'Freedom or the Fire' Chapter Seven- Fort Flag

Richard Vandross's army had been marching for five solid days when Bael and the remaining force from the Ja-Wen protectorate returned to their main body.  General Bael stormed immediately to Vandross's position near the front lines of the march, reporting the results of the battle with Byron and Shoryu.  "So they managed to kill both Valk and the Berserker," Vandross mused, a storm cloud looming over his brow.  "And this Ki Fairy.  What is it exactly, this creature?"

            "They are a form of Fairyfolk that rely on trickery and magic, lord Vandross."

            "All Fairyfolk rely on those things, Bael," Vandross retorted shortly.

            "Yes, lord, but most tricks of Fairyfolk do not involve magical ice shanks and blades of fire gouging one's eyes and tearing one's scrotum.  Sire."  Vandross paused a moment, shivering slightly at the thought of total blindness or losing his manhood. 

            "Well, at least you didn't do anything rash, General," Vandross mused.  His army had moved out during the night that Bael's detachment had made for Narfan.  Their total numbered now in the thousands, having grown exponentially as creatures with wicked hearts were drawn to the collected Orbs of Eden’s Serpent.  They had at least three or four days on the Dread Knight, Cuyotai Hunter and the Ki Fairy.  But with a force of so many marching, it would slow their progress for certain.  Vandross had to make certain he did not confront the trio before he reached Desanadron's gates, at least not without the full force of his army at his back.  Perhaps it was time to truly test the Shadowbeasts.  "General, bring me the Shadowbeast Prime, Vilec Roak.  I must speak with him."  Bael gave a quick salute and marched off through the wading masses of troops and battalions.  Something about Bael's movements and manner disturbed him.  The Lizardman had seemed almost distant in his report, as if his mind and body stood miles apart from one another.  Perhaps it was the prospect of another five or six days' march the Lizardman didn't like, or the fact that he'd lost so many of his detachment to Narfan’s soldiers and Byron.   The man was a military sort, but casualties meant more than just numbers sometimes.

            Vandross himself felt the lash of defeat at the news that Valk had perished.  Potentially another whole platoon of wild beasts had been lost before it had started with the Beastmaster's death.  Mayhap he would find another, but not likely one so masterful as Valk.  He had to admit that sending the old reptile was a mistake.  Before he could brood much further, Vilec Roak stood beside him, walking in stride with the one-eyed devil.  "Roak."

            "Yes, master," the Shadowbeast said, nodding his hooded head ceremonially. 

            "I need you to run some interference.  Leave two groups of five Shadowbeasts behind the army, one set to ambush the Dread Knight and his friends, and another to come in for support if things start to fall to shit.  Make sure they're both skilled and clever."  He thought a moment longer, trying to figure out how best to delay the trio further.  "Better yet, fetch Bael.  Get some ideas from him.  He's better at military tactics than me," he concluded bitterly.  He had chosen well in selecting Bael as his General, for the reptile had served such a position formerly.  But he had to start learning from the man if he didn't want to have to depend totally on him.  The power of the Orbs would mean nothing if he didn't start learning how to better use his army.

            Vilec Roak shifted through the ranks of troops, slithering here and there like a venomous serpent, taking Bael by surprise as he slinked up behind him.  "General," Roak said suddenly, making the reptile start.  "Lord Vandross has ordered me to leave two detachments of five of my kin behind to distract Byron of Sidius from pursuit.  He says I should consult you for tactical advice."  Roak's innards squirmed; he didn't like the reptile, and he could tell Bael didn't care much for him.  A mutual distrust kept the two from speaking much, though they shared a similar responsibility to their lord.  But though Bael didn't like him, he was a professional soldier.  He knew and did his duty to his utmost ability.

            "Right," Bael began, eyes directed forward.  "Lay the first group in an ambush point, over a ridge perpendicular to their path of travel.  Attack only when Byron has his back to them.  Make sure they strike and scatter.  Then have the second group, nearby, attack from the opposite direction.  Again, strike and scatter.  Have the first group attack again, and when they are slain, and I assure you they will be, have the second group head for the hill in any direction other than ours.  Byron will not be able to resist the urge to follow them and destroy them.  He may even try to interrogate them.  Make sure that your men are willing to die first."  Roak nodded his head, impressed by the General's ability to take a situation, however limited his resources, and make it work out in the end.  He may not have liked the General, but he certainly now respected him.  Perhaps he too could do something to wring respect out of the old reptile.

            Returning to Vandross, Vilec Roak stalked alongside for a few minutes.  He knew of some of Vandross's newfound powers, including a few the Human had not yet discovered.  But Roak had been around in the days of Tanarak, serving as a scout and spy for the dead warlock.  "My lord," he began hesitantly.  "Before I send those men, I wonder, have you yet tried to teleport any of the army?"  Vandross came up short, looking at Roak with a puzzled look.   "It was one of Tanarak's powers, sire.  He could create a one-way door in the air to send troops through, twenty or thirty at a time.  I just thought, since Fort Flag is so near to Desanadron, they are bound to see us coming.  Perhaps a distraction or a preliminary attack will weaken them, make them less likely to defend the Orb in Desanadron."  Vandross mused over this information a while, chewing on his upper lip. 

            A minute later, he closed his eyes and stopped marching, concentrating on the Orbs within him.  He could not see anything, just feel himself scaling down into the canyons of arcane power that flowed through his body.  A warm glow stretched through his inner being, filling his consciousness with the presence of the Orbs.  He could feel nothing beyond this perception at that time, his whole being locking out all other input.  He had to maintain his connection to the Orbs, and for a moment, in his mind's eye, he could see them, two twin spheres of dark power.  What doth thou seek, he heard them ask in his mind.  The power to move men a great distance in an instant, he thought in response.  Concentrate, and open the gateway then, Richard Vandross.  Some shall not make it through, but most shall.  He mustered his mental defenses and powers, bringing his magic into fluctuation around him.  The air cracked with power, and his entire body began to tremble.  The army had stopped marching, and had circled around their great leader. 

            His eye turned purest black, and his left hand stretched out to his side, emanating a single bolt of black energy wrapped in ribbons of purple power.  When he came back to full awareness, he was looking at a rippling pool of purple energy in the shape of a gate.  You can send one score of men through there, to near the Paladin fort, the voices called to him.  "All right, I need twenty volunteers to go through here," he shouted over the assembled masses.  "This doorway will bring you out near Fort Flag, the Order of Oun outpost!  Your job will be to attack that outpost, and reduce its numbers as much as possible!  I do not lie to you, this is a suicide mission, but it is in the interest of our greater cause!  Who will go?"  A handful of Greenskins, two or three Lizardmen, another handful of Illeck, and two Khan stepped forward to complete the group.  Without another word or question, weapons at the ready, the Greenskins filed through the gate, one at a time, followed by the Illeck, the reptiles, and the Khan.  When all were through, the gate disappeared, and Richard Vandross fainted. 

            Bael ordered over a stretcher, and he and another Khan bore Vandross for the rest of that day until nightfall.  As Vandross awoke, he could sense his men off in the distance, attacking the walls of Fort Flag.

