, filled with the pride of generations of leaders, spat blood into Vandross's good eye.  "An unwise decision," he growled, wiping his eye and standing to his feet.  He unleashed then the full power of his magic, turning the Chieftain into a glowing thunderhead of force.  But the Chieftain had gone beyond pain, and simply writhed, his body failing him, his fur smoking on his body.  Satisfied, Vandross released his body to the ground, and knelt by him once more. 

            The one-eyed devil rifled through the Chieftain's pouches, finally producing the coveted artifact.  With a triumphant and maniacal glee he chortled, pulling the Orb into himself, letting the new power course through his veins.  When at last the final purple streak of energy shot from his eye into the night, he shouted at Bael, who had been at a stalemate with Shoryu's speed and agility.  "Bael, we are through here.  I have the Orb," he said, looking north to see that the last of the Cuyotai had fallen under the weight of five Lizardmen.  "Leave them and my Orcs behind to deal with the runt.  We have no further business here."  Bael saluted, baring his teeth at Shoryu one final time.  He noticed that something had broken in the youth, however, in the last minute or so.  He followed Shoryu's line of sight to the Chieftain's corpse, and realized that the boy's spirit must surely be broken.  For a moment, he almost felt pity for the boy.  The Chieftain must have been the boy's father.  Bael sprinted to his master's side, leaving the boy to his fate.  Secretly, he hoped the young Hunter would survive.

            "And the elites, my lord?"

            "Leave them here," Vandross said, an impish grin distorting his face as he looked to the north.  "I do believe they'll be receiving a visitor soon."

            "And the Beastmaster?  Do you still wish him, disposed of?"  Vandross seemed to mull over his earlier decision.  He felt such raw power and magic within him now, that he felt almost foolish for thinking the ancient Lizardman posed a threat to him. 

            "No, Bael. Bring him with us.  I shall have uses for him down the road after all."  Vandross turned his back on the burning village, and accompanied by Bael, left the barren waste behind.  It would be a message to Byron of Sidius when he found it.  That message was simple; pursue me and die. 

            Ashes.  Ruins.  Corpses.  These were the only things Shoryu could see, or think about.  Defeat.  A word his mind could decipher, but could not feel or know.  His lips had never truly had to form them.  Yet here, now, in his own home, they were the only factors that mattered.  But these words, though they danced in his mind like the macabre waltz of the dead risen from their graves, did not come from his mouth.  Instead, a single thought, idea, need, came from his throat.  In the din of rushing weapons and claws, thirsty for his blood, a single utterance could be heard.  "Survive," he said.  But the reptilian and Greenskin warriors did not advance quickly.  He had time to try to see if his caretaker clung to life.  Grasping his weapon in a death-grip, he flung himself to the Chieftain's side.  The big man's chest rose and fell in rhythm. 

            "Sho, ryu," he sputtered, blood choking his singed and crisped neck.  "I have had, a, vision.  Perhaps, my last," he gurgled, his hand finding Shoryu's and clenching it feebly.  The once powerful Cuyotai had little more strength left than a newborn pup.  The sight of his caretaker in such a sad state of affairs left Shoryu speechless.  "My, boy.  I have, seen, a holy man, in the guise, of, a monster.  He shall, be, coming, soon.  He, shall aid, you, and you, he.  Go, with him.  My boy," he gurgled, coughing out gouts of brackish fluid.  His hand lifted to Shoryu's cheek, bloodying the already sweat matted fur.  "Be, strong, and, and proud."  With his final words said, the old Chieftain laid his head to one side, and embraced the dark-robed countenance of Death.

            Standing slowly, his rage fueled by his caretaker's end, Shoryu turned and took aim with his first arrow.  With his first assailant in his sights, he growled low in his throat, carrying the sound onward into a war cry.  His arrow flew, and the remainders of the assaulting force pressed forward.

            Byron pried the last of the ten Lizardmen off of his bloodied blade, planting his armored foot on the reptile's chest and heaving with all of his might.  His breastplate shone in the glowing light of the blazing village below, crimson life blood dripping off of him at every movement.  He had arrived too late, he knew; but if he was lucky, there would be some sort of survivors in the village, and they might be able to point him in Vandross's direction.  The wicked aura had faded from the village, this much he knew from just looking down at the wreck that was once a noble home.  The area had a blasted appearance, and Cuyotai corpses could be seen strewn about everywhere. 

            Yet he could see that battle still took place within the burning remains of the village.  Sword over shoulder, Alex in tow, the undead warrior charged down the slope into the streets of the Cuyotai home.  As he entered the village proper, an enchanted arrow flew past his face, avoiding him by scant inches.  He skidded to a halt, looking behind him as the arrow erupted as it connected with an Ogre that had been apparently waiting for him.  He spun around, his red glowing eyes fixed on the young Cuyotai Hunter who had already turned to volley arrows at the last of his assailants.  Yet something seemed amiss.  He looked around, and too late saw one of the Lizardmen leaping down from the last burning hut to club Shoryu smartly on the back of the head.  The youth fell to the ground, landing in an unconscious heap.

            Byron decided in his mind that he would keep this one alive, if only to discover what Vandross's next move would be.  The reptilian warrior that had ambushed the young Hunter made to crush his skull with the wooden club it wielded, but it heard the movement of another target nearby, and turned to glare at Byron of Sidius.  He sheathed the sword, crouching in preparation for the Lizardman to strike.  This one circled him in the flame-gouted street, showing no fear of him.  Yet, as he looked into the Lizardman's eyes, he could see that they were strangely clouded.  Some magic had a hold of him, and he would run from nothing.  Byron cross-stepped to match the reptile's circling pace, first right in front, then left, keeping his balance on his heels.  The reptilian warrior was not so sophisticated in combat; it shuffled like a grunt in an arena bout.  Byron smiled inwardly; after all, without proper balance, he could easily get the creature on the ground and begin pummeling him to a state of blissful unconsciousness. 

