'Freedom or the Fire' Chapter Eighteen- Into the Mountains

Four days later, Byron and his company sat in a small rock circle amid the lower foothills leading into the northwestern mountains, a hard blowing wind sweeping chilled air across their skin and bringing the sounds of mountainous creatures such as goats and wild cats.  The smell of ozone hinted at the promise of rain or snow, and neither would have been unexpected or unwelcome.  The blasting furnace that was the Upper Plains had been slowly cooking the party for days on end, and Shoryu had been forced to strip off his upper tunic shirt, his fur laced with thick streams of sweat.  Now, he huddled with Ellen Daires, keeping her frail Elven form from shivering itself apart, while Selena Bradford and the others simply gathered closer to the fire than usual.  Even Byron could feel the sting of the sharp, icy wind as it slapped at him.  The only member of the group that seemed perfectly at home was Morek Rockmight, the Dwarven Boxer. 

            "It's just a wee bit of wind," he had grumbled, admonishing the others for their discomfort.  Though he had become comfortable with his fellows, the taciturn Dwarf had become ever more withdrawn since David Spore's demise at the hands of the Lizardman, Phazion Lurik.  Byron knew by now that that hadn't even been the man's real name, but he knew not what else to call him except a deceiver and bastard.  The few times the assassin had come up in conversation since then had been tense, and Morek had only referred to him as 'the traitor'.  But Byron felt responsible for David's death, more than the Lizardman.  He had given his trust to a man who hadn't even proven himself to be an ally of the land, much less Byron and his crew.  In addition, the company hadn’t yet entirely healed from their wounds during that skirmish.

            "It may be that you are at home in these mountains, friend," said Ellen, her teeth chattering together as she huddled even closer to the young Cuyotai.  "But we are not.  I apologize for my own weakness," she mumbled half to herself.  Morek gave her a blatant glare that brimmed with anger, not so much at her, as with his present circumstances.  The horses, he had informed Byron, would not be able to bear them up into Dwarven territory, or into the nearer mountains, in the direction of the monastery that was their destination.  The paths were too sheer and shelters too small to accommodate them, and Dwarves weren't exactly the sort of folk who used horses much, except in stews that included ingredients like 'well that bit's a secret'.  Besides, he had reasoned at that time earlier in the day, he would be able to guide them to enough shortcuts to make the trip easy on them.  That had been the most he had spoken in four days' time.  Now was probably not the time to argue with him.

            "Sorry about that," Morek said, much to Byron's surprise.  He had expected a confrontation, but instead the Boxer had kept his calm for the moment, opting instead to be silently angry.  "I'm just anxious to do somethin'," he said, pacing back and forth.  As evening drew to a close and night began in earnest, Byron decided to take the first watch with the taciturn Dwarven Boxer.  The two men, such glaring contradictions of one another, began the watch by silently walking in a tight perimeter around the rest of the company and the fire.  But it didn't take long before Byron felt compelled to start asking questions, waiting only until their circumference took them far enough away from the group that he and Morek would not be heard.

            "Morek, my friend, will you not share your grief with me in a more healthy fashion than the one you have been using," he asked, trying to put a hand on the Dwarf's shoulder.  Unfortunately, while Morek was tall for a Dwarf his age, standing nearly five feet in height, his body was still uniquely Dwarven, with bulging musculature, paunch gut, and sloped shoulders.  Byron nearly took a face-dive into the dirt, his armored hand slipping right off.  Correcting himself, he adjusted his armor awkwardly.  The smell of ozone gathered and thickened as light, miniscule bits of snow fell from the mountain skies around them, the wind swirling them into vivid visions and patterns.  The air took on a less tense quality, its chilliness now somehow acting as a salve to Morek's emotions, and the stoic Dwarf improved for a minute or so that Byron could see.  Gone were the lines of concern and anger from Morek's face; his eyes were closed, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in hints of the mountain air. 

            "Ahhh, there's no air quite like the stuff you breath when you come here, Byron," he said, opening his eyes.  A deep hurt still lingered there, Byron noted, but it hung back, momentarily forgotten as feelings of comfort flooded into Morek.  He was home again, completely in his element.  Nobody in the entire company knew this region quite as well as Morek, and he would serve as their best point man while traversing the northern mountains.  "It may be thin, but the air has an untainted quality, purer than those plains we just passed through.  It's the sort of place where the men are separated from the boys, in all things.  I tell you, Byron, this is where I belong," Morek said, lowering his voice a notch.  "It's where David would have belonged.  He was a good chum, he was.  Good fighter despite the handicap, too.  And he'd be just fine back in Whitewood if'n I hadn't dragged him into this mess." 

            "Ah, good master Dwarf, you forget yourself," Byron chided, his hand finally finding Morek's shoulder without slipping off.  "It was I who got everyone here involved with what is essentially not their battle to fight in.  You had good reasons all to hate Richard Vandross, and his armies of wicked men, but had I simply opted to walk away instead of personally seeing to each of you, then it would be only myself who traveled into such dangers.  The blame is mine, Morek.  Mine, and Richard Vandross's," Byron muttered, trying to smile gently at the stocky little fellow, but Morek did not believe him.  Dwarves, Byron mused for a moment, sure are bull-headed fellows.  Most people, when confronted with laying the blame for some mishap, quickly turned to find an easy scapegoat; not Morek, however.  His people were both proud and noble, and so they felt no difficulty in assuming guilt, even when the guilt was not theirs to be had.

            "Perhaps it is truest said then that you, me, and Vandross are to blame," Morek said, rather half-heartedly.  "It matters little now.  Come on, our watch's over."  With nothing more to say, and no more time to coax some positive reaction from Morek, Byron moved over to Selena Bradford to rouse her, while the Dwarven Boxer nudged Shoryu awake.  Byron lay down next to the fire as it guttered and spat in the soft breeze, and fell quickly asleep.

            Everywhere she turned, Shadowbeasts cackled as they danced around her rigid form, their yellow gimlet eyes leaving trails of glowing light as they pranced about.  The smell of acrid smoke and blasted stone hung thick and heavy in the air around Selena Bradford, and for perhaps only the second time in her life, she felt true terror at the prospect of flames. 

            Guttural barks and snarls escaped the strange holes that served for mouths in the twisted faces of the demons, each more threatening and bestial than the last.  The ground around her shook and quivered with the stamping of so many eldritch life forms in one small cavern chamber, and more than once Selena thought she could taste the earth's very blood on her lips.  Amid the jumbled throngs of demons, her friends struggled in vain for their lives, all but one; Byron could not be seen anywhere in the chaos around her.  The Pyromancer tried to conjure magical force to her aid, but each time she reached deep within herself, she found no more resources for her magic.  Yet the Shadowbeasts made no move on her, only attacking her allies as they fell back toward her, battered and bloody.  Then a new kind of rumble shook the mountain around her, a deep, primal roar of rampage and destruction the likes of which she had never heard.  What manner of beast or man could make such a dreadful sound, she wondered.  Soon, her question was answered.  At the far entrance to the cavern, a lumbering, wraith-like figure emerged, cloaked all in black with paws covered in dark brown fur and blood.  The creature threw back its hood to reveal a demonic bear's head, all muzzle and flashing teeth.  It reared its head back and laughed at her, its mirth filled to brimming with scorn and disgust.

            "Pathetic mortal," the creature boomed, glaring at her as a hungry animal might its next meal.  "Your power has limitations, fire wielder!  You cannot hope to defeat me and my kinsmen!  We are unfettered, free of the bondage of mortal needs and constraints!  Now you and your fellows shall weep in agony, and beg for death before end of your suffering!  Ha ha ha ha haaaaa!"  With a heave, the creature admitted itself into the chamber, and brought its huge paw down at her.

            "Augh," she gasped quietly as she sat up, seeing Byron's glimmering eyes staring at her in what she assumed was concern.  "Just a dream," she muttered to herself, looking quickly away from the Dread Knight.

            "Are you all right?  Perhaps you should rest some more," Byron said quietly, trying to ease her back to the ground.  But she refused, shoving him roughly away with one hand.

            "I'm fine," she said, watching Byron huddle close to the fire to fall asleep.  She felt a pang of regret for being so abrupt with him, but the massive undead warrior didn't seem at all bothered.  He probably figures it’s in my nature, she thought glumly.  Rolling out of her blankets, Selena pushed herself to her feet, shambling about a bit to get the feeling back in her legs.  They had become stiff from being locked straight, as they had been in her nightmare.  Reaching into her rucksack, she pulled out the last of her rationed food, a small wedge of cheese and the heel from a loaf of bread.  The company would have to forage for food sources as they climbed into the mountains, until they could reach the hospitality of the monastery, or the dining halls of a Dwarven barracks.  Morek had mentioned that there were military quarters even this far east of Traithrock, the easternmost Dwarven territory city, and its nation's capital.  The Dwarves didn't claim much land as their own, but what they had, they protected with an army far more fierce and trained than any other in the land of Tamalaria.  Yet despite their war-like nature, they were gracious hosts to passers-through, often sending parties in search of those few who became stranded in the upper hills and valleys of snow.  Surely they would recognize Morek Rockmight, one of the Head Councilmen of Traithrock, and furthermore, of the Dwarven regions.  The mighty Boxer may not be well known outside of his country, but surely his reputation preceded him here.  That much would be useful to them, she thought.

            "Are you well, Selena," a boyish voice asked from her shoulder, and she spun in surprise to plant her palm against young Shoryu's chest.  Sighing her relief, she lowered her hand, called back her power.  "My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, a wry grin on his snout.  "But you oughtn't to put your hands so close to my heart, miss.  It belongs to another," he said, sweeping his hands formally to indicate the sleeping form of Ellen Daires. 

            "Oh, stuff it, Shoryu," she snapped, smoothing out her robes.  "I'm in about as good a mood as the Dwarf."

            "Then that is dire," Shoryu said, his face smoothing into a serious countenance.  "Good master Morek is downtrodden from the loss of our friend David Spore, and I cannot blame him for this.”  His face twitched oddly, and he snarled at Selena suddenly, his teeth bared, his claws thrusting out of his fingers.  Selena, confused and a little afraid, took a measured step back, but saw a moment later that Shoryu had returned to himself.  What oddity was this, she wondered?  “Tell me, friend, what troubles you so?"  Shoryu didn’t seem to have realized what he had done, and she let it go for the time being.  Selena began to walk the same perimeter as Byron and Morek had earlier in the night, and repeated her dream to the Cuyotai Hunter as best as she could remember it, leaving out the part about how helpless she felt..  She sensed that he would deduce that much from her tone, so she found no need to make a point of it. 

            "And that's it," she finished.  "I have been plagued by this dream for nearly an entire week, even since before the Monk passed.  The only difference is that now he isn't in the dream, as he had been at first.  But it's just a silly dream," she said, scoffing at herself for being so disturbed by nonsense like dreams and nightmares.  "It signifies nothing," she spat, folding her arms across her chest. 

            "Perhaps, and perhaps not."  Selena raised an eyebrow at Shoryu, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes and silently asking for him to elaborate.  "Among my people, it has been said that dreams sometimes hold the power of future fact.  Upon occasion, they tell the tales of times gone past, history lessons meant to guide the errant back to their rightful path.  And other times still, they are mere fluff, images and symbols without meaning or significance.  But you do not believe that, do you, miss Bradford," he asked, his voice hushed and filled with hidden meanings, much like her nightmare.  Damn it all, she thought vehemently, someone throw me a bone here! 