            Earlier that day, over a hundred leagues away, atop a battlement wall, stood a single stoic figure.  He was a stocky man, of a little less than six feet in height.  His dusky, tanned skin and rough hands showed signs of a man who worked arduously on a daily basis.  His half-plate steel armor shone in the high afternoon sun like a calm lake in the noon light.  Well developed muscles twitched on scarred arms, ready at any moment to snatch at his weapons, to defend his life and the lives of others.  Thick black hair covered his blocky head, cut short and close to keep it out of his eyes and avoid being grabbed by a desperate opponent.  And gray eyes looked out east over the plains stretching away from Fort Flag, into the distance of other lands.

            His name was James Hayes, a Human Paladin in the Order of Oun.  Though he had the appearance of a very tall Dwarf, with a thick, braided beard and a battle-ready gait to his walk, he did not possess their single-mindedness as pertained to matters of warfare.  Dwarves locked onto a single target and flailed at it until it or they were dead.  James Hayes observed all nearby threats, defended himself, and looked for opportunities to open up.  Thus far, he had survived with this strategy.  At the moment, he patrolled the eastern wall of Fort Flag, keeping watch for signs of aggressive forces.  Though he normally went about his duties with little expectation of conflict, reports had been steadily coming in from other cities via messenger bird and horsemen.  An army of some sort had been assembling, far east near the Allenian Hills and the city-state of Ja-Wen. 

            One particular scout, a Knight who had arrived the day before, had said that the leader of this army was the one-eyed warlock Richard Vandross.  Vandross had been known to the Order of Oun for a while now, and some members of the Order even knew of his purposes.  After the fall of Koreindar, it had been discovered that Vandross had stolen and absorbed one of the Orbs of Eden’s Serpent.  Until that time, an Orb had been kept in the safekeeping of a church in the city of Desanadron.  But after many talks with the leader of Fort Flag, a Paladin by the name of Roderick Mensia, it had been agreed that the Orb would be best off in the care of the outpost.  Though the city had a larger standing army, they agreed that the Order outpost was better suited to protecting the ancient artifact.

            Hayes tapped his fingers along the stone parapet of the high fort wall.  Since the scout had returned, his right arm had been itching to draw his sword and take a platoon of men out to meet this attack.  But he knew he would have to be patient.  Best to let the enemy tire themselves out marching.  A pair of young Paladins approached him from the southern wall, laughing and cajoling each other.  As they reached Hayes, they stood erect and saluted, trying to look serious and grim.  Hayes smiled at the youths, returning their salute.  "How goes it gentlemen?  May I ask what's so amusing?"  The two Humans looked at each other mischievously, deciding silently that the skinnier man would speak.

            "We are well, Captain," the young man said.  "We were just joking around about what things must be like outside of the Fort.  We've both been training here for four years, so we've sort of lost touch with the rest of the world."  Hayes nodded, agreeing with them that sometimes life inside the Fort was like being in an isolated country.  He couldn't of course bring himself to say it, as he often left the Fort on assignment with his own detachment.  These boys were just getting ready to take their final tests to become full members of the Order, and so they would only start asking questions if he mentioned what he'd seen of the world outside the Fort in the last few years.

            He thought back as the two boys walked past about his first mission after passing the final test.  He had been sent with Byron Aixler's army to Mount Toane, to do battle with the warlock Tanarak of Sidius.  It had been a well-designed attack, but in the end, it had failed.  Byron Aixler had supposedly died in the mountain, along with hundreds of others who joined the assault.  James had been fortunate enough to be under the command of Lieutenant Grey, Rimzan's son, whose troop had been posted at the entrance of Mount Toane.  When the mountain had trembled and the survivors of the infiltrating units had come fleeing out of the mountain, they had brought behind them all manner of Shadowbeast and undead creatures.  Hayes had been skilled for a new member of the Order, but even he had suffered several injuries.  He held his wrist up to the sunlight, looking at the long scar along the wrist where a Healer had reattached his hand after he returned to Fort Flag.  He had decided to never transfer to another Fort that day.  Fort Flag was home, it was sanctuary.  It was where he had learned that even in the darkest hours, hope could shine bright. 

            Hayes was brought sharply out of his trip down memory lane as he saw, in the distance, a strange glowing circle of energy materialize out of the air.  Purple and yellow energies swirled, and a sound like a banshee's wail split the sky.  Winds tore through the hole out at the Fort, tossing those sentries who didn't have a good balance down off of the eastern wall into the courtyard below.  None were injured too badly, having broken their fall on hay bails placed at the bottom of the wall for just such an event.  Blinking and squinting his eyes into the unnatural gale, Hayes watched as creatures began to pour out of the hole, each more aggressive-looking than the last.  But though they came through, they did not attack immediately.  Instead, they formed ranks in a militant fashion.  When at last the rift closed, twenty foul creatures stood in formation.  At the front, two Khan wearing some sort of black leather uniform barked orders at the assembled creatures, until from one of their shadows stood a single Shadowbeast.

            "Sergeant," he heard the Khan say as they saluted the Shadowbeast.  The demon appeared in the form of a hulking Jaft, bald headed and slightly blue-skinned, though the color was off due to the demon's nature.  It wore a black uniform much like the Khan, with three yellow stripes on the right arm that Hayes could see.  There was a muffled exchange between the Khan and their leader, who looked at the wall with his baleful yellow eyes.  There was commotion all around Hayes, and he looked down and saw two of the access doors on the east wall had been opened and thirty young Paladins poured out onto the field between the dark platoon and the east wall of Fort Flag.  The Shadowbeast motioned to the Khan, and they took up their positions at the front of the three-man files.  The one on the left, whose fur was slightly more red than orange, raised his left hand flat-palmed to the sky.  The entire force raised iron shields off of the ground, locking them into place at their sides. 

            "What's the situation, Captain," Commander Mensia said to Hayes, who hadn't noticed the Elven Paladin at his side. 

            "They're using a phalanx formation, Commander," he replied, not looking away from the field.  No one had made a move yet, each side seeming to be weighing the situation.  "It's an old military tactic, wherein the shields are locked together to form a defensible, mobile wedge.  I haven't seen one of them carrying any sort of scaling hooks or ladders, so I don't see how they intend to get into the Fort itself, sir."  Both Captain and Commander looked on in confusion, each trying to figure out exactly what the next move would be.  But neither man expected what came next.

            The Shadowbeast, standing in front of the troop, raised his hands over his head, thunder magic sparking between his fingers.  He thrust his head back and began to chant.  "Thundering force, come to my call!  Tear asunder mine enemies' wall!  Haaaargh!"  Thunder cracked, and a single fork of lightning blasted down from the cloudless sky into the eastern wall, throwing the defenders down to the courtyard and tearing apart the men who had gone out to meet the threat.  Hayes and Mensia had been fortunate enough to land on a barracks roof, but many of the others had fallen to their deaths. 

