'Freedom or the Fire' Chapter Eleven- Council

The company, Byron leading, came to a halt outside of the high walls of Whitewood.  The gates were closed now, and there was a larger contingent of guards at the front barrier.  Byron noticed that all of them were wearing heavy battle armor, and brandishing scores of weapons.  The sight of these obviously seasoned warriors dismayed him; how could something have happened in the short day they had been gone?  Byron called quietly for Ellen to come to the front next to him.  The shadow magic wrapped around him to conceal himself, he leaned in and whispered the questions to Ellen that he wanted her to ask the sentries. 

            The forest behind the group came alive with the rustle of bodies and weapons, and before he could finish conferring with Ellen, the company was surrounded by twenty or thirty armed men.  None of them seemed pleased.  How had he not seen them, thought Byron.  But it was simple Elven camouflage; none of the hidden warriors wore any armor other than green and brown tunics and robes.  They had waited silently in the trees for anyone to approach.  And a group with such a strange assortment of allies must have registered as just a little off beat.  Ellen, fearless in the presence of her kinsmen, stamped up to the commander of the group, one of the men at the gate.  She glared menacingly at him, her hands on her hips, her eyes hard as granite.  "Before I ask any questions about this," she said, pointing to the men at the gate.  "I'd like to ask some questions about this," she growled, pointing back at the surrounded group.  The commander, a veteran Elven man who had served the capital for many years, didn't even blink at Ellen's obvious rebuke.  He simply stood straighter and stared over her head at his men. 

            "Scouts have reported that an army marches west toward Elven territory, miss," the Elven commander said, his voice gruff and raw.  He must have been shouting orders all day, Byron thought.  "And ahead of them, quite nearer, has been spotted a large spider-like beast, foreign to our lands.  All precautions are being taken to make certain no one gets into the city without first being judged worthy of trust and entrance."  The commander looked down now at Ellen, a smug smile on his face.  "We'll have to ask some questions, miss."

            "You needn't ask any questions of me, Major Svelk, and you damn well know it," she spat at him.  The warrior Elf, Svelk, towered over her a good five or six inches, and seemed utterly unimpressed by her display of temper. 

            "Oh, sorry Miss Daires," he said, grinning maliciously at her.  It appeared to Byron that the man didn't know any other expression; rather, the man's eyes and tone of voice seemed to substitute actual facial articulation for the man.  Militants in a high standing often managed this effect.  It must have come with the territory, Byron thought.  Svelk leaned in close to Ellen's ear, whispering in an unfriendly tone, "I am a Knight, Miss Daires.  I am going to question you and your companions, and I'll know if any of you is lying.  You know Knights possess this power.  If there's anything you'd like to tell me before I have to make any arrests, I suggest you do it."  Ellen's eyes went wide with shock; he spoke the truth.  Knights of all Races had the ability to discern the truth from people's statements, and the Major would surely want to know who the tall figure wrapped in black cloaks and shadows was.  There might be trouble.

            "Major," she said, a hint of pleading in her voice.  She didn't want a situation outside of the city the company had come to help protect.  "I urge you to let your protocol go this once.  You do not want to temper with these good people.  They have been through much, and may not want to answer any questions right now."  Svelk simply continued to grin menacingly at her, then gave her a light shove on the shoulder to send her back to her companions.  Shoryu bared his teeth at the Elven Knight, and several weapons moved to his neck.  The Major put up a hand to ward his men off. 

            "All right," he said, sauntering first up to Shoryu.  The grass under his feet crunched under his metal shod boots.  Shoryu bared his teeth once more and growled at Svelk.  "Oooh, bad puppy," he said, kicking Shoryu's legs out from the side.  Byron stared in disbelief at the Major.  He had never in all his years seen an Elf, even a military man, act in such a degrading fashion.  But he could do nothing to help his young ward; he did not want any more trouble than they already had coming.  Shoryu got to his feet, his eyes slipping into slits in his face.  He had a feral look about him, his lycanthrope rage on the verge of bursting forth and taking control of him.  Svelk put his baton under Shoryu's snout and lifted his chin up.  "What's your name?"

            "Shoryu Tearfang," the young Hunter gurgled through saliva. 

            "Very good.  Class?"

            "Hunter," Shoryu replied, his face returning to a simple appearance of annoyance.  He had mastered himself just in time, and Byron knew it.  Trained or no, these Elves would have had a hard time contending with a skilled fighter like Shoryu in a lycanthrope rage. 

            "Very well.  Why are you here?"  Svelk kept looking back at the rest of the group as he questioned Shoryu, making sure no one made a move on him. 