            "Look, if you've got any idea what any of it's supposed to mean, just come out and say it!  I'm tired of trying to read into things and decipher codes, solve puzzles that are seemingly impossible in design!  Tell me what you think it means," she said, spitting at the ground to her right, away from the sleeping company.  Shoryu looked at her with shock in his features, taken aback by her hostility.  Oh Hells, she thought, hanging her head as she rubbed her brow.  The boy doesn't deserve such harsh treatment.  With a sigh, she said, "It's my turn to apologize, Shoryu.  I didn't mean it like that.  It's just, well, I've a bit of a temper on me.  Sort of comes with the job, you know?"  She tried to force a smile, but she could feel it turn into a grimace, and so she just let her face go slack. 

            "I understand," Shoryu said, patting her roughly on the back.  Ye gods, the boy is strong, she thought as she lurched forward.  "What I believe is this.  You fear that we shall have a confrontation with Richard Vandross and his armies inside of their lair, in Mount Toane.  At least, that much I gather from your description of the caverns.  You fear that more of us shall die there, which is not altogether unlikely.  As Byron said to me, not all of us shall survive this journey.  It may be that it is my fate to join my ancestors in Khalentrab, which in the common tongue translates to 'paradise'.  Then again, I may live on after Byron has lead us into Mount Toane.  It may even be that it is not Byron himself who fells Richard Vandross, but another among us.  We cannot know these things until we make the attempt."  Shoryu put a hand on Selena's shoulder lightly, as much to reassure himself as her.  "But I know one thing for certain, miss Bradford; Mount Toane and Vandross's lair will indeed be where this all comes to a conclusion.  We shall survive until that time."

            "What about David," Selena muttered as they walked in an ever-widening circle around the camp.  "He should have been there with us in the end, and now he has been snuffed out by treachery.  The machinations of a mad warlock took him before we could confront our journey's end, and they may well claim another life among our small numbers before all is said and done, Shoryu.  What then?  How are we to live long enough to storm Vandross's lair when we are so few?"  She nearly burst into tears then, feeling helpless and small in the face of the odds they stood against.  Vandross had thousands upon thousands of soldiers and minions at his beck and whim; they numbered less than ten men and women as a company. 

            "Think not on our disadvantage in numbers, Miss Bradford, but on our skills and powers.  Did not we survive the onslaught of Desanadron and Whitewood?  Did not we survive this most recent battle?  Demons of the dream world harassed us, and still we managed to overcome them," he nearly shouted, a look of battle-lust in his eyes, euphoria brought on by memories of victories taken, and perhaps a measure of lycanthrope rage.  "No, Selena Bradford, Human and Pyromancer," he said, shaking his head as he brought himself to a stop.  He pointed his snout toward the moon high overhead, its nocturnal luminescence reflecting off of his eyes.  "We shall fight on, as we have before.  And in the end, we shall live to stop the madness of Richard Vandross."  The rest of their watch went past in utter silence, Selena shamed by Shoryu's courage, and the Cuyotai silenced by his own admission of celerity. 

            Thin shafts of sunlight filtered through clouds thick and gray with threats of snow and rain.  As James Hayes and Ellen Daires awoke the sleeping members of the company, a howling wind tore through their small encampment, blowing blankets several yards away to be chased after, and making the cooking of a meal nearly impossible.  Selena kept raising more fire from the pit, only to watch it be snuffed out by a powerful, arctic blast from the mountain paths.  The group unanimously decided that it would be easiest to simply eat the last of their dried provisions and move on.  They had a hard trek ahead of them.

            Morek Rockmight took the lead at this point, directing the company to the foot of a small, almost hidden footpath that would lead them at last into the foothills of the mountain region.  His footing was sure, his ambling gait slow enough to keep everyone together, but swift enough to ensure progress throughout the day.  In this manner, walking two abreast where they could, Morek lead them for several hours, ever moving upward and forward, gaining elevation and losing heat as they went.  Yet the forks in the paths he lead them down carried little wind or precipitation, often with a jutting path of mountain rock over their heads to protect them from downpour, which came after their third hour of marching.  It was a mix of rain and snow, soft white crystals of cold floating down between hammering droplets of clear water.  A strange sight to see, thought Byron, entranced for a moment by the display of dual downpours.  Each member of the company, he saw as he looked around him, was equally fascinated, save Morek, who had probably seen this sort of thing on a regular basis once upon a time.  Too bad, Byron thought.  The Boxer sees such wondrous things as this, yet thinks them mundane and ordinary.  The majesty of such territories might be lost on one who lived among them, though, the Dread Knight admitted to himself.  He would probably think the desert of Mukabia, also known as The Desperation, in the east to be fascinating, though, since it would be an environment unlike any he had seen. 

            At around noon, Morek guided the company into a small alcove in the side of a cliff face, a small area protected from the wind and elements by the natural gut rock around them.  Shoryu did not join them, informing them that he would return shortly after finding something to bring down for food.  The remainder of the company huddled around a fire conjured by Selena, warming themselves with its magical heat and swigs of the strange liquor that Alex produced from his Fairy space.  It had a thick, brackish appearance, Byron noted, declining a sip, but the others seemed to like it well enough.  Shoryu returned only ten minutes later, a goat slung over his shoulder with a single arrow shaft sticking out from between its eyes. 

            What he left behind, however, was a pack of mountain lions that had been surrounding the goat.  Gripped by a sudden and uncontrollable urge, Shoryu’s field of vision had burned crimson, and he had slavered madly as he tore into the mountain lions with claws and teeth.  The first he felled by darting past it, slashing its throat open with his right hand deftly.  Using his momentum, he had bowled into the second of the animals, tumbling with it in his arms.  When he landed atop the animal, he bit deep into its throat and wrenched his head back, spraying blood onto the hard packed snow of the path.

            The third of the lions pounced on his back, but even with its paws squeezing his shoulders tightly, Shoryu stood and reached back, grabbing it by the scruff.  He yanked it over his head, and held it there, letting it thrash helplessly at him.  Inside of his mind, he wailed helplessly.  This is the price, he thought.  The price of the blood I give mighty Byron.  With a heave, he lofted the mountain lion over his head, and brought it down hard over one knee, snapping its spine and killing it. 

            He had turned then to find the mountain goat paralyzed with fear.  In control of himself once again, he trained a single arrow on its head, and fired.  This he brought back to the company after using fur to wash the blood from his hands and mouth.

            "A most excellent shot, my love," Ellen observed with a pang of guilt.  A Gaiamancer, Byron recalled, would only eat meat if no other food could be gathered.  But Shoryu surprised them all by also throwing down a small satchel filled with a strange red fruit. 

            "Minda berries," Morek grumbled.  "A tad too sweet for my tastes, thanks all the same lad."

            "Oh, they are mostly for Ellen," the young Hunter said, taking the goat aside to skin it and remove the most usable sections of meat.  The Elven Gaiamancer immediately picked away at the berries, her hunger apparent as she ravished the whole lot of them in a manner of minutes, leaning back with her head in the crook of her arm as she relaxed to digest. 

            "You oughtn't to have eaten those so swiftly, friend Elf," Morek said, cleaning his nails with a sharp bit of rock.  Ellen sat up and gave him a puzzled look.  "Give it a few minutes, you'll understand," the Dwarf said with a half-smile.  Shoryu handed Selena the best chunks he had taken, and produced arrows from his mystical quiver, and the Pyromancer pierced each cut of meat with an arrow, handing everyone their own cut.  They all held their bit of meat over the fire, taking in the bitter smell of cooked goat meat.  Only Byron and Ellen declined the meal, neither having a taste for it, each for different reasons.  Where was Ellen, Byron thought as he looked to where she had been laying only a few minutes ago.  He raised an eyebrow bone at Morek, who chuckled under his breath.  "Minda berries give you the raging trots if you've never had them before," he whispered to the Dread Knight.  "She's probably gone to make a toilet hole for a few minutes' use," he said aloud, laughing with heart-felt mirth, his first genuine smile in nearly a week.  Byron couldn't help but laugh a little, but he saw the concern on Shoryu's face and stopped. 

            "Will she be all right," Shoryu asked in a whisper full of dread.  Morek burst into further laughter, apparently finding hilarity in the company's general ignorance of his country. 

            "She'll be fine, lad, just fine!  But you may have to carry her for a bit after she's done with the lee!  Ha ha ha ha haaa!"  Shortly after that, Ellen returned, exhausted and walking with a strange gait, and the company pressed on, Shoryu carrying the poor Elven girl on his back.  After a few minutes’ walk, Byron made note of several slain mountain lions that appeared to have been half buried in a snow bank, as though to cover them from discovery.  He could just make out the pattern of claw marks on one’s throat, and looked at Shoryu, who strode a little ahead of him.  This is the cost, he thought. 

The afternoon passed swiftly by them, the company renewed by a fresh meal and good humor.  Upward they climbed, slowly and steadily thanks to Morek's keen knowledge of his homelands, choosing the more discreet and shallow paths to follow.  In six hours, the sun began to make its slow descent toward the horizon, and the northern winds that they had mostly been protected from by cliff faces and higher mountain ranges began blowing through the cuts and alleys of space they marched upon.  Ten or twenty minutes after the sun had set, Morek led the company into yet another alcove, this one more like a cave due to the available space and the darkness within.  Selena called forth fire to her hands, waving it around the cave walls to ensure they were not sharing space with anyone or anything.  After a cursory check in every direction, the company was satisfied that they were alone, and Selena brought her fire into a central blaze in the cavern, giving the party light and heat for the evening. 

            Shoryu had managed to pack away some of the remaining meat from the earlier meal, enough to satisfy everyone's hunger, and some of the berries that his beloved had rather foolishly eaten too many of during their midday meal.  Ellen took only a few, letting the potency of the sweet fruit work for her instead of shoving a handful down her gullet as before.  Conversation was kept to a minimum as they ate, but all eyes focused on Byron and Morek as the meal was finished. 

            "What will we do when we get to this monastary we are searching for," asked Shoryu, his voice low and quiet.  Ellen lay resting with her head in his lap, and the young Cuyotai Hunter stroked her hair as he spoke.  "What if they don't have the Orb?"  Byron had been prepared for this problem, however, and was able to respond immediately.

            "If they don't have it, my young friend, it is likely that they have taken it into one of the Dwarven cities to the west.  If that is so, then we will take what hospitality the order can give us, be it rest, food, provisions, or whatever we may secure.  If we are invited to stay the night, we shall, but one night only.  It would be all the time we could spare, if the circumstances are such that we are a long way from the Orb.  Then, we shall depart for Traithrock, the nearest Dwarven city, and capital of the territory owned and governed by the Dwarves."  However, Byron noticed that all eyes had fixed on Morek, who was shaking his head when Byron looked at him.  "What is the matter, master Dwarf?"