            "By Oun our god, the demon is formidable," Mensia exclaimed as he got to his feet.  He looked around for Hayes, but the stalwart Paladin had already lowered himself to the ground and was barking orders left and right.  Archers rushed toward the hole in the eastern wall, bows in hand, and the dark troupe outside was slowly advancing on the artificial entrance.  Hayes had the archers line up, and went up the line, endowing holy magic on the arrow tips.  He raised his sword, looking out at their enemies, timing the release.  When the Shadowbeast was within thirty yards of the archer line, he lowered his sword, and the twang of high strung bows ripped the air.  Two or three of the arrows hit solid targets, felling them immediately, but the remaining nine struck armor and shield, stopping.  Arrogant, the Shadowbeast approached at higher speed, until he sensed the fluctuation of magic.  Turning around, he looked at his detachment as white light began to glow and the arrows quivered in their place.  Before any of them could even panic, a white ring of shock wave erupted from the center of their ranks, leaving little more than a blasted stain on the earth.  It had been easy to do, thought Hayes, but they had not acted quickly enough.

            "Well done, men," Commander Mensia said as he joined the line of archer Paladins.  "You there, Corporal!  Go to Desanadron on a horse and find a Gaiamancer who can work this stone back together.  And hurry!  I don't think this is the last we'll see of these forces," he said, running a hand over the shattered stone wall.  "Hayes, prepare yourself and as many of your detachment as possible!  We'll be ready for the next group, come Hell or high water!"  The Elven Paladin stormed off towards his private quarters in the Officers' barracks.  Hayes found his First Lieutenant and gave her the order to prepare the men.  He had some private preparation to do in the Fort's rectory.

            Byron and Shoryu made good time across the open flatlands, the grass supporting their steps with a sort of springiness.  But as the afternoon rolled around, Shoryu's nostrils flared, and he sniffed the air a moment, holding his hand back to stop Byron and Alex.  "I smell something unusually good Byron.  The scent of creatures that follow Vandross, but of which I have never smelled before Narfan.  There are four or five of them, coming our way."  Byron smiled inwardly, knowing from his own experience the way Shadowbeasts made a person feel and look around in paranoia.  More than likely this was another attempt to impede the group's progress.  He could hear the faint shuffling of their black, shadowy feet skimming along the ground.  They were indeed close, but they were more in number than four or five.  It was more like nine or ten.

            Before he could say anything, Byron jumped forward, tucking his skull into his chest and rolling from shoulder to hip to avoid a sword through the back.  Springing to his feet, the undead warrior drew his blade and stood ready, backing up until his back met Shoryu's.  There were five Shadowbeasts, which puzzled Byron slightly.  He could have sworn there were more, he had felt them.  Shoryu left his bow strapped to his back, extracting his claws for melee combat.  The five black magic demons circled the two travelers slowly, almost dancing about like children playing a game.  Each had the physical shape of a large Human, and each held a sword in hand.  One of the five, the only one wearing actual mortal garments, also carried an iron shield, and his arm had three yellow stripes on it.  A sergeant, Byron thought.  Definitely members of Vandross's outfit, but why were they so far behind?  Wouldn't they be best served with another detachment for support?  Before he could answer his own question, metal weapons were twirling through the air at he and Shoryu, and both blocked and dodged as best they could.

            "Sorexia," Byron muttered under his breath, standing to his full height.  The sergeant charged at him, plunging his sword hard at his breastplate.  The blade bent and snapped in two on the hardened steel, which Byron had strengthened with one of his dark spells.  His jaw hinges slid slightly up his skull, creating a sadistic grin.  The sergeant trembled and backed away, calling in his demon tongue for aid, but two of his comrades had fled from sight, and the other two were busy trying to hack away at Shoryu.  Byron advanced slowly on the creature, feeding on its fear, swimming in its refreshing panic.  He punched the creature hard in the stomach, doubling it over before him.  The stench of vomit rose up as the creature wretched the contents of its damaged stomach on the ground, making a noise like a dying canine.  Byron could see its whole body quaking with the knowledge that its existence, short as it was, had come crashing to an end.  Byron grabbed the sergeant's head in his left hand, and gave a quick, sharp twist.  The creature's neck snapped like a dry twig under the force, and its body dropped to the ground, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

            Shoryu, meanwhile, had his hands full with the two enraged Shadowbeasts that had remained.  Blow after blow he nimbly dodged, backflipping away and rolling to the sides of his attackers' assaults.  He earned himself a few scrapes and cuts, however, for even he could not evade such fury forever.  Finally, he managed to create an opening, rolling aside from the larger demon's downward swing.  Crouched like an animal, he swung a sweeping kick at the back of the shorter demon's legs, dropping it to the ground.  He leapt on top of it, and snarled in its face.  He glanced up to see the larger demon straightening its legs for a downward stab.  As the blow came down, Shoryu leapt up, pushing the sword down into the smaller demon that lay prostrate, and now, dead, on the ground.  The survivor backfisted Shoryu, knocking several teeth out of the young Hunter's mouth.  Before either Shoryu or Byron could give chase, the Shadowbeast had fled.  The two companions walked up to each other.  "Are you all right, young one," Byron asked Shoryu, trying to get a good look at the Cuyotai's face.

            "I'm fine, Byron.  My teeth will be replaced shortly, no worries about that.  I think-" he began, but his eyes widened and Byron turned at the last instant, snatching the oncoming arrow out of the air with two armored fingers.  His eyes burned crimson in their sockets, and he saw a short distance away five more Shadowbeasts, three with bows at the ready and two preparing spells of some sort.  Streaks of fire ignited before them and rushed across the field towards Byron and Shoryu.

            "Get down," Byron screamed, tackling Shoryu out of harm's way.  "Shigen-Shen!"  A blue arc rippled in the air in front of Byron, and he drew his sword once again, stampeding toward the Shadowbeasts.  The archers disappeared before he had covered half of the distance, and the spell-casters were preparing another volley of deadly Pyromancy.  Two cones of flames came shooting out at Byron, but as they neared, the blue arc reappeared, and the cones reversed direction, heading for the casters.  Neither could move swiftly enough to avoid their own flames, but they did not die right away.  Burnt and in agony, the Shadowbeasts wailed as Byron brought his heavy iron boot down on one's skull, and his sword down through the other's neck.  Byron looked down at himself, and saw that some of the magic had gotten through his reflective barrier, singing his metal gauntlets. 

Shoryu had spotted and shot dead the archers who had tried to flee.  Byron returned to the pup once more, keeping his sword at the ready this time.  Shoryu pointed south, and Byron followed his line of sight to the surviving couple of Shadowbeasts from the first pack.  "We should follow them Byron," snarled Shoryu, strapping his bow across his back.  But Byron shook his head, sheathing his weapon.  "Why not?"

            "A dog returns to its master when it is kicked in the street, Shoryu.  But a clever dog, when kicked, leads the way to a larger, fiercer pack, far from the master.  They seek to goad us into giving chase.  But they are going to be disappointed."  And so he and Shoryu walked on, continuing to march west at their own pace.  They hadn't been delayed long, but Shoryu, due to a kick to the head, had lost his bearings.  They would have to make camp early, Byron decided, and he would watch guard over Alex and Shoryu.  It was going to be a long night.

            James Hayes, Captain at Fort Flag, Paladin of the Order of Oun for nearly twenty years, knelt on the floor, praying up at the altar silently.  His hands had turned knuckle-white, clenched together so powerfully he could not bring them apart.  The scent of slowly burning candles filled the vestibule, caressing his mind and easing the knot on his wrinkled brow.  At already forty years of age, he had seen and done much in his time.  Mount Toane had been the ultimate test of his faith.  But now, it felt as though the fragile balance of his hopes had been tipped against him with the destruction of the eastern wall.  Hopefully, the scout that had gone to Desanadron would return soon with a Gaiamancer to repair the damage to the Fort, and all would be back to normal. 