            Finally, the reptile made his move, charging with a banshee wail at the Dread Knight.  Byron crouched further down, lunging aside from the overhead club swing.  He landed with his right leg back, bent for a pounce, and he slammed into the Lizardman from its front-right, knocking it to the ground.  In the blink of an eye, he sat atop the reptile's shoulders, effectively pinning his arms by cutting off blood-flow.  As the reptile screamed and thrashed its legs, Byron raised a single heavy fist, slamming it down hard on its snout.  There was a crunch of jawbone, and its eyes rolled back into its head.  Yet as Byron lifted himself off of the felled Lizardman, its chest heaved up and down.  He turned his head about to look for more assailants, but spotted the few of them making for a retreat.

            Do not let them get away, instinct screamed at him.  Frustrated at his late arrival, Byron decided that this once he would give in to his darker impulses.  The undead warrior raised his hands over his head, lowering his eyes to the ground and summoning the power of the earth.  Murmuring under his breath in the tongue of mages, he thrust his head skyward and screamed the final words of power.  In the distance, the ground itself split ahead of the fleeing Lizardmen, and each in turn fell into the rift, landing about fifteen feet down in the ground, no hope of escape.  Reversing the words, hands still upraised, he closed the rift with his magic.  The ground rumbled, and the trapped reptiles cursed and raged against the closing earth, arms snapping like twigs as they tried to hold the ground itself at bay.  With a final, air-rending crunch, the earth closed around them, their blood spraying like a volcanic eruption out of the ground.

            "Quite nice, my lord," commented Alex, his face as white as a sheet.  He had yet to see such an act of mercilessness on Byron's part.  He didn't care much for the power Byron commanded, but he respected the undead warrior's usual restraint.  Byron slumped to the ground, the magical energy expended draining his reserves of strength.  The warriors he had dealt with outside of the village had been quite skilled, and he had taken a few lumps at their hands.  The magic of the rift had nearly caused him to black out.  But he still had something to do.  He got to his feet, slowly, agonizingly, and walked over to where the now-conscious Shoryu sat, hugging his knees, his bow in hand.  The flames around them, with nothing much left to feed upon, had begun to die down.

            "Do what you must, creature," Shoryu whispered, no hint of emotion in his tone.  Byron took a step back, his hands out at his sides in a show of peace.

            "I am not here to harm you, young Hunter.  I seek a man.  The one who probably perpetrated this atrocity.  Did you see him?"  Shoryu looked dismally up at Byron, and a small sparkle lit his eyes for a moment.  The Cuyotai used his free hand to push to his feet, facing Byron's now white lights squarely.

            "The black-cloaked man with one eye?  The devil who has slain my father?"  Byron's jaw hung open a fraction, trying to think of words to say.

            "Yes, that is him.  His name is Vandross.  Did you see which way he went," Byron asked softly, trying not to aggravate the boy any further.  After all, from the looks of it, he alone survived the massacre of his people.

            "Yes, creature, I did.  He travels southwest with a large band of these cretins.  And I," he began, walking away from Byron.  "I shall go after him.  I shall have revenge for what has happened this night!"  Shoryu stalked boldly for a minute or so, finally breaking down and dropping to his knees, holding his face in his hands as he wept.  Moksha, Tomremiam, the Chieftain, all of them slaughtered!  And for what?  The artifact in his caretaker's charge?  He sat and cried alone a while, until he felt a heavy, but comforting hand rest on his shoulder.  He looked up into the undead warrior's lights, and slowly the sparkle returned to his wet eyes. 

            "Be still, young man.  You have fought valiantly here, and have survived a great ordeal.  Surely your god will reward you when your time on this earth is over, for the deeds you have done this day.  Worry not for the souls of your kindred," Byron whispered, his voice becoming soft and almost human.  "For they are already ascended to be with their heavenly host," he continued, looking and gesturing towards the stars.  "The man you seek revenge upon is very powerful, and very dangerous.  You must not go after him in blind rage, with your heart full of lust for his blood.  You must find a new home, and make peace with what has happened here."  Shoryu shook his head fiercely, rejecting the notion of just moving on with his life without taking some sort of action.

            "You go to combat this devil, don't you?"  Byron nodded.  "What is your name?"

            "My name is Byron.  This," he said, reaching into the air and grabbing Alex around the body, who gave a loud 'urk'.  "This is Alex."

            "My name is Shoryu Tearfang," said Shoryu, bowing stiffly.  "You are the holy man, disguised as a monster, as my father has seen in his vision.  I must accompany you, Byron.  I beg of you to take me with you."  Byron stood flabbergasted for a moment.  There was magic in the boy's bow, and his shot had indeed proven to be incredibly accurate.  Yet, he felt that the youth was, well, too young for a voyage such as his.  He did not want to drag an otherwise innocent Hunter into his conflict.  But somehow, the look of determination on Shoryu's face convinced him.

            "You'll just follow me if I say no, won't you Shoryu?"  The boy nodded.  "And, being a Hunter, you know the lay of the lands very well, yes?"  Once again, Shoryu nodded.  "Very well then.  Lead the way, young Shoryu.  Alex, we have a new companion.  And he shall guide us to our next destination."

            "Which is where exactly, my lord," Alex inquired, wiggling free of Byron's grasp.

            "Narfan," Byron said, pointing directly south.  "I have an old acquaintance who should have some help to lend.”  With a swift stride and a slight smile, Shoryu took point, and began to lead the way to Ja-Wen protectorate town.