            "There ain't no way, Monks or no, that such an artifact would be allowed into my city," the Dwarven Boxer said, thick arms folded across his chest.  He kept his eyes shut and his head down as he spoke further.  "We are a proud and fierce people, as you have said, mighty Byron.  We are among the hardest laborers in all the land, our smithies are renowned for their work, and our armies are vast and potent.  But we are also, much to my chagrin, a superstitious people by and large," he said, finally looking up into the faces of the rest of the company.  "As a nation, we have only a handful of citizens who recognize or follow any established religions.  Dwarven faith is mostly a gathering of superstitions we've carried with us for generations, and with each new flock of young, the number of those superstitions grows.  We have certain established beliefs, but no belief system, like the Order of Oun or the Prekanadan," he said, referring to an old Minotaur tribal religion.  At first, Byron wondered how Morek could know of such a system, but it wasn't too surprising after he reasoned it through.  Minotaurs, like Dwarves, were mountainous folk, and seldom strayed from their tribes, which were not arranged according to family, but to faith.  "Artifacts like the Orbs of Eden’s Serpent or even the ever-touted Staff of Order would not be welcome in our cities.  Magical weapons and armor, we've got no issue with; we understand the nature of them.  But religion-based artifacts tend to make us a bit worried."

            "So if the monastary doesn't have the Orb, where might the Monks try to take it," asked James Hayes, his tone betraying a hint of despair.  He obviously wasn't very comfortable in these mountains, and the prospect of not finding their querry swiftly sat ill with him. 

            "Then they'd be forced to take it into the northwestern most range," Morek replied, leaning back and pulling out a simple block of wood from his rucksack.  A moment later, he produced a small knife, and began carving away at the block.  "And we'd best hope that if they've gone that way, they didn't go far.  Dragons live in those caves and valleys, letting their presence be well known.  They respect my people for who they are, and the fact that we make no trouble for them.  About a century ago, a few settlers from Traithrock decided they'd try to go and establish a village in that area.  Needless to say, they came back in quite a hurry."

            "What happened," asked Shoryu, eager for a story, his eyes distant and unfocused.  He would play a little image reel in his mind, Byron thought, as he had whenever a member of the company shared a tale.  Just like a young man with dreams of adventure, Byron thought with a sour grin.  Adventures where the heroes all lived happily ever after, though.  Their own journey had already brought them much more pain and suffering than accomplishment, and Byron longed suddenly for the days when a fairy tale might cheer him up.  Such stories, he realized, were rubbish, the stuff of too much imagination and not enough harsh reality.  In the fairy tales he remembered, demons were always defeated with relative ease, or by some simple trick the hero kept up his sleeve.  And no matter how hurt the heroes of those stories were, they always pulled through, finding cures to curses, healing from friends and the earth itself for their wounds.  What hope could those fictions have against truths like Shadowbeasts and warlocks, madmen who schemed constantly to bring misery to all the peoples of a land?  None, he thought, standing up and moving away from the company as Morek told them all of how the Red Dragon Caamur had told the Dwarven settlers to flee, while he torched their homes with his breath of fire.  Conversely, what chance did he have?  He shook his head in disgust at his despair, and settled in at the edge of the cave to take the first watch.  The company discussed among themselves who would take which watch, and Byron soon found himself sitting across from Shoryu, who grinned at him like a devil. 

            "Is there something amusing about me, Shoryu," he snapped, a bit too harsh for his own liking.  But the young Cuyotai Hunter seemed to have learned a while ago how Byron's moods could be properly gauged, and so continued to grin a bit foolishly.

            "Not exactly, good Byron," Shoryu admitted, looking off into the west, where the cave entrance faced.  "Ellen and I have been discussing at length what we intend to do when this whole mess is sorted out.  My friend, we are to be wed in her home city of Whitewood," he said with a heart-felt sigh of affection.  "When first I left the ruins of my home with you, those many moons ago, I thought I would become a man without a purpose, without a people, certainly without a family.  Now," he said, looking back at Byron with tears in his eyes.  The Dread Knight was taken aback by the shimmering dampness in the young Cuyotai man's eyes; was he afraid, or saddened by something he didn't speak of?  Or were they, perhaps, tears of happiness?  Byron had heard of such things, but had never experienced them himself.  At least, not consciously.  "Now, my greatest friend, I will have all of those things and more, with her.  And I have you to thank," Shoryu said, standing up and walking over to Byron, offering him his hand.

 Ah, a good handshake, Byron thought as he offered his hand in return.  However, with a heave of unexpected strength, Shoryu hauled the Dread Knight to his feet and clasped him in a hug that nearly bent his armor.  Byron clapped the man-boy on the back as he returned the embrace, thankful for contact.  As Shoryu held him at arms' length, he smiled, tears now running freely down his furry cheeks.  "I hope you can be there when it all comes together, good Byron.  Either in body, or in spirit, you are always welcome at our side."  Shoryu returned to his side of the cave entrance and resumed his watch, as did Byron.  He felt at ease, at peace with himself for the first time in days.  Shoryu, it seemed, had come to terms with the idea that Byron would not retain his life after the defeat of Richard Vandross.  That made things a lot easier on him, Byron realized with a shock.  He had been terrified of leaving the Cuyotai Hunter behind in a state of loss.  Maybe, for once, things would go well for someone.

            -Byron,- the Voice called softly in the darkness of the undead warrior's slumber.  He had been dreaming of his greatest victories as a Human Paladin, a Commander in the ranks of the Order of Oun.  As he stood on the field of some unremembered battle, he smelled grave soil, and felt the ground tremble beneath him, the threat of an earthquake imminent.  As he looked down, he saw a line rip through the ground, splitting the earth beneath him into a gap through which he now plummeted.  He felt the flesh on his skull burn away, but it caused him no great pain.  He watched as blackened, curled chunks of his face fell away from him as he descended further and further into the abyss.  With a sudden impact, he found himself lying flat on his back in the middle of the cemetery that held Voice.  He rolled over onto his stomach, disoriented by the impact with the hard packed dirt, his head tilting.  -Byron.-

            "You have interrupted a rather enjoyable dream, Voice," he growled as he flexed his fingers, checking to make certain nothing was broken.  He seemed whole and intact, but he didn't want to take any risks; after the incident with the Dreamstalkers, he knew that dreams could be deadly.  There was a soft laughter in response to his wisecrack.

            -Ha ha ha.  You have kept your sense of humor.  That is well, mighty Byron.  The Keeper Locke has spoken with me, and given me more information than before.  Will you hear it?-  Byron nodded, and walked over to one of the shaggy-looking trees to lean against it, his arms folded across his chest.  -Good.  I have already told you that Richard Vandross does not intend to dominate the land as its ruler.  He intends to feed off of the land's fear and misery for millennia.  But he risks destroying the world utterly, Byron.  Once he has the final Orb of Eden’s Serpent, he will not be able to sate his thirst for carnage and rampage with just the land of Tamalaria.  Far to the south, across the Great Open Blue, lies another continent, which has been mostly a rumor here in Tamalaria.  I speak of the land of Tallowmere.  He will eventually tire of reigning over this land, and shall seek to feed on the people of that land as well, Byron.  His madness shall consume him, for the Glorious Mother of Destruction shall drive him beyond himself.-

            "So what can we do about it?  We are already in search of the fifth Orb, and there isn't much we can do until we find it.  Even then, what can we do to keep it from him," Byron asked, waving his hands in a defeated gesture.  "He'll come after it still, he'll continue to until he has it and everyone in his way is dead or dying."

            -The Orb of Eden’s Serpent can be destroyed,- the Voice declared like a commandment.  Destroyed, Byron thought, caught in a moment of surprise.  Can that be done?  As if reading his thoughts, which likely Voice was doing, it responded, -Yes, mighty Byron.  It can be destroyed.  But the magic and force required to do it is vast.  Within your group lies the power and potential to do it, but you must all be very careful when making the attempt, for if something goes wrong, one of you will end up absorbing the artifact.  It needs a host, and shall look for any opening it can get to make one of your number over to its own designs, which won't be good at all.  The Orbs are sentient beings within, and seek always to be joined to one another.  Do you understand?-  Byron nodded, knowing exactly what that meant; if a member of the company absorbed the Orb, they would be compelled to join Vandross's cause, and the warlock would likely destroy that person in order to gain possession of the final Orb.  The Orb itself would likely do nothing to defend its new host, that it might rejoin all of the others within Vandross's soul. 

            "How exactly do we destroy it, if it may be done?  Tell me what must be done," Byron said, feeling a jostling in his shoulders.  Someone was trying to wake him up, he knew. 

            -I shall reveal all to you when the Orb is in your possession.  Until then, you have much work to do, Byron.  Go well,- echoed the Voice from the darkness. 

            "Stay well," Byron responded, rejoining the waking world.  As the yellow lights flickered into being in his empty eye sockets, he saw that Morek Rockmight was holding a handful of snow over him, ready to press it to his skull.  "That shan't be necessary," he told the Dwarf as he sat up.  He looked out of the cave entrance into a world veiled by expanding blankness, snow falling in sheets over the mountainsides.  The day's trek would be arduous, and they might not make the greatest progress.  Still, movement of some sort had to be made.  The company packed up its few belongings and prepared to journey out into the wintry landscape, Morek in the lead, Byron bringing up the rear.  Selena stayed in the center of the group, expanding her magical heat to each member of the party, that they might not be subdued by the chill of the air and snow.  As they made their way around the side of the cliff face they had camped in, the blast of a northern wind met them head-on, immediately slowing them to barely a crawl.  Only Morek moved now with any kind of assurance, his footing balanced and calculated, leaving as good a trail to follow as his stout body would allow. 

            For a while, they proceeded in much the same fashion as they had the day before, changing routes and pathways to continue climbing higher in elevation.  But at around midday Morek took them through a tunnel in one of the rock walls, and on the other side of the narrow, short pathway, they began to march down a slope toward what looked like a small village.  The slope ended two or three hundred feet away from the outermost dwelling, but their progress here was unimpeded, as the wind was cut off in all directions by mountains.  This appeared to be a secret valley of some sort, hidden from the rest of the world, and isolated from the worst of the weather by its elevation and natural borders. 

            "This is the village of Contestia," Morek pronounced, looking back at the company.  "We are now east of Traithrock, and not far west of the monastery we seek.  There is an underground series of tunnels that leads from this village to the gates of the monastery.  Here, the servants and training hopefuls reside, as well as the family members whom the Monks cannot train.  Their elderly, their common workers, their children, all reside here," he said, relating these facts with an air of respect.  When he stood twenty feet from the village, he brought the company to a stop.  "We'll wait here for them to give a sign."  As the company waited, an elderly man dressed head to foot in dark green robes with black roses embroidered on them approached.  He leaned heavily on a walking staff, one hand on his bent back, his long white beard nearly touching the snow.  Byron looked at the old man's feet, and was surprised to find that he wore nothing more than wooden sandals.  Surely the old man suffered from the cold?  The elder's eyes narrowed as he looked at Morek, who gave him a deep bow.  The old man raised a gray, bushy eyebrow, and smiled in turn, bowing in the same fashion to the Dwarven Boxer. 

            "Greetings, Morek, master of fists," the old man said in a congenial voice.  "I am pleased to see you again!  Much time has passed since your last visit," the elder said, putting a hand on Morek's shoulder.

            "And greetings to you, master Wong," Morek said, putting one hand on the man's opposing shoulder.  "Master of grapples."  As Morek said grapples, the old man flinched and twisted his weight, vaulting himself high over Morek's head, using his momentum and Morek's body weight to toss the Dwarf at Byron and the rest of the company.  They all moved aside in an instant, shocked into silence and inaction.  Morek landed on his feet, leaning forward with his left hand on the ground for support, and the old man, master Wong, followed swiftly behind with his staff flailing through the air at him.  Morek dodged and weaved, strafing around Wong with his arms up to block any blows the old man delivered.  Finally, as Wong swung overhead, Morek rolled to the side and forward, standing up with his knuckles thrusting just underneath the old master's jaw before he stayed his hand.  Neither man moved; Byron saw that Morek had essentially declared a winning blow, but did not see that the wise old master had brought a knife point to the Dwarf's side. 