            A cool breeze rushed through the chamber as the aged oak door swung inward on rusted hinges.  The squeak of aged metal grinding caught Hayes's ear and tortured it slowly, like nails on a chalkboard.  He looked over his shoulder a moment, long enough to see Commander Mensia walk up to the altar and kneel beside him.  The old veteran hadn't aged a day in twenty years, but such was the way of Elves.  They lived long, enchanted lives, with little or no threat of ever aging into a deathbed.  Hayes, at only one quarter of Mensia's age, was beginning to feel the icy grip of old age claw at him.  He still held skill and power, still retained the abilities of a master Paladin, but he felt prematurely aged now, finding he did not look forward to another encounter with creatures of chaos. 

            "There is more trouble brewing, brave Hayes," Mensia said softly to Hayes.  "Our scouts to the north have not returned, and they were due back this afternoon.  The time of their return draws near, but I can not sense them.  I am afraid, Captain," he muttered, dropping his eyes to the floor.  James looked over at his Commander, a man he had known for all of his years, and the man who had hand-selected James for training into the Order of Oun.  Mensia showed signs of his true age; his hair was graying in spots, his shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of his full plate armor, and his eyes had dulled from their once brilliant blue shine, to a soft sky colored hue.  The raw ambition of the Vow no longer sustained the Elf as it once had.  Hayes could not look at the proud Paladin in his state, and so he looked away, once more at the altar. 

            "We will be enough to meet the challenges, sir.  All is now calm.  Repairs to the wall will begin soon.  We shall be prepared."  Mensia stood and headed for the door, looking back at the stout Human. 

            "You say that all is now calm, James Hayes," Mensia said, his voice echoing hollowly off of the church walls.  "But every storm has an eye."  Hayes remained still, his innards quivering.  The worst had yet to come, he thought.  The worst had yet to come. “I’m going to be sending you and your men to Desanadron, James,” Mensia said quietly.  Hayes turned to gape at his Commander, his question stopped by the look in the Elven Paladin’s eyes.  “We’re looking at a massive assault force coming our way, James, I know it in my heart.  These walls, and the outskirts of Desanadron will soon be set upon by thousands of enemies, perhaps tens of thousands.  Your unit must go to Desanadron to shore up their defenses.”

            “That’s not the only reason you’re sending us, is it,” James asked.  Mensia shook his head.

            “No, James, it isn’t.  The main reason I’m sending you, is that yours may be the only unit to survive the oncoming attack, James.  And the only certain way to make sure of that, is to send you to the city.”

            Richard Vandross grinned from ear to ear.  His General and the Shadowbeast Prime had proven to him that they could work together, and quite well at that.  The two had been talking at great length the day before, shortly after Vandross had dispatched his detachment to Fort Flag.  They had combined their knowledge of the land, their rationing strategies, and their collective magic using troops' lore.  After an hour or two of deliberation, they had both approached the warlock and reported that they had determined a way to increase the movement rate of the entire army and had already devised a plan to weaken Fort Flag.  Vilec Roak had reported that the detachment had been slain, he could tell as much through his demon senses, but not before he detected the aura of the Orb of Eden’s Serpent within Fort Flag itself.  Desanadron was not necessary, but it would help in their strategy.

            Bael had explained that Fort Flag was obligated to help defend Desanadron, despite the formidable size of the city's standing military.  At least one entire platoon would be dispatched from Fort Flag do help defend Desanadron if it came under attack.  Bael's plan was to deploy a large force to Desanadron and attack with full force, to lure Fort Flag's defenders away.  There would be men left behind to defend the Orb, but a significantly reduced number of them.  Bael himself, along with Vilec Roak and Richard Vandross would lead a second force into the Fort while it remained weakened, destroy their enemies, take the Orb, and meet with the deployment in Desanadron.  They would lay waste to the city and claim it as a permanent training, recruiting and staging ground.

            This last part alone Vandross disagreed with.  He had his own choice for his army's home, in Mount Toane, where Tanarak Sidius had ruled over the land from.  Though he didn’t bother telling them of his own past with that dark place, Richard silently wondered if perhaps he might have left something behind when last he’d been within the confines of the mountain.  He thought he might have, but didn’t spend more than a moment considering it. 

Both General and Prime agreed, but they wanted to take the city anyway, to keep a constant presence in the west.  "Very well, General.  You may choose whom to put in charge there if you'd like.  I'm very glad to see the two of you working together, by the way.  I had gotten the impression that you would try to kill each other!"  Vandross laughed mirthlessly, not knowing that Vilec Roak, while he respected Bael, did indeed intend to eventually kill him and take the mantle of General.

            "Lord Vandross, I shall assume control of the city once we have command of it," Bael said, standing at attention.  Vandross hadn't expected the Lizardman himself to take responsibility for the city.  Besides, he would still need him around.  Or, he thought, looking at Vilec Roak closely, will I?  The goodly General has been awful outspoken about my changes in plans, after all.  Yet another thought he would let stew a bit. 

            "No, Bael, I cannot allow that.  I still need you and the Prime when we are finished," Vandross had said.  Bael had saluted and gone off to talk with his elite soldiers.  Vilec Roak had disappeared too, until now, when Vandross mulled over the meaning of the previous day's accomplishments.

            "My lord," Roak began, bowing ceremonially.  "Our spells have more than tripled our travel rate, sire.  We shall approach Desanadron from north tomorrow.  At least, our main force shall.  We can make it to Fort Flag within hours from our chosen campsite.  What shall we do until then?"  Vandross thought the question over for a moment, then shrugged his broad shoulders.

            "Have everyone prepare.  When the scout from Desanadron returns to our position, after the Order dispatches defenses to the city's aid, we shall launch our assault on the Fort.  Aside from that, we wait, and make ready.  Has Bael chosen a commander for the city and Fort once they are taken?  If they are taken?  After all, Desanadron is a rather large city, Prime." 

            "Indeed, sire," Roak hissed, grinning broadly.  He approved of the General's choice, as it didn't take any of Roak's own warriors.  "Captain Sorm, a Black Fur tribe Werewolf.  He is a powerful Knight with use of some Aeromancy spells, sire."  Vandross nodded his acquiescence.  Bael's influence in the plan to take Desanadron laid thick atop it, like the upper layer of stew that most men skimmed off.  If his own goals had not been so radically altered, Vandross may have been content to make the city-state of Desanadron his own and call it quits.  But he wanted more, now.  He had the power to do more than that, and he would.  With just one more Orb of Eden’s Serpent, he would have powers he had never dreamed of.  With only two, he could command all of these creatures to a degree, could create portals of teleportation, and had increased the power of his own magic tenfold.  He could rule the known world with only three, but he still had Byron of Sidius to deal with.  Delay tactics would not work on the Dread Knight forever, that much was certain.  He would eventually have to send a worthy opponent at Byron and his companions. 