            "I am here to aid the city of Whitewood from the threat that approaches.  We-" 

            "Enough," Svelk said, satisfied.  His smile fell away to a look of neutrality.  He seemed to want to find something to attack or arrest someone for.  "He may pass.  Moving on," he said, sauntering over to Selena Bradford.  "Name," he said.

            "Selena Bradford.  And you're a total asshole," she said, spitting on Svelk.  Shocked, the Major wiped his cheek clean and balled his hand up.  He sent his gloved fist into Selena's face, sending her sprawling and bleeding to the ground.  Before he could think about what he was doing, Byron reached over and hoisted the Major up by the throat.  To hell with it, he thought.  He pulled the shadows away from his body, revealing who he was.  Gasps of horror escaped the throats of every guard, and the Major himself thrashed in the grip of Byron of Sidius.  His eyes bulged, terror racing down through his brain to his heart.

            "And you know who I am," Byron growled up at the suddenly frail-looking Major Svelk.  "You are a Knight, yes?  You sense the truth in what people say, right?  Then let me speak clearly," Byron said, setting the Major down and letting go of his throat.  The Elven man retched weakly to one side, spilling the contents of his stomach as he doubled over in pain.  Svelk cast about; no one was moving to help him, not even his own men.  "We have come to give Whitewood aid against the evil that comes to assault it.  You know that to be the truth," Byron said more evenly, calmly.  He gave his words time to sink in with the Major, who had finished retching and stood upright.  Shock registered now on Svelk's face as he processed the Dread Knight's statement.

            "You speak the truth, don't you," he asked.  Byron simply nodded his head in response, waiting for the Major's move.  Svelk hesitated, seeming to run through his options in his mind.  Then, he looked up to the guards on the battlements over the gate and gave a simple hand signal.  The gates began to creak open.  Svelk looked at Byron's pinpoint eyes, keeping his gaze surface deep.  Behind the Dread Knight, Selena Bradford was being helped into a sitting position and then to her feet by Hayes and Ellen Daires.  "The Council of Elders convenes tomorrow evening at the library.  Speak with them then," he said, and watched as Byron wrapped the shadows about his body once more.  He balled his right hand into a fist, ready to strike the Major in return for Selena, but the Pyromancer woman put her hand on his arm to stay him.

            "No," she whispered to the Dread Knight.  She took a step forward and, balancing herself, launched her right foot into the Major's groin.  After the thud of initial impact, the Major lie prostrate on the ground, holding his privates and congealing.  Selena spat down on him a second time, and then proceeded through the open gates with the air of an offended member of nobility.  Byron leaned down and patted the Major roughly on the arm, then lead the rest of the company into the city.  The gates swung shut behind his company, and the Major got groggily to his feet to resume his post and duties.  He hadn't expected the creature he had been warned about to be the legendary Byron of Sidius.  Just the thought of it chilled him to the bone.  But he had survived the encounter nearly unscathed.  True, he had been choked, growled at and kicked in the crotch, but none of these things threatened to undo him physically.  And even though Byron possessed an intimidating presence and powers, he would never truly be a match for the mighty Richard Vandross.

            Svelk spoke to one of the shift commanders, a Lieutenant at the gate, to keep watch and command while he made a brief sweep of the area just beyond the hidden Hunters' positions.  The man saluted the Major smartly, then returned to talking with his first sergeant about the state of affairs on the other side of the wall.  Svelk walked swiftly into the woods without, his feet guiding directly northeast toward the pond he was to meet his contact at.  The Major had first been approached by Richard Vandross some months back, the one-eyed Human promising him a great deal of power in the Elven Kingdom in exchange for his service.  Vandross had wanted information regarding Whitewood's state of readiness in the event of an assault.  Even then Vandross had been scheming to collect the Orbs of Eden’s Serpent, though Svelk himself did not know what the man was about.  He knew only that the one-eyed devil meant to have the Kingdom for himself, and that was fine by him.  He would bide his time, and usurp the position of power from Vandross at his leisure.

            He had been relaxing near the pond when Vandross had appeared to him that first time, and twice more had arranged to meet with him there.  Earlier, the day before, Svelk had received a message via carrier pigeon, a small piece of parchment that read simply, 'meet at the pond as soon as possible'.  There had been no signature or seal, as was Vandross's method.  In the event someone discovered the letters, Svelk would arrange to meet his wife at the pond for a little romantic interlude.  Anyone following would swiftly excuse themselves and leave the Major and his wife to their business.  That back-up plan as yet hadn't needed to be tested.