            "It appears, good master Morek, that we have a draw," he said, and Morek looked down at the knife blade.  Byron heard him mutter a curse before withdrawing from the old man.  "It is well, good Morek!"  Master Wong threw his hands in the air and embraced the Dwarf for a moment, leading him back towards the company, who were looking to one another in confusion. 

            "What just happened Morek," James Hayes asked as the Dwarf and old Human drew near. 

            "Oh, we do this every time I come to visit, just to make sure we're each doing all right, keeping up our practice and abilities.  Folks, I'd like you all to meet master Fei Chi Wong, the leader of the village.  He used to be the headmaster of the monastery," Morek added as the old Monk bowed deeply to the company. 

            "Greetings.  I would like to know your names, so that in the future, I might know who good master Morek's friends were."

            "I am James Hayes," said the Paladin as he stepped forward, inclining his head slightly to the Monk.  "I am a Paladin, formerly of the Order of Oun.  A pleasure to meet you, sir," he said, extending a hand.  Master Wong shook it a moment, then turned his eyes back to the company.  Byron had kept well back and out of plain sight the entire time, keeping his shadows wrapped around his upper body.  He would postpone this meeting for as long as he could.

            "I am Shoryu Tearfang," said the young Cuyotai Hunter, stepping forward through the group with Ellen holding his hand.  "I am a Hunter, and the last survivor of my tribe.  I have a great deal of respect for Morek, for his prowess in battle is great."  Shoryu bowed, and Ellen stepped closer.

            "I am Ellen Daires, Elf and Gaiamancer, sir," she said, her voice small and demure. 

            "I am Selena Bradford, Pyromancer," said the crimson-clad woman as she stepped forward.  Master Wong fawned for a moment, taking her hand and kissing it.  Selena stood shocked as he held her hand.

            "I have heard of you, Sorcerer Supreme Bradford," rasped the old man, his eyes squinting shut as he smiled widely at her.  "Your power over fire is well known.  Perhaps you could warm my bed tonight, hmm," said the old man, grinning like a fool.  Selena took a step back in disgust, her face stuck in a gaping expression of shock.

            "Erm, don't mind him," chuckled Morek as he scratched the back of his head, nervous and awkward.  "Master Wong's become a bit of a lecher in his golden years."  The old Monk leered up at Selena, who then made a mad dash to stand behind Byron.  Oh, just great, thought the Dread Knight.  Let's call some more attention to the undead creature whom half the land still knows as a tyrant!  "See that little fellah, master Wong," Morek said, pointing to the Ki Fairy.  "That's Alex."

            "Ah, yes, a trickster Fairy," rasped Wong as he tilted his head to get a better look at Alex.  The Ki Fairy had turned himself with his back to the old man and Dwarf, and had proceeded to moon them.  "Oh!  That is rude, you little imp," Wong said, raising his staff and bringing it down on Byron's shoulder, where Alex had been a second earlier.  A loud metal ting resounded through the air of the valley, and Wong craned his neck to look straight up at Byron's face; he had removed his Shadow magic.

            "And I, am Byron, leader of this company," Byron rumbled, trying to keep his tone neutral.  "You might know me as Byron of Sidius."

            "Yes, I indeed know this," Wong said with a squinty-eyed smile.  "I also know you as the man who, not long ago, saved the cities of Desanadron and Whitewood!  Word travels fast through our network of wandering Monks, Byron formerly of Sidius," the old man said, walking now in the direction of the village.  Byron stood shocked, glued to his place in the snow; how had word of his deeds already come this far?  Could it be that he had at last shed the reputation of Tanarak's servant?  Anything, it seemed, was possible.  "Come now!  Let us offer you our hospitality and answers to any questions you might have."  As the company followed, Byron felt an aura of magic, increasing in intensity as he drew nearer to the village.  No snow touched the rooftops, or the streets of the village, and a moment after he made this observation, he felt himself passing through a barrier of some sort, into a mid-spring like environment, the heat pleasant and unexcessive, the grasses grown high, and the smell of outdoor cooking fires being made. 

            "This is incredible," commented James Hayes as the elder Monk led them down the main thoroughfare.  "You've managed to use some form of magic to keep the entire village protected from the elements.  Do you use the same magic to grow your crops and tend your animals?"

            "Yes, indeed master Paladin," said Wong with another smile, now permanently glued to his lips.  "But it is not magic, as such.  We Monks use spiritual energies which come from within ourselves, and within all living things.  We are able to manipulate these energies and use them to our gain.  As for the protection from the elements, that is taken care of by use of strategically placed sutras, which must be replaced every few days.  I tend to this task, as is part of my duties.  Come, I would like you all to meet the other elders." 

Wong took the company down a couple of side streets until they stood before a low, long building made of cherry wood.  The sounds of old men arguing in a strange language issued from within, and master Wong slid a thin door to the side to admit the company into the entry room, which also served as the main meeting hall.  Several knee-level tables had been pushed together, and six other elderly Monks sat on their knees on either side, gesturing wildly with their hands as they spat words that sounded guttural and fierce.  As Wong cleared his throat loudly, intentionally, they ceased whatever argument they were engaged in, and stood to face the company.  Each man looked to be in his golden years, even the one Elven elder.  "Greetings, elders of this humble village.  May I introduce an old friend whom you know, and some of his companions."  Wong first introduced Morek, who bowed deeply to the elders.  They returned the bow as a group, and smiled at the Dwarven Boxer.

            "Have you been well, master of fists," one old Human asked. 

            "Indeed, I have master Pi'shar," Morek replied with a smile.  The two made some comment to one another in the Monks' strange tongue, and had a good laugh afterwards.  Byron came forward and leaned in close to Morek, as well as James Hayes. 

            "You can understand what they're saying," asked Hayes before Byron could utter the same question. 

            "Oh yes, it just takes some time to study the language before you get the hang of it," Morek whispered back.  Wong introduced the rest of the company in the same fashion, and after he was done, approached the tables of elders.

            "Now, may I introduce the elders.  Myself, you already know.  This," he said, indicating the Elven elder.  "Is master Lou Ming Wa, a great combat Monk in his prime!  He is a master of the art of Jut-kwo, an art of kicks and knees."  The old Elf bowed, and Byron heard a slight pop of joints and bones.  How old was this man?  Elves lived for thousands of years before they died of age, so this particular Monk must have seen much of the comings and goings of things over the last millennia.  "This is master Pi'shar," Wong continued, moving to the first Human.  "He is a master of the art of Kei-rei, an art that focuses on self-defense techniques.  This, is master Julong," he said, indicating the only Jaft among the company of elders.  Surprisingly, Byron noticed, the man did not carry the unusual funk of his Race; the smell should have been overpowering in such a building, in spring-like weather, but it wasn't even there.  "Master Julong is a general practitioner of martial arts, and one of the few Jafts wise enough to fully master the art of sutras!"  The old, blue-skinned humanoid gave a deep bow to the company.  "This, is master Voodon," Wong said, waving his hand back to indicate the bowing Lizardman.  All of the elder Monks were clad in the same exact garments as master Wong, with the only difference being the size of their robes, and the color of their collar, which must have meant something, Byron thought.  "Master Voodon is a skilled practitioner of the art of Bruk-haja, a Lizardman developed martial art, which focuses on the unarmed breaking of bones and rending of muscles.  Our fifth elder, is master Tuk-zwei," he said as an ancient, hunched-over Minotaur stepped away from the table to better be seen.  Both horns appeared to have been sharpened with care, and his long, black goatee shone in the lamp light with oil.  He had an ear missing from his head, with a burn line where it had been.  "He is a master of Panther style, a kung fu which requires great grace."  Great grace, huh, thought Byron.  The old Minotaur didn't look like he could make it to the bathroom on his own in his present state. 

            "Where is master Halicut," Morek asked, looking at the second Human, who had not yet been named.  "He sat where this last elder now sits when last I was here."  But Wong's smile faded instantly as he shook his head. 

            "He has been taken from us, master Morek," he sighed, his voice turned to thick phlegm.  "He was my most trusted and valued friend in life, but none of our efforts could heal his heart.  He was simply too old, master of fists.  I am sorry.  But in his stead now stands the newest member of our board of elders, master Robert Spore," he said, and the silver-haired Human stepped forward.  Spore, thought Byron.  Oh no!  David!  Could he have been this man's son?  If so, then he had a terrible task ahead of him.

            "Konichiwa," said the Human master as he approached the company smoothly.  Though aged, master Spore did not appear to have the burden of years on him that his colleagues suffered.  He stopped only a few strides from Byron's massive form, his eyebrows twitching, his hands clasped behind his back.  "You are known to us for your deeds in the southern cities, Byron.  Your struggle against the madman Richard Vandross is told of far and wide.  Yet I sense you are troubled, despite your obvious victories.  What bothers you?"  Byron fought to keep his composure, to remain calm, and to be ready for the worst reaction.

            "Master Spore, did you have a son by the name of David," he asked hesitantly. 

            "David?  No, David Spore is my nephew, good Byron!  How do you know him?"  Well, at least it wouldn't be as hard now, Byron thought with an inward sigh.

            "He traveled with us from Whitewood to come here, master Spore.  He fought at our side valiantly in the Elven capital, and on our way here.  But, a trap was set for us by Richard Vandross and one of his minions.  There was a particularly fierce battle, and we were victorious over our enemies.  But, David didn't make it," he finished, relating then the entirety of the battle and the events that brought them to David's ruin.  The old Monk stood stock still as Byron related how Phazion Lurik had worked his way into the company, gaining their sympathy and trust, and finally how the Lizardman assassin had betrayed them all.  When the telling was done, Robert Spore seemed to nod, a severe frown creasing his lips.  He placed one soft hand on Byron's shoulder, reaching up almost as far as his arm could go to do so.

            "The fault is not yours, Byron," the old man said with a wry smile.  "Nor was it David's.  He only had one arm, and still he managed to be one of our best and brightest.  No, the fault lies with the conniver, Richard Vandross.  The day you destroy him, as I am certain you shall, we shall properly mourn the loss of my nephew.  Now, he is in Nirvana, with his mother and father.  For the time being, we must be satisfied with that knowledge.  Come, master Wong, we have matters of business to discuss, and our guests have not yet been given a place that they might rest and ask their questions."  Wong bowed slightly to the silver-haired Spore, and guided Byron and his companions away from the council hall.  Up the street, to the north, he pointed out a quaint, two story family house.

            "This is the home reserved for our most honored guests.  There are several bedrooms, a small study, two washrooms, a den, and a kitchen with dining room.  There are foodstuffs inside, but if there is anything you want specially prepared or brought for your own cooking, you need only ask Daikatsu.  He is the caretaker, and he resides over there," Wong said, pointing across the road to a well-made cottage.  "If he is not in the guest home or his own abode, he is likely at the library, which is at the end of the street, down there," he said, pointing back the way they had come.  "Have you any questions, honored guests?"