            If he only had a third Orb already in his possession, he thought, he might be able to repeat an experiment of much earlier days, days before he had even been known in the lands of Tamalaria.  Quite by chance, the warlock had once summoned up a very powerful demon from the Seven Hells, and had been forced to entomb its essence in a safe place until he could release it into another mortal being, preferably one near death.  The opportunity did eventually come along, and without exactly snapping his fingers, Vandross remembered what he had once left in Mount Toane- Molis. 

            But he could not control Molis, not completely.  He could only ensure, back then, that the creature would never do him harm directly.  Having done that, he ordered the creature to slumber, until one day he returned for it.  And oh, he thought, I shall return in the most grand of styles!

            But for now, his plans would have to simply continue on as they were.  "Very good, Roak.  You are dismissed."  The Shadowbeast went to join his kindred, leaving Vandross to plod along with his army alone.  This didn't bother him; on the contrary, he needed time to be alone for now.  Time to think without someone waiting for an order or response.  Time to envision the chaos and destruction of Desanadron and Fort Flag.

            Though the attack had seemed very structured, militant, and purposeful, James Hayes still could not figure out what exactly could have been the intent of the attackers.  A Shadowbeast had led them, in a uniform with sergeant's stripes.  Yet the only thing they had accomplished was the temporary destruction of the east wall, which was currently being re-formed, and a few casualties among the Order.  Hayes found sleep difficult that night as he thought about what Mensia had said; 'Every storm has an eye'.  If the attack had been the outer fringes of a storm, however, it wasn't a very big one.  Hayes slept fitfully after a while, waking up before the sound of reveille. 

            He dragged himself to his washroom, using the toilet and then looking long and hard into the mirror.  Thin scars still pulsed at him from years long since come and gone, battles fought in the name of the Order, battles fought in the name of decency.  He ran a stubby finger over the last one, a thick slash just in front of his left ear.  It had happened five months ago, when he and his own unit had gone south to the Cave of Urduros to do away with the demon's son, who had taken over the Cave a few years earlier and had begun to summon other demons from the seven Hells.  Urduros's son, Urbaro, had been a huge bat-demon, and had nearly split Hayes's skull in half, but he had dodged enough of the weapon to launch a counterattack that killed the demon.  The Cave had been sealed by Paladin lore, and none but the Order could enter.  It had been decided that as a last resort, the entire platoon of Fort Flag would retreat to the Cave to regroup.  But an enemy would first have to take Fort Flag from the watchful and vengeful hand of Commander Mensia.  Hayes smiled at himself in the mirror.  Fat chance of that happening. 

            He continued to smile and look forward to the day as he adorned his armor and weapons.  He didn't yet know that what had occurred before with the fort wall was only the foretelling winds of an enormous storm, not said storm’s eye.

            As Byron rose groggily to his feet, he shook his head and went down to the stream to get some water.  He hadn't fed for several days now, since meeting Shoryu.  He didn't want to frighten the Cuyotai youth by revealing the extent of his twisted nature.  Byron had to absorb blood through his bones for sustenance in his current body, and had not done so since he had slain the Lizardmen outside of Shoryu's village.  Kneeling by the stream, he cupped his gauntlets and scooped some water up to his exposed throat.  The flesh of his body began just under his collar plating, and he poured the liquid directly into his throat.  He had done this with the scotch too, but water felt much more refreshing at the moment.  But no matter how satisfying the stream's water was, he needed blood for strength.

            Shoryu came trundling up to Byron, a half-hearted smile on his face.  "Well, while we didn't go for those Shadowbeasts' bait last night, I'd say they still did their job.  I have smelled much magic in the air, though I could not discern the nature of the spells used.  However, from the look of the tracks they've left behind, they were able to use the magic to accelerate their movement rates by at least three or four times normal running speed."  Byron passed a hand over his skull, trying to focus. 

            "So we've lost a good deal of time on them by resting," he mused under his breath, but he remembered Shoryu's sense of hearing.  "Well, we'll just have to try to make up for that lost time.  Get your things ready, Shoryu," he said, walking towards the camp.  "I'm going to go get us some game for later.  A small animal should do."  Byron moved away swiftly, jogging out of Shoryu's sight.  He continued jogging until he could see, out of the corner of his eye, a large buffalo, probably straying from its herd.  Byron wasted no time, drawing his sword and rushing at the beast blade-first, hacking it into several dozen gory chunks.  He grappled with the beast's heart, tearing it from protecting bones and organs, squeezing its life-giving blood onto his ivory-hued skull.  Dropping the crushed organ, he felt power racing back through his body, sensed a small, buried part of himself come alive.  The lights in his eyes flashed crimson for a moment, and returned to their dull white shine. 

            He looked at the pathetic creature's remains, and chastised himself for his weakness.  He had to, though, if he was going to go after Richard Vandross.  It was a necessary evil, one he needed to stay alive.  And he would not take small amounts of blood by simply wounding, for he did not just take the life essence of his feeding victims, but also a measure of their sanity and self-control  He looked at his gauntlets, and after a moment, removed the left one.  Half of his hand was rotted away, revealing stringy muscles and bones.  "This isn't quite being alive," he muttered to no one in particular.  Replacing the gauntlet, he ran back to Shoryu, one of the slabs of buffalo in hand.  The Cuyotai seemed distracted, and didn't ask any questions, which was fine by Byron.  After a meal shared in silence, the two men and Alex hurried off west, toward Desanadron and Fort Flag.  They were a full two and a half days behind Vandross's army.  But luck seemed to be on their side.

            As the pair moved through the high grasslands, Shoryu brought Byron up short with a gesture of his hand, motioning the large undead warrior to lay down and hide in the grass.  Despite his bullheaded nature, Byron did as he was told, in a manner of speaking, and waited.  There was a short conversation, Shoryu speaking in Elven to a pair of gentlemen.  There was a gale of laughter, and then the clomping of hooves.  Shoryu reappeared, a horse tether in each hand.  Byron stood to his full height, grinning like a madman, as much as his face would allow.  "How did you, pay for these Shoryu?"

            "'E didn't," said a familiar voice as Lee Toren hopped down from one of the horses.  "I was escortin' these babies to a little place I keeps in the region.  Me men was 'appy to lend em to ye, old friend," he said, limping over to Byron.  The Dread Knight gaped in dismay at the sign of bruises and lacerations on Lee's face and chest.  Lee looked up at him with one half-shut eye, swollen so by a large bruise.  "Case you's wonderin, a couple a beasties did this ta me in Narfan, night afore the attack."  Lee looked at the ground in shame.  "They caught me coming from a friend's house-"

            "In the act of a robbery," added Byron.

            "-an 'ey says, hey you there!  Yeah you!  You seem to know your way around here!  Tell us 'ow many guards is in this city!"

            "Except they used better grammar, I'm sure."

            "Now's not the time fer semantics mate," Lee continued, scowling at the Dread Knight and snickering Cuyotai.  "Anyways, I tells 'em, bugger off you lot!  The mighty Byron of Sidius is 'ere, and he'll tear you and yer friends apart!  So they gets all fidgety, start landin' blows down on me 'ead, as you can plainly see," he said, pointing to his swollen eye.  "They wants to know how I know you, and they starts cuttin' me wiv a knife!  I sort of told them what I tol' you in the tavern, mate.  Just to get them to goes away, you know?"  Byron shook his head, putting one hand to his forehead in embarrassment for his little friend.  He didn't hold it against Lee; he was a thief, it was what they did.  "So next day, me an' the boys is sittin around in our hidey hole, waitin' fer me to heal up afore we leaves, and all hell breaks loose in the city.  So we deals with it like real men, roight?"