            He expected that Vandross would talk to him one last time and then be done with the Elf.  But it wouldn't be as simple as that, and Svelk knew it; when Vandross had what he wanted, he would attempt to do away with the good Major.  Of course, by the time Vandross got what he was after, Svelk would have taken his stash of bribe money and gone far away, perhaps to the eastern shore of the continent of Tamalaria.  He had planned his escape meticulously after his last meeting with the one-eyed tyrant, sensing that the other man would view him as disposable.  He had packed a few saddlebags and bought a horse from the stables in Whitewood, a good charger by the name of Tonari.  As soon as this meeting was over, he would take his packed bags from his basement to the stables, hitch up on Tonari, and ride out of the Elven Kingdom.  He would never be seen again.

            Brushing a few stray branches aside, he made his way to the pond's edge, taking his customary seat on a wooden stump some five feet from the water.  Svelk's ears twitched at the sound of something or someone approaching through the woods off to his left, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword's pommel.  Something about the air smelled different, a pungent, rotted aroma wafting from the direction of whoever approached.  Svelk almost leaped out of his skin as Vengeance came scuttling out of the tree line towards him.  He bounded off of the stump to his feet, broadsword in hand, facing the menacing spider-beast with a scowl.  But the creature made no move on him.  Instead, it held up one of its many appendages, as if to wave off his weapon.  "Sit, Major, Svelk," Vengeance slurped.  Svelk raised an eyebrow at him.

            "Did Vandross send you," he asked in a whisper, not wanting to be heard beyond the pond. 

            "Indeed, good Major," Vengeance said, scuttling forward a few feet.  "Please, sit."  Major Svelk hesitated, but eventually gave in to the monster's request.  "My, name, is Vengeance, Major.  You needn't, worry, for your, safety.  I, cannot, act, without my, master's, direct, orders," the vile creature shlooped in an almost amiable tone.  But it was reassuring to Svelk; he sensed the truth in the other's words. 

            "What is it you need?  What does your master want?"  Svelk tried to sound annoyed, but his voice cracked like a teenage Human boy's would during puberty.  His proximity to this creature was anathema to him. 

            "My, master, wishes me, to obtain, information," Vengeance shlooped, lowering himself to the ground.  His legs went about twitching slightly, but otherwise he lay prone on the ground, seemingly comfortable.  "He needs, to know, where, the Orb of Eden’s Serpent, is, in, Whitewood."  The creature's voice was beginning to grate on Svelk's nerves.  The wet, watery sound of it made him think the creature was in a constant state of drowning.  But this creature had to be respected, he felt; it was abominable, but he sensed it was also powerful.  And also, he felt it was not a natural part of this world.  Something in the way it appeared to him didn't mesh with the reality around it.  He decided however to let the matter go, and tell the creature what it wanted to know.

            "It is kept in a vault deep within the earth, below the library.  It is there that the Council of Elders gathers each week to discuss the state of the city.  His majesty no longer resides in the capital, however.  His whereabouts since news of Vandross's forces has been known only to a few.  His eldest son holds the seat of power in the city itself until his father returns."

            "Is the vault, guarded, against, intruders," asked the creature, seemingly uninterested with the news of the king. 

            "Yes," Svelk said, deciding to be truthful in this matter.  It would do him no good to try to hide anything from Vandross.  Just give the man what he wanted, and be done with the whole business.  "The Elders keep a few of their most powerful magic-users down there to protect the Orb.  They will not be easily dispatched, as I understand it.  And they also keep a number of traps laid, so that only those who are allowed down there can know how to get to the Orb.  I don't think Vandross will find them a problem, however.  They are traps meant for lesser men, bandits and the like."  Vengeance waited patiently for Svelk to stop speaking, then remained silent for a while.  "Will that do," Svelk asked, getting to his feet.

            "Yes, that will, do, just, fine, Major," Vengeance said, gaining his own feet.  "Lord, Vandross, wants to know, where, you'll be, until, the matter, is all, settled.  And also, where, your wife, will, be."  Svelk turned his back and began walking away from the beast, smiling to himself.

            "I'll be staying with my mistress in Llandonen, to the south," he said merrily over his shoulder.  "As for my wife," he said, chuckling at Vengeance from where he stood.  "I may have the good fortune to find her dead when I return."  Laughing to himself, Svelk trotted back to Whitewood, gathered his things, and took his horse.  He left the city of Whitewood, not once looking back, in the guise of a trader.  Vengeance watched all the while, satisfied that the man rode south through the woods to where he claimed.  After all, the man would be tracked and killed later, at Vandross's whim.  Vengeance secretly hoped that his master would allow him the personal pleasure.  As Vengeance thought this last bit to himself, Vandross appeared next to him, glimmering into being after his teleportation.  He looked haggard and worn.