            "We have many, old friend," grumbled Morek.  "But they may wait for a few hours while you finish your business with the board.  Come see us as soon as you can, for the matters we need to discuss are grave," Morek said, bowing to the old master as Wong turned and shuffled away on his wooden sandals.  "Well, all those in favor of going in and having a real meal, say I," he said to the group with a wide grin.  Nobody argued, and the Dwarven Boxer led them into the main entry room of the guesthouse.  Opposite the main door was another sliding door, and the entry room appeared to be for hanging coats and removing shoes.  Morek took his boots off, and the smell of his feet nearly knocked a couple of the others to the ground.  He slid the other door open, and walked freely into the den.  James Hayes, Selena, and Ellen all removed their own boots and greaves, leaving only Byron fully armored and clothed.  As they entered into the den in a single file fashion, the Dread Knight took a good look at their arrangements.

            The den had a decided martial arts theme, with wall scrolls hung everywhere, rugs of austere design draped on the floor with care, and the furniture arranged in a fashion he had heard referred to as 'fung shui'.  He personally didn't care for it; it was too precise, too elegant for his own tastes.  He had become accustomed to a soldier's home, one with a family, where the furniture was arranged to allow for family closeness and conservation of space.  There were no toys or footwear scattered about, no tankards of half-drank ale or tobacco pipes laid out and forgotten.  If this was how guests kept their living quarters among the Monks, what would a resident's home look like?  He shuddered involuntarily at the idea.  James Hayes, however, didn't appear to have qualms with the appearance or layout of the room.  He had, in fact, already plunked himself down on one of the chairs with a heave, the sound of creaking leather chair cushions grinding in Byron's ears as the Paladin made himself comfortable.  Shoryu was admiring one of the weapons on a display pedestal, carefully enclosed in glass.  Selena seemed to be scrunching her nose up at the smell of the potpourri bowls that hung from the ceiling.  Byron agreed with her mentally; he didn't care for the aroma of the room either.  Morek had disappeared, presumably to have a look around.  And Byron couldn't see where Ellen had gotten off to.  Probably ran off to find a bathroom, he thought with a silent chuckle.  The poor Elven girl was still combating the effects of Munda berries when they had arrived in town, and hadn't hit a toilet the whole time. 

            From an archway in the back left corner of the room, Morek popped his head into view.  "One of the washrooms is down at the end of this hall, along with a pair of bedrooms.  I'm gonna have meself a bath," he announced, much to everyone's relief.  James Hayes and Shoryu both let out a sigh as Morek disappeared from view again, relieved that the Dwarf was going to clean himself.  Ellen returned to the den a moment after Byron settled himself into one of the huge chairs by the fireplace, a small earthenware bowl in her cupped hands. 

            "Friends, I have prepared a soup in the kitchen, if you wish to have a hot meal," she said in her girlish voice, relieved to have real food in her stomach.  "Also, there is a bathroom just upstairs from the kitchen.  It seems there are several ways to get to the second floor, most thankfully," she added, blushing.  They all understood what she had to do as soon as they were inside, and Morek had already claimed the other washroom for his own purposes. 

            "This place seems awfully big for guests, my lord," squeaked Alex in Byron's 'ear'.  "I'm guessing they don't get company very often."

            "Yes, well, they are Monks, after all, Alex," Byron whispered.  He had finally gotten comfortable, and intended to knock off for a couple of hours' rest, or at least until master Wong returned to speak with them about the Orb.  He would handle the questions, he decided, for Morek seemed a bit too friendly to press the matter if it needed to be pressed.  The Boxer had too much respect and acquaintance with these people to drive a hard line with them if they hesitated to answer their questions.  Besides, Byron thought with a grin, if they truly respect us and what we're doing, they'll help us quickly, for time is of the essence.  Without a second thought, he lapsed into silent, empty sleep, enjoying the nothingness of simple rest.

            Richard Vandross stood before the assembled platoon that would dare Dwarves and Dragons in the hope that he might gain possession of the final Orb of Eden’s Serpent.  His top men, those who he had assembled to formulate the plan for this journey, stood before bunches of their own men and women, barking commands and giving speeches about the glory that would be theirs.  The only one of them without his own unit of men was the Beastmaster, Sergeant Robin.  He stood with Talus Cur, the Illeck Q Mage, before a handful of mages who were locking spells onto their robes and weapons.  An interesting and useful trick, Vandross thought with a smile. 

'Locking' spells allowed magic users to expend double the amount of magical energy on a spell in order to secure the spell to a weapon, body part, or condition, that it would be automatically cast from its anchoring object or caster without the need for expending any energy at that moment.  It was a tactic used primarily by mages enlisted in armies, such as these ones.  Most of them sagged and wobbled after the expenditure of so much mystic force, but they would be better off later on down the road, as they would not require too much concentration or effort.  Spells that took a long time to cast, perhaps a fatal amount of time in a confrontation, would be at their instant command, and with the right combination of spells, even a Dragon would be humbled in a moment's time.

            Major Tamriel stood with his Sergeants, Moran and Doran, discussing something in their unique tongue, their tones low and secretive.  Being overheard was inevitable, however, as they were huge and deep in voice.  Vandross walked up and down the line before them, inspecting the ranks as closely as he could without making anyone nervous.  Colonel Molis had begun a conversation with General and Shadowbeast Prime Vilec Roak, apparently about the Colonel's choice of men.  Molis had selected combatants from each walk of life available in Vandross's vast and still growing army; Black Fur Werewolf Berserkers, Human Alchemists, Shadowbeast warriors, Human Hunters and Knights, a handful of vicious-looking undead creatures called Revenants, and a pair of Vandross's recently created Dreadnaughts.  The Revenants, Vandross thought with a smug smile, were not the most effective creatures, but their touch turned everything to decay, rotting away even metal if it were exposed to their fingertips for too long.  They moved swiftly, and some were even capable of speech and coherent thought, an ability that had earned them the nickname of uberzombie.  And the Dreadnaughts were well-known and deeply feared in the lands of Tamalaria.

            Dreadnaughts were essentially a collection of body parts from various different Races pulled together and held tight by magic.  The flesh and blood of their structure had to come from dead creatures, and so Dreadnaughts were considered an affront to anyone who valued life.  What exactly the pieces came from didn't matter, for they could all be held by the magic required to create one of these monstrosities.  The four that Molis had hand picked were Vandross's best of the two or three dozen he had erected, for much of their makeup had come from beings that possessed magic.  The Dreadnaughts would have access to a limited amount of the spells wielded by the former owners of its flesh, and thus they would be a great force to be reckoned with, both physically and magically.  His expedition forces looked to be quite capable of taking on an entire nation just by itself, but they would be dealing with two of the land's greatest defenders; Dwarves and Dragons. 

He would need every last advantage available to him when they sought the final Orb of Eden’s Serpent. 

            Richard Vandross finished his preliminary analysis of his men, and turned toward the northwest, focusing his inner eye to aid him in this effort.  He would have to tear a rift in space to teleport the entire unit to the mountains, and sustain it long enough to get through himself.  It would require a colossal amount of energy on his part, but he would be aided by Talus Cur, who would temporarily amplify the effectiveness of Vandross's magic.  The Q Mage would then set up a magical barrier around the unit on the other side of the rift, to protect them from anyone or anything that might descend on them right away.  Vandross sincerely hoped there would be no confrontation right away; he would be physically drained when he finally passed through the rift, and might not be able to defend himself properly.  He refused to show any sign of weakness before his top commanders, lest they decide to mutiny against him.  The only one who would not simply could not, and that was Grigory Molis, whom he had created.

            He closed his eyes and sought the exact position he wanted to arrive at with his forces, and his mental vision began to clear after a moment.  From his current perspective, he saw that it was snowing heavily at the base of the hills leading into the mountains.  He swept his mental eyes around the area, looking for a good clearing that might be slightly sheltered from the cold.  The Khan, Shadowbeasts and other demons would be fine, but the Humans and Illecks in his company would not do well in such a rapid climate change.  However, something caught his eye, and he turned his attention to it; the remains of a camp, a couple of days old.  He knew instantly who had been there.  The aura of the Morning Glory hung heavily in the air, as well as that of Byron of Sidius himself.  Blast it all, he thought with a scowl.  The Dread Knight is already ahead of us!  Vandross summoned forth his power, and brought his palms together before him.  As chaotic spasms of energy ripped through his arms, he clutched at the empty air, finding purchase on solid reality after a moment of grasping.  Taking solid hold, he tore his arms back in a sweeping gesture, feeling the fabric of space and time rupture just before him.  As he opened his good eye, he saw that he had created a large rift, big enough for swift movement of his men, so that the time required would be shortened. 

            "Cur," he yelled, keeping his eye fixed on the rift, channeling energy into it from his palms.  The Q Mage sprinted toward him, and as he mumbled strange incantations under his breath, a ring of yellow energy enveloped Vandross's feet, swirling up in a spiraling pillar around the warlock, sustaining him and feeding his magic.  Without any further provocation, Amon, Molis, Robin, Vilec Roak and Tamriel motioned their men forward, moving into the rift and disappearing from sight.  As the last of them surged through, Vandross stalked forward, holding onto the power flowing from his body as he crept closer to the rift.  As he felt his arms would be torn from his body, he lunged through the gap, and came out of the other side onto a snow-covered slope.  A slight miscalculation, he noted, but Byron's campsite was only a few dozen yards away.

            Colonel Molis, his breath misting in the cool northern air, snapped off a smart salute, standing at attention.  "Your orders, my lord?"  Vandross looked out across the unit, seeing that the transfer from one side of the continent clear across to the other had not just drained him, but most of the soldiers.  Even the magic users, except for Talus Cur, looked like they were on the verge of collapse. 

            "Set up camp, Colonel.  We shall rest here until nightfall, no later.  Under cover of night we shall move, north and west.  Have Amon send a few Khan scouts up into the hills to survey the area.  I don't want any surprises."

            "My lord, I can use some of my own men for the task," rasped Vilec Roak as he approached from behind.  Had he come through after Vandross, the one-eyed warlock wondered.  That didn't matter at the moment, however.  He had to establish control now that they were away from Mount Toane.

            "No, Vilec.  Amon's Khan are from the Allenian Hills, and are very accustomed to such tasks.  This terrain should be scouted and hunted by them.  Besides, they are much more expendable than your Shadowbeasts at the moment," he added in a conspiratorial whisper.  Vilec Roak grinned maliciously, nodding his agreement to Vandross.  The Shadowbeast General darted off to issue his lord's will to Lieutenant Amon, who turned and barked orders to two slender Khan women.  Molis had moved away to give the order to set up camp, for nightfall was four or five hours off.

 The camp would not be large or complicated; this wasn't a siege, just a rest stop.  Tents would not be necessary.  Vandross suddenly felt very tired, and unslung his rucksack to pull out a bedroll.  He unfurled it on a clear patch of frosted grass, and tucked himself inside for a nap.  The cold didn't bother him in the slightest, for the Orbs of Eden’s Serpent within him protected his body from the elements.  But, he thought before passing out, it might eventually take a toll on some of the less hardy men and women of his unit.  "Feh," he grunted as he rolled over to get comfortable.  "It doesn't matter.  As long as I attain the last Orb."  With these words on his tongue, he drifted off into a deep, and thankfully, dreamless slumber.

            As dusk settled in, Richard Vandross roused himself from his bedroll, listening to every sound around him with clarity; he wanted to make certain that nothing had occurred without his knowledge.  But the conversations around him consisted mainly of what each man or woman in his army wanted out of being with him.  Several of the higher ranking females, to his surprise, admitted aloud that they wanted to feel the heat of his loins in their own, until they noticed he was awake.  At that point, all conversation between the ladies of his unit ceased.  Still, a couple of them weren't half bad looking, he mused.  He might take one of them on a colder night, help them keep warm, he he he.  Vandross passed directly by them, stalking toward Colonel Molis, who had a pot of some black sludge brewing. 