            "You ran and hid."

            "Hey, I didn't say we did it like real bloody foolish men, just real men," Lee interjected on his own behalf.  "Well, when everything quiets down, we goes to a chum's place and borrow a couple a horses, as I intended to get as far the hell away from all this business as I could."

            "You went to the stables and stole them."

            "Same difference mate, same difference.  Only as we's traveling, we narrowly avoid being spotted by a large army of some sort.  Looked a lot like the fellas we hid from in Narfan, so we decided to fall off the pace a bit.  Then yesterday, we thought we spotted a couple of dead Shadowbeasts lying about, and I thinks to meself, well gee whiz, 'o coulda done somefin like this?"  He smiled amiably up at the Dread Knight and Shoryu, revealing a few gaps in his teeth. 

            "Did those men punch out your teeth too," asked Shoryu softly, truly concerned for the Gnome Pickpocket's health.

            "Wha, these?  No, I just need to bone up on me personal hygiene 'abits boyo," Lee said.  Shoryu visibly deflated as Lee tore the air with his gut laughter.  "Well, we're very near to me local hidey hole, friends.  These are yours, then," he said, patting one stallion on the leg.  The three foot nothing Gnome turned his back nonchalantly to the three travelers and made his way back to his own men.  Before he went down off of the hill they stood atop, he turned back to face them, a sober look on his face.  "Be careful, mates."  Byron thought long and hard about how lucky he had been with his choices of friends in life.  And Lee was practically married to lady luck.

            Vandross's army had made camp, and the force that would march on Desanadron had already departed.  The entire day had passed by like a flash, the army moving rapidly across the plains despite having no steeds.  Vandross himself sat in his tent in the smaller camp north of Fort Flag, whiling away the time with Bael and yet another tournament of chess.  The reptile General had trounced him three times out of the four games they had played, but the one-eyed devil kept his composure.  No need to get angry at a silly game at this point, he thought.  He was so confident and relaxed that he began playing recklessly, carelessly moving his pieces into position without even thinking.  The last match he'd won entirely by chance, because Bael had been so focused on strategy that he hadn't even bothered to see that Vandross had made checkmate by simply moving a bishop into position.  Bael had trapped his king while trying to defend him.

            But the momentum had quickly turned back in Bael's favor.  He took less time defending, more time attacking.  In a matter of six more moves, he had declared checkmate.  "You're not even trying, are you my lord," he asked as he rearranged the pieces. 

            "I've got bigger things on my mind, General," he replied lazily.  Vandross had done away with his armor for the night, preferring to sit in his old tunics.  Bael made no comment, and began the next game.  Halfway through, a Shadowbeast came panting into the tent.

            "My lord, Byron of Sidius survived our attack," panted one of the surviving creatures from two nights ago.  "Myself and Rodan escaped, but only barely!  My lord, you must prepare the entire camp to defend against him!  Surely we will all be killed by him if we do not prepare!"

            "My foolish little friend," Vandross said soothingly.  "Vilec Roak and several Illusionists have disguised this whole area.  The Dread Knight will never see us.  Besides, you were but ten men.  We here have hundreds against them." 

            "How then did I find you," jabbered the Shadowbeast, quivering with fear and doubt. 

            "Because you are one of my own men, demon," Vandross said, not looking up from the chess board.  Bael had stood to his feet and faced the cowardly demon.  He had his axe in hand at his hip, his legs braced.  "Are you so afraid?  Then you may leave."  The Shadowbeast smiled broadly, pleased to be spared the trouble of dying at Byron of Sidus's hands.

            "I can?"

            "Of course.  Bael, show him the way out."  Vandross smiled toothily at the demon, whose eyes widened in panic just before his head came rolling off of his shoulders.  Bael kicked the body of the creature he had just decapitated to the ground, and in a moment, it faded into ashes.  "Bael, why do only some of these creatures disappear like that when they die and not all of them?"

            "The weaker ones dissipate, sire," Bael said as he returned to his seat.  "Checkmate."

            "Good.  I don't want to bother leaving signs of weakness," Vandross said, moving from his seat to his cot.  "Good night, General."

            "Good night, sire," said Bael as he left the tent.  Tonight, the attack would begin on Desanadron.  Tomorrow, he would have the third Orb.

            James Hayes had been knelt beside his bed in prayer when Commander Mensia barged into his chambers, winded and wide-eyed.  The reek of sweat came from the hallway, more specifically from a scout who was covered in wounds.  Hayes got to his feet immediately, absolute dread coursing through his veins like a cobra's venom.  "Hayes, get ready and get your men," Mensia rasped in a harsh rush.  "Desanadron is under assault!  Make ready your squadron and ride out now!"  Hayes hadn't bothered to salute, as such situations tended to favor expedient action over military formality.  In moments he was armored and equipped, and he took his necklace with the Order's deity symbol and adorned it.  He would need all the heavenly aid he could get.

            James Hayes and Commander Mensia stormed through the enlisted and officers' barracks, getting the captain's unit up and prepared.  Horses had already been lined up outside of the fort, and as Hayes ran through the courtyard, he could see that it was still the middle of the night.  But he could not hear the normal sounds of crickets as he walked through the west-facing gates of Fort Flag, nor could he smell the familiar and calming scent of the flower gardens.  Instead, he heard the sounds of far off battle, could smell smoke and attar, and in the distance, four hours ride away, he could see flames shooting up from the great city of Desanadron like a beacon that warned of doom.  No doubt the creatures that had attacked the day before had come from that force.  He would have to be swift, and he would have to charge the stallions that bore his men harder than he had ever done.  More than a couple would likely pass out on the way from bearing a load of around three hundred pounds of fully armored and equipped Paladin at maximum run.

            But his unit numbered seventy-two men.  Among them were fully trained and ordained Paladins, Knights who had not taken the Vow, and Clerics to perform healing and supportive spells.  Surely it would be enough when combined with the might of the Desanadron army.  But if more of the Shadowbeasts like the one who had decimated their eastern wall stormed through the city, they would suffer great amounts of casualties.  Such was war.  As he took his unit of brave warriors out of Fort Flag at high speed, he felt suddenly vexed.  He felt the glare of eyes upon him.  Or more appropriately, he felt one eye.

            Richard Vandross had not been able to rest.  He had lay on his cot for hours, but as the night dragged on, his nerves began to jump and quiver.  He swung his hairy legs over the side of the cot, clenching the side of it until his knuckles whitened and a soft groan from the wood told him it would soon break under his grip.  Vandross stood to his feet, walking over to his clothes and armor and adorning them.  He packed his belongings and then his tent, knowing that all the while, several of his minions watched with grins spreading over their faces.  The one-eyed devil almost jumped as Vilec Roak arose from the darkness on the ground.

            "What stirs you from your slumber, sire," asked the Shadowbeast Prime.  Vandross looked into the distance, at Fort Flag.  He watched as a large squadron of the fort's defenders left at break-neck speed for the city of Desanadron, which was already under siege. 