            "My, lord, are you, all right," asked the spider-beast. 

            "I am only one of the master’s copies," said the one-eyed devil.  “The use of the teleportation magic is a great taxation on my being, however temporary it is.”  His skin had taken on a pale cast, and he looked like a man on the doorstep of death.  "What news have you, Vengeance," he asked, rubbing his temple. 

            "It is, under, the library.  It, is in, a guarded, vault, sire.  The Major seems, to think, that, it will, be difficult, to acquire," shlurped Vengeance.  Vandross nodded his head, thinking about how he would go about this business.  He knew that there were Lizardman villages around that would probably like nothing better than to sit back and watch as Whitewood burned to the ground.  But there were also many packs of Cuyotai, whom most Elven cities in the kingdom did not allow to live inside their walls.  Perhaps he could find a way to turn those Cuyotai against the city.  But his own forward forces had been waylaid by a force of Paladins in the northernmost edges of the kingdom; Vandross had not known that another Order of Oun fort had been cleverly disguised in the forestland of the Elves there.  But instead of merely retreating and going around them, Vandross had given the order to lay siege to the fort.  He would reanimate the dead Paladins as Dread Knights in his own army, and throw them against the city of Whitewood.  The effort required would be great, but he was willing to stretch out his plans a bit.  He had all the time in the world, as far as he was concerned. 

            After all, Byron and his doomed little band of heroes wouldn't stand a chance against him and his armies now.  They were but a small handful, and their power had limits.  "Doesn't it," he asked himself in a whisper of doubt, fading as he returned to the real Vandross’s body.

            In Whitewood, the city had become a maze of people cramming together in the streets to gather emergency supplies and weapons.  The city's entire regiment of army personnel was housed near the royal mansion where the Prince saw to the city's needs, and they were thankfully a large contingent.  Fifteen hundred men and women, some of them employed as city watchmen during times of peace, like Major Svelk.  Of course, no one had seen or heard from the Major since morning, and no one much cared.  The city would be under siege when Vandross's forces finished its business north, with the Paladin fort.  Soon after that, perhaps only eight or nine days later, the main body of Vandross’s assaulting army would follow behind.  Byron heard about this particular situation from people as the company passed through the busied streets toward Ellen Daires's home. 

            The slim Elven girl produced a key for her cottage from the front of her blouse, giving Shoryu an impish grin as she flourished it from its hiding place.  Bold, Byron thought.  The girl must really be egging him on.  Despite the seemingly impending doom the city thought it was about to face, and knowing the situation would indeed be grave, Byron gave thanks for the smile Ellen managed to get out of Shoryu at every turn.  The company poured through the small doorway into her den, each member taking a seat somewhere on the couch or in a chair.  The room seemed perfectly undisturbed since their absence, but the attitude of the company was still fairly sore after dealing with Major Svelk.  No one spoke for a while, Ellen fixing everyone some warming tea to sooth their nerves.  The silence among them was almost comfortable, the sort of stillness that few groups this large could keep.  Yet they did, each member of the company lost in their own thoughts. 

            Finally, James Hayes broke the silence.  Byron had been letting the feel of the tea's warmth spread through him, savoring the sensation it gave him.  The Gaiamancer had put some sort of special herb in it, he knew, and its effect was immediate.  He hadn't felt so relaxed in a good long while.  But when Hayes spoke, it brought him from the edge of his reverie.  "So Vandross's forces are currently occupied with another Order outpost," he said, looking down into his empty cup.  He cast about the room at the faces of the others, seeing reflected there the same sentiment; things were all right for now, with Vandross occupied, but the Council would convene the next evening, and they needed to speak with the Elders as soon as possible.  After the outpost in the north fell, it would only be a matter of four or five days until the one-eyed devil's minions arrived at the walls of Whitewood, screaming and raging for blood.  And they would have support shortly thereafter.

            Morek Rockmight cleared his throat, shifting his weight uncomfortably in his chair.  "The army regiment in the city is young for the most part," he said.  "They are inexperienced in the sort of warfare that this Vandross fellow will bring with him.  From your account of what happened at Fort Flag, James, they sound as though they fight much like the old armies of Tanarak of Sidius," he said, looking to Byron for confirmation.  The Dread Knight nodded his head in agreement.