            "Coffee, my lord," Molis asked, holding up his own earthenware mug.  Vandross grabbed a nearby drinking cup made of pewter, dipping it into the pot for something to wake him up further.  The liquid was foul, but potent; he felt like he'd had a shock of lightning rip through him for just the briefest moment.  "You'll be wanting a report then, sir?"  Vandross said nothing, staring up into the mountains and nodding just slightly.  "The two Khan scouts returned an hour ago, having ranged far ahead of us, my lord.  The one who traveled east discovered signs of passage by a small company, lord Vandross, most likely the Dread Knight and his fellows.  The Khan who scouted west found no signs of their passing, but nearly came upon several Dwarven sentry patrols.  A village lies not far from the top of these slopes.  Traithrock is to the east of our current position, my lord, and we needn't worry about their capital forces if we avoid traveling that way.  Thoughts, my lord?"  Vandross considered his available options; the capital of the Dwarven territories would be the most difficult to assail, but thankfully, their path would most likely keep them away from the walled fortress city.  But other Dwarven cities would lie in their way to the west, and could not be assumed to be any less a threat. 

            "We should get going.  By the time we get to the upper reaches and have a way into the west, it will be dark.  Give the order to pack up and prepare to march, Colonel.  And find Vilec Roak for me, Molis.  He and I have something to discuss."  The half-demon saluted stiffly and shuffled off to carry out his orders.  Definitely a strange one, he is, Vandross thought.  The half-demon seldom removed his armor, including his helmet, even to partake of meals.  Without any fully visible face most of the time, Vandross found him difficult to identify in a pack of the Shadowbeasts, since his armor was a dark steel.  Yet the half of him that was demon could not be Shadowbeast; he would defer to Vilec Roak much easier if such were the case.  But the Colonel didn't offer any more information than was necessary.  Roak appeared at his elbow a moment after his latest musing, and cleared his throat to get Vandross's attention. 

            "You sent for me, lord Vandross," hissed the Shadowbeast Prime. 

            "Indeed, I did.  But before I get to the matter at heart, I have a few questions concerning the Colonel.  Do you remember when I reawakened him?"  Vilec Roak's eyes widened in shock for a moment, and he put his hand to his chin in honest consideration.  After a moment, he shrugged his shoulders.

            "I am not entirely certain, my lord.  I know only that he was with us when Bael was still in command of the armies, though I don’t recall you ever actually sending for him.  I acutely recall his ferocity and ability to command in Fort Flag.  He slew nearly a hundred of the Paladins by himself.  You promoted him to his current rank on my recommendation, but I don't remember you adding him to our ranks before that particular assault.”

            "Hmph," Vandross huffed.  "It is a mystery we can let go unsolved for now.  Now, to the heart of things.  We will make our way toward the Dwarven village the scout spotted, let Tamriel and his compatriots be on point as a vanguard.  If he is correct in his analysis of the Dwarves' fear of his kind, we can use their village to stock up on supplies and get a feeling for these mountains.  Perhaps even some information might be gathered from them.  Prepare the ranks to fall in," he said, dismissing the General with a wave of his hand.  As the columns were formed and elements shifted to properly present a fighting force, Vandross swooped alongside the regiment.  Every man and woman here was ready for bloodshed, eager for conflict; even the Illeck Talus Cur and his mages seemed spoiling for a chance to make a vulgar display of power.  He would grant them their wishes if the Dwarves put up any resistance.  He would likely incur some casualties on his side, but a few heads in exchange for glory seemed a paltry price to pay.  The morale of the troops would be on the upswing in any event, and he would have even more committed soldiers at his command.  Though he had little more than a hundred assembled, they would be a force to be reckoned with. 

            Despite the cold and wind, the troupe made good time on the steady climb up the slopes and foothills into the higher mountain range.  The air became thin and stinging shortly after reaching the upper heights, however, and progress slowed to a near crawl by midnight.  Having the advantage of cover of night would do little good if they couldn't reach their destination before sunrise, which in these parts of the continent, came mighty early.  As he grumbled to himself, Vandross saw Colonel Molis issue a hand signal to Talus Cur, who sent two of his mages to the front of the marching elements.  With a few hand gestures and garbled words, the mages seemed to part the wind coming at them, leaving clean, unmoving air for the troops to move through.  Aeromancers, Vandross thought with a smile.  Masters of wind.  Talus Cur had come prepared much to Vandross's approval.  With the Aeromancers at the front of the main body, and the Renkas ahead of them to provide further shielding from the elements and warning of any pitfalls, Vandross's company made better progress than before.  Within two hours' time, they were atop a high ridge that led down into a valley.  In the center of the valley, structures of stone, laden with snow and ice, sat arranged in a quaint pattern; the Dwarven village the scout had seen. 

            Vandross cleared his mind's eye, and focused his energy, using his mental vision to see down into the village.  A sentry post had been set up on each side of the village, giving the impression that even in this isolated town, the Dwarves expected trouble at any time.  An ambush might be out of the question, he realized, for the stout people of stone and rock lore were much more accustomed to their chosen environment than were any of the members of the expeditionary force at Vandross's command.  The Khan might be able to maneuver their way down the slopes into the village undetected, but not for long, and not without difficulty.  The Renkas, impervious to the wintry conditions, could stomp into the village, magic at the ready, razor-sharp claws rending the foremost guards with ease, but the entirety of the village would come to the aid of its guards.  Neither tactic would be advisable.

            The guards at the closest post appeared to be Dwarven gentlemen of middle age, their long, brown beards beginning to take on the flecks of gray that come with elder years.  Their armor appeared to be wrought iron, uncolored and battered from time and use.  These Dwarves obviously coveted their money reserves, or else they'd have bought themselves some new equipment.  But such was the nature of their Race; frugal, practical, and lethal.  Ah, Vandross thought with a smile, but don't forget, superstitious.  The appearance of Renkas would surely frighten them, but not as much as the shadowy, slippery and conspicuous movements of a handful of Shadowbeasts.  A few illusions might go a long way as well, he mused. 

            "Roak," Vandross whispered to his General, who had taken up his usual position at Vandross's elbow.  "Go to Talus Cur.  Tell him I want his best Illusionist over here now," he said, formulating an on-the-fly plan.  Not many plans made in haste succeeded, he knew, but this one had the makings of greatness.  A minute later, a frail looking Human woman was brought forth, her robes flapping around her as though she had no more substance than her shadow.  "Sweet gods, woman, do you feed yourself," he rasped, raising an eyebrow.  The woman said nothing, simply staring at him in an unnerving fashion; it was as though she had no soul, that she merely existed to be used in such ways.  No matter, Vandross thought with a mental shrug.  "Now, Roak, pick a couple of your more imaginative and stealthy Shadowbeast grunts.  I have an idea."  The plan that Vandross laid out to Roak was simple, but would be effective. 

First, the Illusionist would summon a fake maelstrom of spirits, unleashing inhuman howls and banshee wails.  The assistance of a Gaiamancer or two would make tremors in the earth, just enough to spook the hardy mountain folk further.  Lights and explosions in the sky by the Illusionist would thunder and crack above the village, followed by a booming, ominous voice.  It would say, 'thou foul creatures!  Too long have I abided thy presence in my domain!  I am the demon Secenterock, Renka Lord of the Fifth Ring of Hell!  I have sent an envoy to clear you out, if you do not leave this place now!'  On cue, Tamriel would lead Moran and Doran down into the village, and the Illusionist would provide just enough light to illuminate the Shadowbeasts already in the Dwarves' midst.  They would turn and flee, abandoning their homes in less than an hour's time, and no one would be lost on Vandross's side.  Unless, of course, there were a few fools brave enough to try to play the part of the hero.  Doubtless some of the guards would try, he thought with a grin.  Let them.  We will crush all who oppose us!  He felt the Orbs jitter inside of his soul in pleasure, savoring his cunning and deception, his unequaled guile. 

            "It is a most excellent plan, my lord," rasped Molis from somewhere nearby in the shadows.  A glint of metal gave him away among the darkness, and Vandross was slightly uneasy that the Colonel had crept up unannounced.  He had always detected Vilec Roak, always knew when the Orbs were creeping toward the surface of his consciousness.  Mighty Hell, he almost spat, he could even tell that Byron of Sidius was two or three days' travel east of his current position!  How had this half-demon gotten so close to him?  Especially since Vandross himself was responsible for his creation!  No, he thought vehemently, this is no time to be paranoid.  Paranoia unseated more rulers than wars ever did, he realized.  Best to just take comfort in the fact that if he needed someone who could go undetected, he had him. 

            "How long have you been standing there, half-breed," Tamriel growled at Molis.

            "Long enough, Major," the Colonel retorted, showing the first clear sign of anger Vandross had seen from him.  "I would remind you to remember your rank, Tamriel.  Full blood or not, you are beneath me, and beneath my scorn.  And if you test me," he growled, his eyes flashing a deep blue.  "I will return you to your home in the Hells!"  The hulking Renka extracted his claws, crouching low to the ground and stamping the ground with his rear foot.  An obvious conflict was about to come to a head, and Vilec Roak moved to intercept the coming blows from being thrown.  But Vandross held his General at bay with one thick arm. 

            "Hold yourself, General," he whispered to the Shadowbeast Prime.  Roak gave him a puzzled look of dismay, but Vandross nodded in Molis's direction; swirls of blue and purple energy had begun to lash about the half-demon's fists, and his helmet flashed a mix of red and yellow as flames erupted from within the darkness of its visor.  Clearly unafraid of anything, Tamriel launched a huge arm, claws tearing through the air, at Molis.  A vapor trail followed the Colonel as he shifted position in the blink of an eye, leaping up onto the Renka's arm and running up the length of it to his shoulder.  As Tamriel attempted to grasp at the half-demon, Molis clasped both hands around Tamriel's face, and a surge of energy burst through Tamriel's body, making him writhe and quiver in agony.  The entire assault was committed in utter silence; it was as though Molis's aura was absorbing all noise around him.  Tamriel's eyes rolled back, and he fell to the ground, heaving and unconscious.  With a snap of his finger, Molis awakened the bear demon, and returned his body to its original appearance.  Tamriel quivered once and backed away swiftly, backpedaling on all fours.  Vandross clapped his hands, but no sound issued from them.  He turned an up-raised eyebrow to Molis, who clapped his hands once.  The sounds of the wintry wind blew past once more, and the mutterings of all assembled grew. 

            "My apologies for this unpleasant display, my lord," the half-demon said in a humble tone, bowing deeply to Vandross. 

            "No need for an apology, Colonel," Vandross said, walking to within a few steps of the half-demon.  "Your display here is actually appreciated!  It finally gives me a first-hand account of your power and skill," he said, smiling wickedly.  "Major, I trust you are whole?"  Tamriel mutely nodded, and remained on his knees, bowing to Molis.

            "It is I who should apologize to you, Colonel," he rumbled, his booming voice carrying too well for Vandross's comfort; he didn't want to alert the Dwarves of the village to their presence, not yet.  Not until they carried out his little deception.  He made a hand gesture, which thankfully was not lost on the Renka.  Tamriel approached Molis, walking on all fours like the animal his body resembled.  A few whispered words were exchanged, after which Tamriel bowed once more to the half-demon.  Vandross would like to have heard that little exchange, but he had already busied himself with making the final preparations with Vilec Roak.  He would feel much better once he had control of the village, and from the looks of things now, even if things went poorly, he had a new trump card in his hand.