            "Nothing, Roak," Vandross said with a smug smile.  "I haven't slept.  Our opportunity to strike nears.  Get Bael and wake everyone up.  We attack in an hour."  The Prime saluted and slinked off into the night, first awakening Bael from his bedroll on the ground.  The General had seen little need to put up a tent if they would be attacking in the early morning, and seemed not bothered at all when awoken and told to get his men ready.  Indeed, he seemed almost devoid of emotion at all.  Roak made a note of this, for he could sense that something had broken within the General.  He and Bael roused the troops, forming them up into ranks to prepare for the charge on Fort Flag.  Roak returned to Vandross's side when all the preparations had been made, leaving Bael to give some sort of inspirational speech to the minions.

            "Everyone is ready, sire," he cooed as he saluted the one-eyed devil.  Vandross smiled broadly at Vilec Roak.  Such a creature is fit for command, thought Vandross.  Bael is good, but he's just a soldier.  And the third Orb would give Vandross more knowledge and dark powers than any other warlock in the land.  He wouldn't need the Lizardman General after the third Orb was his to command.  Additionally, Vilec Roak would not question his orders or goals, regardless of how they might change.  Roak had shown an ability for military tactics, something that Bael had as well.  However, the Lizardman didn’t have the powers of dark magic that the Prime held at his fingertips, and so Vandross made a decision right then and there- if Bael survived the assault within the fort, he would not survive for long after. 

            "Good, Roak.  Very good.  By the way," he said, placing his hands on the Shadowbeast's shoulders.  The feeling of arcane power flooded through his hands, and he knew now why Tanarak of Sidius had used these creatures.  They were powerful, possessed of unearthly magics and lore.  They were perfect soldiers.  And they were very hard to kill, unlike the Lizardmen, who he had to constantly use Bael to control.  "I have one more order for you when this is all said and done, Roak.  You see that man," he asked, pointing at Bael, who was still pacing back and forth in front of the assembled ranks, most of whom were Orcs and Shadowbeasts.  Only a few of Bael's faithful reptiles had not gone to Desanadron.

            "The General, yes sire.  What of him?"

            "When the third Orb is in my power, have him taken east of the fort and kill him," Vandross said, and Vilec Roak's yellow eyes widened, but not in shock.  Razor-sharp teeth glinted in the moonlight.  "It is time for a change of command." 

            "As you wish, master," Vilec Roak said as he bowed deeply.  And to think, he thought to himself, I had so many plans of killing him on my own!  Pleased beyond belief, the Shadowbeast rejoined Bael as he finished his speech.  With the hour having passed, Bael and Roak led the march on Fort Flag.  Vandross walked behind his death-corps, his sword in hand, his magic prepared.  Within another hour's time, the outermost defenders atop the northern wall began shouting into the fort, and the great gates on the west wall were shut.  Arrows whistled through the air, thin wooden harbingers of death, but none struck the troops under Vandross's command.  Several Shadowbeasts had put up a mystic shield over the squadron, and as they got nearer to the wall, the entire unit broke ranks and charged the fort walls.

            Dark magic and holy magic lanced back and forth in the air, lighting the sky like a star, and Vandross stalked through the battlefield as members of the Order were dispatched through hidden access doors in the outer wall.  A pair of young Paladins approached him at speed, swords in hand.  With a flick of his wrist, he sent a burst of force slamming into them, throwing them into the stone wall at fatal velocity.  The crunch of armor and bones exploded in his ears, and the wet splurching noise of blood shooting out of the Paladins' mouths was music to his ears.  The thick, musty smell of discharged magic flowed through his nostrils, and he breathed deeply of its vapor.  Vandross finally got to his destination, ten yards from the northern wall.

            He sheathed his sword and called defenders to his side, each swinging wildly to keep him safe.  Vandross began to wave his hands in the air, muttering under his breath.  Soon, arcane shapes began to trace themselves in air where his fingers passed, and the ground rumbled with raw magical energy.  Yellow glowing light flared from the sigils he drew, and his muttering became louder, more rapid.  Soon all that could be heard over the clang of steel and the screams of the dying was his lone, tenuous voice.  Finally, he threw his arms wide in the air and screamed, and as he bellowed, the northern wall of Fort Flag exploded inward toward its own defenders.

            Driven by battle rage and blood lust, Bael and Vilec Roak's men charged into the courtyard of the fort, spurred on by their master's display of power.  Vandross, however, felt drained and weak.  He crouched for a moment, breathing hard with his hands on his knees.  "My lord, are you all right," said a familiar voice.  Vandross looked up to see the concerned face of his General staring intently at his face.

            "Yes, I'm fine.  These new powers of mine will be easier to control with the third Orb.  Now let's get in there and get it!"  Vandross stormed inside the courtyard, following the throbbing pulse of the Orb of Eden’s Serpent to a small church in the fort.  It was calling him to it, summoning him to take it for his own.  He marched through packs of combatants, avoiding direct contact with them and moving with purpose toward his destination.  With a heavy armored boot, he kicked in the twin oak doors, sending them flying off of their hinges.  And there, on the lectern, sat the third Orb of Eden’s Serpent.  But in front of it, blazing holy sword in hand, stood a tall Elven Paladin, his eyes squinted with righteous fury.  The fully armored Elf took two steps toward Vandross, who straightened up and smirked.  "Trust me holy man," he mocked.  "You don't want to get between me and that artifact."  But the Elf said nothing, advancing another two steps.  Only ten or eleven yards separated the two of them, and a stray blast of Shadowbeast magic launched into the church, setting the inside ablaze.  The crackle and smoke of fire filled the air of the small church, embers flying around the two men as they stared each other down. 

            The Paladin, Commander Mensia, had trained all his life for a battle like the one that was about to begin.  He had summoned up the power that lie dormant in this blade, which had been wielded by the great Rimzan of Grey before his death shortly after the defeat of Tanarak of Sidius.  Though the warlock had used his last breath to curse Rimzan to his grave, the Morning Glory, his great and holy sword, had remained unscathed.  And now Mensia possessed its might, as well as his own magic and swordsmanship.  He would stop this one-eyed menace here and now. 

            Commander Mensia took at attacking stance, his eyes set on Vandross's face.  The warlock smiled broadly and spread his arms wide in a gesture of taunting.  Mensia took his opportunity and lunged forward, two hands on the handle of his heavy sword.  Vandross easily dodged the first downward strike, and even danced aside from a horizontal slash, but he hadn't foreseen that the Paladin was setting him up.  A bolt of white energy rocketed from Mensia's palm into his chest, shaking him where he stood and tossing him through the air to the back of the church.  Vandross landed in a heap on the floor, falling twenty feet from where the blast had knocked him.  Growling, he spat a loose tooth out of his mouth, bringing his magic to bear.  Purple waves of force encircled his hands, and his eye glowed crimson with dark power.  He stood from behind the table he'd nearly fallen on, calling on the power of the Orbs.