            Byron groaned as Shoryu nudged him awake, and as the Dread Knight opened his eyes, he saw the squat form of master Wong sitting across from him.  "Even the dead need rest, I see," the old martial artist chided with a wrinkled grin.  Byron chuckled softly as he stretched his arms and legs, shaking off the last vestiges of drowsiness. 

            "Indeed, we do, master Wong.  Given those age lines, I'd say you haven't long before you join the ranks!"

            "These are laugh lines, young whelp," Wong chided jokingly.  "I am told that master of fists Morek Rockmight is resting at the moment, and seeing as the others all defer to you, I figured you have some questions for me.  Am I wrong," he asked as he took a sip of some sweetly scented tea. 

            "No, you are not," Byron said, clearing his throat.  "We have but a few questions, and a few requests, if you can accomodate us.  Firstly, we are in search of an artifact of dark magic, an item known as a Orb of Eden’s Serpent.  Do you know of it," he asked, and knew the answer before he finished his question.  The look of abhorance in the old Monk's eyes told him everything he needed to know. 

            "Indeed, I know of this, thing," he spat.  "It's protection and concealment was entrusted to us by the Paladin, Rimzan of Grey.  We took it in, though we knew the risks.  Such evils should not be allowed into being, Byron," Wong commented.  "But we knew in our hearts that our monastary, on the other side of the tunnels, would be a safe place for its storage.  But recently, we felt a shift in the balance of nature," Wong said, taking another sip of his tea.  His long, green tunics and robes hung loosely off of him, as though he were merely bones beneath his garments.  In a way, Byron thought bemusedly, the two had much in common.  "We determined that the other artifacts had been reclaimed by a new master, and that he would eventually come for this one.  So, we sealed it in a Sokchi, which is a crate enchanted with Monk sutra magic.  It conceals all forms of power within it, and was the perfect choice for what we had in mind.  We decided that the Dwarves would be much better prepared for any assault made in an effort to take the artifact.  But it isn't guaranteed that the little people of the west will take it in; they are superstitious folk, and are just as likely to tell us to go away with it as take it in.  If that is the case, however, we have a second destination in mind."

            "And where is that, wizened master," Byron asked in a hushed voice.

            "Farther west, in the Dragon territories.  We have a truce with the Dragons there, and they are more than capable of protecting the Orb of Eden’s Serpent, Byron.  In either event, this Vandross we have heard of may still be able to reach it.  You are five days away from those places as of now, and the going will not be easy if you take the known roads.  Master Morek shall have to be more choosy when making the return trip to the west.  For now, rest, Byron.  What are your other questions?"  Byron made the request for provisions they would need, in the form of dried foods, new bedrolls, and some other sundry goods for traveling.  Master Wong acknowledged the company's needs with a barely perceptable nod, and shuffled away from the guest house in order to secure them. 

            After an hour or so, Morek came into the main den, and everyone was assembled, either seated on the comfortable furniture, or standing as James Hayes was by the fireplace.  Byron stood in the center of the room, looking around at the others with a grim set to his stance.  "Listen up, everyone.  Master Wong has informed me that the Orb of Eden’s Serpent we seek is most likely in the Dragon territories, in the farthest reaches of the northwestern mountains.  We are five days' travel from them, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Vandross may already be ahead of us.  Don't ask me how he could be, just remember this; everywhere we've been, everything we've done, he has only been a step or two behind us.  This time, however, while we came east, he may very well have gone straight west.  That would put him ahead of us.  We have to hope that the Dwarves and Dragons can hold him off for the time being.  We must gain the Orb of Eden’s Serpent before him.  I have discovered a way to destroy it," he said, almost in a whisper, with his head lowered.  "But it will take all of us to do it, and we will be in no condition to defend ourselves afterwards.  We shall have to secure it, and then take it away to someplace secretive, someplace where we can gain aid in our cause against Vandross."

            "My people might be willing to take us in if they know we mean to destroy the Orb," Morek offered from his wicker seat.  "They will be suspicious of our intentions, bringing such an artifact to them, but if they recognize us for what we are, they won't hesitate to let us in and dispose of the thing.  It should work, but tell us how we are to do what you suggest."  Byron gave them a basic summary of what Voice had told him, leaving out the fact that he was speaking to some apparition in his head.  He didn't want to come off as crazy, or somehow overly stressed.  In addition, Voice had warned him not to make the others in his company aware that each of them had their own Keeper in their soul.  Apparently, awareness of the Keepers' presence would be enough to put them at risk for expulsion from their respective hosts.  That was the last thing that Byron wanted to do; the Keepers, while trustworthy, seemed somehow capable of unfathomable measures of violence.  He had garnered this impression of them by his encounter with Locke, and his continuing conversations with Voice.  He didn't want to risk the company to beings beyond their comprehension, when they had real threats to deal with in the physical world. 

            "And that's the basic premise," he said, letting out a sigh of relief when none of the others questioned him.  "It will require more from us than mere spells or trickery.  It shall require the expenditure of energy from our very souls.  The risks are great, and if one of us is taken by the Orb, the others may have to subdue the afflicted member of our party.  Is that understood?"  A general murmur of acceptance ripped through the company, and they all stood to their feet as one.  Shoryu put his hand forward, into the center of their circle.

            "On my life, I swear this," he said, his tone unusually formal and grave.  Ellen placed her hand atop his next.

            "In the name of Mother Gaia, I swear this," she intoned.

            "With the power granted me, I swear this," Selena said, adding her hand. 

            "By the honor of my people, I swear this," Morek added, reaching his rough fist underneath the pile.  All eyes turned to James Hayes, who had a glossy look in his eyes.  Byron couldn't immediately read what the Human Paladin was feeling, but a soft grin graced his now stubbled face.  He placed his hand into the group, his features sharpening as he clenched his jaw.

            "In the name of mighty Oun, I swear this," he proclaimed loudly, his voice echoing through the guest house's den.  Lastly, Byron removed his gauntlet from his left hand, flexing the flesh and bones of his mortal hand.  He added it lastly, atop the hands of his comrades. 

            "With all my soul, I swear this," he said, sealing the pact and gazing into the faces of his companions.  They were his closest, and only friends, aside from Alex, who hadn't added his hand, but sat perched with an impish grin on Selena's shoulder.  He would protect them from harm where he could, and ensure a victory in the name of their cause.  The warlock Richard Vandross would not be allowed a victory.  As they all withdrew their hands, a comfortable silence wrapped around them.  A knock came at the door a moment later, and Shoryu crossed the room to answer it.  He swung the door open, and there stood master Wong, along with three large Monks, each carrying a rucksack filled with provisions for their journey.  This was odd, Byron thought as he looked past Shoryu, considering that they would not be leaving until morning.  He and James Hayes approached the door and master Wong as Morek and Shoryu hauled the sacks into the room. 

            "Is something wrong, goodly Monk," asked Hayes as he looked into the old man's face.  There was a clear mark of concern there, and master Wong was doing nothing to conceal it. 

            "Indeed there is, kind Paladin.  One of the three young Monks sent to hide the artifact has returned, with ill news.  It seems that the Dwarves of one of the western cities refused them, and they were forced to turn to the Dragon territories.  They thought they had found an empty cave, but as they were leaving, a great, metallic Dragon of midnight hue sprang an assault on them.  Two of the three were slain, and this one who has returned is not in good shape.  Exposure to the elements has weakened him greatly."

            "So a Black Dragon has the Orb in its lair," asked Morek with a wry grin.  "Let him keep it then!  I'd like to see Vandross get it from him!"

            "Therein lies the problem," master Wong said with a serious look at the Dwarf.  "If this warlock cannot reach it, what chance have you, master of fists?  Black Dragons are fierce, magically potent, and able to change shapes at will!  It may not know what it now possesses, but if it finds out and takes the Orb for itself, it will be even more powerful than before!  You must make haste, master Byron, for our young Monk also told us that a large force was making its way into the mountains when he was returning to us.  A day and a half has passed since then, and night is upon us.  That will put the warlock a full two days' time ahead of you if you do not leave now!"  Byron understood the urgency of the situation immediately.  They could not afford to fall too far behind Vandross in the search for the fifth and final Orb of Eden’s Serpent. 

Shoryu and Morek rifled through the provisions, placing aside those things they didn't need, or didn't foresee needing.  All of the foodstuffs, however, were kept and collected into two of the rucksacks, while the third was filled with the travel goods they would require.  A length of rope, oil laced torches, new bedrolls, and even a pair of simple tent tarps.  An old bronze compass rested atop the travel supplies, a small pocket sized number that opened like a pocket watch.  A small button atop the circle of gold that lined the outside of the compass could be pressed to pop open its cover, revealing a simple cross with the directional letters under the glass.  The arrow, however, was a lightning bolt, with the small, striking tip pointing in the direction the holder faced.  Byron lifted the compass out and held it in front of master Wong.

            "What is this," he asked.  "Shoryu is a skilled Hunter, trained in the lay of the lands he passes through.  And Morek Rockmight is the best guide we could have for these mountains.  What use is this trinket?"

            "It is no mere trinket, my undead friend.  It will guide you when you are most lost, even when physical direction is not your issue.  Remember this well, Byron.  Come closer," the old Monk whispered, and Byron bent down enough to put his head next to Wong's mouth.  "I do not foresee that it is you who shall require its innermost use, good Byron.  Rather, it is another in your company who shall need it.  Be prepared for the moment that occurs, for it shall be a true test of all of your characters."  Byron stood erect and nodded, thanking Wong under his breath for the head's up.  If he wouldn't need it, then who?  James Hayes seemed to have regained his faith, and aside from the Human Paladin, nobody in the company seemed to need further guidance.  For the time being, he would let the matter drop, and concentrate on getting things moving.  The company had a great deal of distance to cover, and apparently, little time to cover it. 

            "All right everyone, gather up your own things," he said, calling forth his commanding presence.  "We head out in one hour!  Take whatever comforts you can, a quick bath or a nap, and let's get moving after that.  Shoryu," he said, pulling the Cuyotai Hunter aside after his announcements.  "Do you remember the way we came here?"

            "Of course," Shoryu said with a hint of pride, puffing out his chest slightly.  "I am a Hunter, my friend, and a Cuyotai to boot!  I can recall every step of our journey here, including the footfalls, the faulty passages, every bit of our sojourn here.  Why?"

            "Because Vandross may have sent some of his cronies our way when he entered the mountain ranges.  I want you to range ahead of us as a scout, which befits your trade.  If you come across a patrol, do not engage them on your own, under any circumstances, do you understand?  Report back to us immediately, and relay information regarding their numbers, their Race, their equipment, and their apparent strength.  Got that?"

            "Of course, my friend," Shoryu said with a sly grin.  "Such activity is what I was trained for for many years!  It will be a nice change of pace from running for dear life and outright battling creatures of darkness!  I welcome the opportunity, good Byron."  Byron nodded, and moved off to speak with Morek for a moment.  The taciturn Dwarf wouldn't like being informed that he would not be taking the lead for about half of the march west, but Byron was sure he would understand the Dread Knight's reasoning. 

            "Morek," Byron said as he came upon the Dwarven Boxer securing his silver-studded gloves over his gnarled fists.  Years of handing out brutality with little more than some leather padding over his hands made it impossible for even the thickest gloves to hide the deformed and busted appearance of his hands.  Byron seldom understood Boxers; they were very much akin to Monks in that they preferred unarmed combat, but even Monks admitted that sometimes a weapon was a sensible thing to use.  After all, Stone Golems tended to hurt when one struck them with a bare hand.  Morek obviously hadn't learned that lesson yet. 

            "What's up boss," Morek grunted as he secured the lacing on his gloves. 

            "Shoryu will be scouting ahead on our way back to our point of entrance into the mountains.  He is trained as a Hunter, and they make the best scouts.  I wanted to tell you myself."  Morek turned and raised an eyebrow at the Dread Knight, silently requesting further explanation.  "I know how you feel about this region.  It is your homeland, your territory.  You are one of the most revered leaders of Traithrock, and thus, of the Dwarven territories.  These are your lands.  I don't want to offend you."  Morek let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back and guffawing.

            "Byron, Byron, Byron," he chuckled, shaking his head and putting his hands on his hips.  "I take no offense from this!  The lad is as you say, a fine Hunter and a worthy scout!  How could I take offense from this?  No, my friend," he said, patting Byron on the lower back.  "I would only take offense if you said that my mother had no beard!  Ha hah ha ha!"  Byron tried to understand the humor in Dwarven jokes, but never succeeded, and now was no exception.  The joke was simply lost on him. 

            "Good," he said, continuing on.  "Now, go take that hour of rest I suggested.  It isn't much, but it shall be all you get this night.  We have a great deal of ground to cover, and will not rest until we are on the verge of collapse.  I know that such action is extreme, but it is what is necessary if we are to catch up to Vandross and his forces.  We must not engage them in a direct confrontation, but it will be easiest to skirt around them if we know where they are located.  If we come in direct contact, we must fight them only as a harassment, and then disengage.  So no plunging head long into battle Morek," he said, wagging a finger at Morek like he would an obstinate child. 

            "Roit, roit, roit," Morek said, waving him off.  "Nothing foolish.  I'm gonna go rest up.  See you in fifty or so."  Morek moved off down one hallway, picking out the smaller room to sleep in.  Shoryu and Ellen Daires had gone upstairs, presumably to sleep, though Byron wouldn't be surprised if they were doing, well, something else.

James Hayes had passed out swiftly on one of the comfortable couches in the den, and Selena and Alex sat at a small, round wooden table off to one side of the room, playing a card game.  Alex levitated his cards in front of him, while Selena held hers with her hands.  Of course, Byron thought rather amusedly, the cards were half Alex's size.  He decided to prepare his own magic in the hour interim before the company moved out, not wanting to be caught unprepared for anything.  Even if they came across a scouting band and were forced to fight, they would not have time to rest afterwards.  They would have to rely on Shoryu's abilities as a scout to carry them through without conflict.  If that somehow failed, they would have to rely on their own combat strengths and tactics. 

            The first plan of attack was always a simple one, Byron thought, recalling his training in tactical warfare.  The lessons his father had given him seemed full of harsh laughter and cruel jokes, his father always reminding young Byron that in war, casualties were inevitable.  No fighting force, regardless of size, went forever without losing at least one man.  Byron and his company had lost one man, young David Spore, the one-armed Monk.  He didn't want to think about how many of the others might not make it through this quest.  However, he had to admit that a couple of them were at higher risk than the others, and one or two of them were certain to see this through to the end.  Byron saw Shoryu, Ellen and Alex all making good lives for themselves after Vandross's defeat, if he could in fact defeat the warlock.  But Selena Bradford, and perhaps James Hayes, he felt, were at the highest risk of not returning from their current mission, or the necessary and eventual trek into Mount Toane.  Of course, any error of judgement on his own part might very well doom them all, Byron thought grimly.  He would have to plan every step of their journey from here on out, including contingency plans.

            After locking a few spells on his armor, along with his other preparations, Byron looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the den, and saw that the hour was nearly passed.  He heard the creak of stairs, and from the direction of the kitchen came Shoryu and Ellen, holding hands as young lovers do.  Byron gave them a grin, or at least as best a facsimile as he could manage, and they half-bowed to him.  The gesture seemed oddly formal, and they did not move from where they stood, near the doorway to the kitchen.  Morek, Selena, James Hayes and Alex all gathered suddenly near Byron, who looked up in surprise.  James had an old, tarnished Order of Oun bible in his hands, and Morek and Selena were standing to either side of him and slightly closer to the Cuyotai and Elf.  What was going on here, Byron wondered.

            "Byron Aixler," James Hayes began, his voice ceremonial.  Byron finally noticed that he had donned his church garb over his armor, giving him the appearance of a Priest made of blocks.  When had the Paladin changed?  Probably while I was preparing spells, the Dread Knight thought.  "Please rise and bear witness, for Shoryu Tearfang has declared that he wishes you to be Honored Witness, as is Cuyotai custom," James said, and Byron stood to his feet, sheathing the Morning Glory.  "Actually, keep that out.  We'll be needing it."  Byron leaned in close as Hayes positioned him at his left side, whispering in his ear.

            "What is going on, James?"

            "I am performing one of my duties as an ordained member of the Order, Byron, which you should realize.  Shoryu wanted to do some of his own people's customs for this grand event, and though it must be rushed, I didn't want to do it half-assed.  Byron, they are to be wed, now," Hayes whispered with a smile of genuine good humor.  Marriage?!  Now?!  It seemed rather an odd time for such an event.

“Trust me, I don’t understand what this has to do with the overall plot either,” Alex commented as he buzzed by Byron’s head.  Well, Byron thought, the company had everyone they needed for it, he supposed, drawing the Morning Glory once more.  A Priest could be substituted with a Paladin, one male and one female witness, preferably well known people with posts of authority, and as the Cuyotai custom required, an Honored Witness, Byron himself.  The position of Honored Witness was typically reserved for the Cuyotai groom's father, brother, or best friend.  Byron supposed that now Shoryu viewed him as a bit of each, given their time together and circumstances.  As he took his position and stood upright, Shoryu Tearfang and Ellen Daires moved forward, standing finally before James Hayes and Byron, and between Selena, Morek and Alex.  The taciturn Dwarf had a grin on his face that threatened to split his head, and Selena had the vaguest shimmer of dampness in her eyes.  Was she going to cry, Byron thought with wonder in his heart.  She hardly knew these two; then again, neither did Byron, when he thought about it.  But sometimes the strongest friendships were forged in the flames of battle, the pits of mutual strife. 

            Shoryu began the ceremony as soon as he and Ellen came to a stop, half turning to face Ellen.  Their eyes locked then, and did not waver.  "I, Shoryu Tearfang, do swear to love and protect you for all the days that remain to me.  My oath to you is one of honor, for I have no ring to offer at this time.  But know this; I love you as I have loved no other, and I shall never love another so much as you," he said, his voice full of tension, apparently trying to remember the words he had recited for this moment. 

            "Let it be known," James Hayes said, holding the bible up with one hand and pointing skyward with his other, "that you have been heard by mighty Oun, and your own deity, and both shall protect you so long as you hold to your oath to this woman!  Ellen, what of you?"  The Elven Gaiamancer turned to glance at Hayes, and she nodded.

            "I, Ellen Daires, do swear to wrap myself in your love and adoration, and to return these things to you as best I can, for my heart beats only for you," she said reverently. 

            "Then will the bride and groom now face me," Hayes said, his tone serious and at the same time, light as a feather.  He was, Byron realized, enjoying this entirely too much.  Perhaps he had chosen the wrong profession, he thought with a silent chuckle.  But the inner laugh stopped quite abruptly.  What if that was exactly what had been gnawing at the Paladin over the weeks since Desanadron?  Had he been trying to figure out for himself which role to take, the Priest or the Paladin?  "Before I make my declaration that this marriage is complete, we shall hear from the Honored Witness, as is Cuyotai custom.  Byron?"  The Dread Knight was caught off guard, and rubbed his skull with his free left hand, searching for the right words for the occasion.  It didn't take long; memory was the best source of inspiration, he thought.  Byron stood at attention, and bowed low to Shoryu, then to Ellen.

            "Celebrated groom, celebrated bride, hear me well," he began, reciting the words his own father had said to him at his wedding.  "This pact of marriage you make of your own free will, with your hearts filled with that which the gods most cherish, love, and honor.  Let nothing, man, beast or otherwise, come between you from this day forth!  Hold close to your heart the joy of such kinship, for no closer or stronger bond can be formed in this life.  Know that you are no longer two separate individuals, two distinct souls, but you are now joined as one!  The power of one soul, made of two joined souls, is beyond measure, for no other being in this life, or force in this world, can create the beauty and rapture that you now can.  May your lives be filled with joyous memories, and times of hardship to strengthen your bond," he exclaimed, holding the Morning Glory high in the air, its tip pointing straight to the sky, its surface shimmering with white light.  "And lastly, may your children be just like you," he said, using the same joke his father had on him.  "So that they might drive you crazy as fools!"  Everyone shared a good, heart-felt guffaw at this jest, including Alex, who typically would have made a sarcastic comment by now.  Perhaps the Ki Fairy realized how honest and sacred this ritual was, Byron thought with gratitude.

            "Heed your Honored Witness's words, Shoryu Tearfang and Ellen Daires," James Hayes said, clutching his bible to his chest.  "The gods and these friends to the now joined have heard all, and will attest to the honesty and strength of this marriage!  Shoryu, you may now kiss your bride."  The Cuyotai almost moved ahead of James, and the company hollered and hooted as they locked lips for a minute, Shoryu dipping Ellen toward the floor.  They stared into each other's eyes afterwards for a moment, and then stood arm in arm.  The others of the company clapped their hands, smiles beaming from their assembled faces.  Alex flittered over to Byron's shoulder, whispering in his 'ear'. 

            "Well, now we can at least get back to the rest of the story," he commented, gaining a confused glance from Byron. 

            "What are you talking about," the Dread Knight asked. 

            "Oh, nothing.  Just remember Byron, every life is but a story, written by some author who exists beyond our knowledge," Alex said with a wink.  As the Ki Fairy fluttered away, Byron thought his words over.  What sort of story would be written about this journey, he wondered.  Would the recorders of Tamalaria's history cast him as the tyrant he had been, or the confused soul who struggled against Richard Vandross?  Perhaps both, he mused, clapping his hands and favoring the newly married couple with as gracious a smile as he could make with his fleshless skull.  True, they had lost one of their comrades, but new hope sprang from the Cuyotai and Elf's joining.

            "All right, we have lost time in this ritual," Morek said, always the pragmatist.  "We must head out now, while we have only lost a few minutes," he said, hoisting up his rucksack and slinging it over his shoulders.  "Shoryu, you will be taking the lead, right?"  The young Cuyotai Hunter nodded his confirmation, drawing his bow from his back, and picking up his own belongings.  Without further ado, the company left the guesthouse and the village in peaceful silence.  As they passed from the barrier to the wintry mountain air, they collectively shivered for a moment, except for Morek, who had taken the lead twenty paces or so behind Shoryu.  James Hayes, having taken off his priestly robes, provided a rear guard, and in this manner they struck out west.  Byron prayed inwardly that Vandross would be too arrogant to send forces their way, at least for the evening.  He wanted the wave of warmth flowing through him to remain for a while longer, just to offset the many hardships the company had already suffered.  They were due a little happiness, he thought.