            The entire region shook and trembled as he screamed incantations of an old tongue long since dead, weaving shapes of magic in the air.  Mensia tried to move toward him, but began to gag on the smoke from the fire and the stench of rotted flesh that suddenly permeated the air around him.  Eyes filled with tears, he dropped to one knee, bracing himself with the Morning Glory.  His skin felt hot and wet under his armor and clothes, and he had the strangest sensation that something, many somethings, were crawling all over his flesh.  The sound of Vandross's voice had become alien both in words and in tone, and as Mensia looked up, he saw a hole in the floor of the church, out of which poured thousands of strange, winged insects.  He looked down at his armor to watch in horror as hundreds of them poured into his armor through the links and gaps.

            He realized all too late that they were now feeding on him, burrowing into his skin and sliding through his insides.  Like small knives their mandibles ripped through the tissue of his skin and muscle, and in agony he screamed and flailed on the ground, kicking and thrashing about like a madman.  Richard Vandross stood over him, chuckling.  "Do you like them?  They're called Hell Beetles.  The Shadowbeasts who once served as torturers that now serve me told me about them, and so I've studied up on how to summon them.  Quite painful, isn't it," he asked in a tender, jeering voice.  He threw his head back and roared with laughter as Commander Mensia spasmed with pain.  The end would come soon, thought Vandross.  This Paladin will be dead within two minutes.  Turning his back on Mensia, however, proved a nearly fatal mistake.  With the last vestiges of strength left to him, the Elven Paladin swung his weapon up, and Vandross barely dodged a blow to the back of the head.  However, his dodge had not been swift enough to save his right arm from the elbow down.  With a wet smack, his limb fell to the ground, and the holy power of the Morning Glory burned him as nastily as the Hell Beetles burned Mensia.  Screaming like a wild beast, Vandross turned and aimed his left hand at Mensia, releasing a bolt of lightning magic into the Paladin and reducing him to smoking meat.

            Come to me, Richard Vandross, called a voice nearby.  Come quickly, and be restored!  Vandross walked up to the Orb of Eden’s Serpent, holding his severed arm at the elbow.  He was losing blood at an alarming rate, and wondered if he even had the strength to absorb the third artifact.  Worry not, tainted one, said the voice to him.  You have my brethren, and so I shall willingly join you.  I have searched your soul, and find you fit to command my power.  Vandross held the Orb of Eden’s Serpent over his head with his left hand, and the same purple vortex engulfed him as it had twice before.  Wind howled through the church, dousing the flames around him from sheer velocity.  The Orb disappeared, and fire ran through his right arm to the elbow.  Doubling over on the floor and clutching at his arm, he watched as a new limb appeared, black scaled and clawed at the fingers.  In wonder he flexed his new fingers, enjoying the strength he felt in his new arm.  Forgetting his pain, forgetting his trouble, he listened with his eye closed as the Orb passed its wisdom and knowledge on to him.  Enraptured by its voice, he remained knelt in the church for a long time.

            Finally, he heard the sounds of battle dying down outside of the church in the fort proper.  His forces had decimated Fort Flag.  Satisfied with his victory, Vandross was about to leave, when something glinted to his left, catching his attention.  The Morning Glory.  A magnificent blade, surely, he thought.  I think I'll take it.  He stooped down to pick up the sword with his new arm, but the weapon pulsed, and a field of magic repelled his touch.  The light burned just to look at, and Vandross hissed at it, spitting on the weapon and leaving the church.  Vilec Roak met him outside with a salute.  Only three dozen men had survived the bloodbath of the courtyard, and when he looked around, Vandross could not see Bael.  "Vilec Roak, where is the General?"

            "Sire," Roak said, a razor-toothed smile spreading across his lips.  "He has been dealt with, as you requested."  Vandross smiled and nodded at his new General.  The majority of the survivors from the battle were Vilec Roak's brethren, but a few Lizardmen who had come looked dejected and battered.  One of them called to Vandross, asking where the General was.

            "It is unfortunate, but he has been slain in combat, my minions."  The Lizardmen looked even more depressed, despite their apparent victory.  "Fear not, though, for I have established rules of ascension in the chain of command.  As Prime, Vilec Roak will now be named General of this army.  Out of respect, reptile warriors, I give you the chance to leave my army if you so choose.  Bael was your leader in more than military affairs, I know!  He was a father figure to many, and his defeat seemed impossible!  But I shall not sully his good name or memory by keeping you against your will.  You have fought bravely, and no one can take away from you what has been done here today!  If you leave, go with pride, and the knowledge that when I rule this land, the Lizardmen nations shall be befriended and honored!"  The unit, including the Lizardmen, raised their weapons and cheered, Vilec Roak included.  He knew how to play along.

            But after the celebrations and much talk over meals consisting mostly of fallen Paladins, the Lizardmen all formed ranks, saluted Richard Vandross, and left Fort Flag.  None remained under his command save those that had gone ahead to Desanadron.  Vilec Roak sipped his brandy that Vandross had offered him, looking at the reptiles' backs as they left into the southern distance.  "Shall I have them killed, sire?"  Vandross smiled, but shook his head as he closed his eye and thought.

            "No Roak.  They served us well.  But they are an inferior brand of warrior now, and I would have eventually ordered them to leave.  Let them give their respect to a good leader."  Vilec Roak stared at Vandross a long moment before taking another sip of this foul mortal drink called brandy.

            "Do you regret your decision to do away with the General," he asked.  Vandross didn't appear to have heard him as he lounged on the floor of the courtyard, thinking about the trip to Mount Toane they would all soon undertake. 

            "No, Roak, I don't.  I only regret that I had to make the decision in the first place.  He was a good General, a strong leader of his men.  But he was becoming too sentimental, too emotional.  His goals did not share the scope of my own, and he would have eventually started second-guessing me.  Better to get rid of the problem before it starts, I say."  Roak smiled once again, and tipped his drink to Vandross.  After a good meal of flesh, the Shadowbeasts formed ranks in front of Vandross as he addressed them.  "I know many of you can move through the Shadow Plane, but I cannot.  I don't want to slow you down too much, so I'm going to use my magic to teleport myself great distances at a time.  We go now to Mount Toane, which shall serve as the new seat of my power!  We shall amass more forces in the mountain from across the land!  There shall be certain standards of acceptance into my army!  And you shall all be among this great power!  When our forces in Desanadron are finished, they will return to Mount Toane, for I have already told them of my intentions!"

            "But sir," called one demon from the front row.  "We know already where another Orb is!  Why do we not go and take it?"

            "Because, soldier," Vandross said, pacing up and down as Bael had before the attack on Fort Flag.  "It lies in the city of Whitewood, in the Elven Kingdom.  Whitewood is home to some of the most powerful magic wielders in the land of Tamalaria.  And surely news of what happened here will reach them before we arrive at the city.  They will have allies in great numbers and strength!  So we must amass a powerful force, even more so than what we have now.  And we must prepare for a great battle with the city of Whitewood even if they don't have allies, for surely our enemy who chases us will aid them.  I speak of Byron of Sidius!"  A visible shudder ripped through the assembled masses, but Vandross held up his new hand to silence them.  The scales had become smoother, and it appeared to Vandross that it would become nearly Human eventually.  "Gentlemen, do not fear.  Even if he shows up and begins to defeat you by the dozen, I shall personally step in to stop him.  He cannot harm me."

            "And what makes you say that, my lord," asked Vilec Roak, intrigued by this statement.  Vandross smiled and laughed hoarsely at the night sky.

            "If he harms me, he harms himself, General.  After all, I helped create him!"