            "Indeed," Byron grumbled.  "But there is a streak of cruelty in Vandross that even the warlock before him did not possess.  And there is a lesser sense of control and tactics in this man.  He does not have the same motivations as Tanarak; that warlock already possessed the Orbs of Eden’s Serpent when he began his wave of tyranny.  He used subterfuge and cunning to attain them through political outlets.  Vandross does not have the same knack for manipulation, though his methods appear to be yielding the same results."

            "How many of these artifacts does he now possess," asked Selena Bradford, who had been rubbing her sore foot.  The Major had worn some sort of protection against her kick, though in the end it had proven useless.  Still, the Pyromancer woman's foot had swollen in the short time it had taken them to arrive at Ellen's home. 

            "Three," muttered Shoryu from his place next to Ellen.  Byron looked at Shoryu carefully; the boy had been momentarily lost in thoughts of his home, Byron thought.  His eyes had taken on the sheen they had before when he talked about the attack on his home.  An entire village of Cuyotai slaughtered just so Vandross could have what he had wanted.  It had been the same in Fort Flag and Desanadron, though that particular venture had been far more organized than the assault on Shoryu's home.  At each Orb, the number of lives at stake had dramatically increased, as had the number of casualties that eventually resulted.  Only a handful had died in Koreindar some three months earlier, a village of about a hundred Cuyotai after that, and then the massacre of hundreds, perhaps even thousands in Fort Flag and Desanadron combined.  And each time Byron had failed to stop him because he simply didn't have the manpower and resources that his one-eyed counterpart did.  He possessed magics of darkness that could overwhelm his enemies, but he had refrained from using them almost the entire time he had control of his body once again.

            Byron thought back to Shoryu's village again.  It needn't have happened; if Byron had only killed the man when he attacked the undead warrior, the company would not be in this position.  But then again, Byron's life would have been snuffed as well, a result of the bond of magic that he shared with Vandross.  He had spared the man's life, and now it had returned to bite him.  "The next one he seeks to take is here, in Whitewood," the Dread Knight muttered from under the veil of his inner thoughts.  “This city will not withstand a siege by his army.  When the fort in the northern region of the kingdom falls, Vandross will turn his full attention on Whitewood.  We must warn the Council of Elders and his majesty the Prince of the evils that Vandross and his minions are capable of.  And we must do so swiftly."

            "The Elders likely won't listen well to you, Byron," said Morek Rockmight.  The taciturn Dwarf was right; most of the people in Tamalaria remembered the tales of Byron of Sidius, and none of them were pretty.  The cities of Ja-Wen and Desanadron knew what Byron was about now, but the Elven Kingdom had nearly been burnt to the ground at Byron's command.  He had personally slain thousands of the kingdom's defenders.  The Council would likely remember his countenance.  But wouldn't they already know of his presence?  Would not the guards outside the gates have sent a report to them?  "They'll remember what you've done to their people, not what you intend to do."  As if on cue, there came a hard, rapid knocking on the front door to Ellen's home, and she glided gracefully over to the door.  She opened it, and standing in the portal was Philip Masaton, High Elder of the Council.  He smiled warmly at her, and Ellen turned a shade paler. 

            But the High Elder did not bother with introductions, or even an invitation.  Instead, he slipped right past Ellen, into the center of her den, peering around at the group with a wizened grin on his face.  His rotation stopped at last at Byron, his eyes filled with wisdom and laughter.  His hair was a bright white, almost silver in sheen.  As further evidence of his age, he had developed a small beard; Elves did not develop facial hair until very late in their lives.  Byron sat on his chair, humbled by the aura of knowledge the man radiated.  He bowed his head, unable to meet the penetrating, smiling glare of the Elder any further.  "Do not hang your head, Byron of Sidius," he said in a gentle, wispy voice.  "The past is the past, unchangeable and immutable.  What matters now is the present, and what you do to change the future.  Don't you agree," he asked, his eyes squinting up and revealing old, worn laugh lines in his face.  Smiling seemed to be the High Elder's natural state of expression. 

            Slightly relieved, Byron stood from his seat, towering over the old Elf with his hands clasped behind his back.  He tried to think of something to say, some way to begin apologizing for past transgressions.  But the old man's calm demeanor disarmed him.  He could say nothing.  "I have spoken with the spirits," continued High Elder Masaton, claiming Byron's seat for himself.  "And I have spoken with my Keeper.  All signs point to the city's assault.  The enemy will be on us in ten days, but this is more time than we had before.  Many had completely forgotten about the Order of Oun outpost in the northern region of the kingdom, but thank the gods for their efforts.  We may save the city and protect the Orb of Eden’s Serpent yet."

            "How do you know about his intentions," barked Morek from his seat, the vein in his forehead threatening to burst. 

            "As I said, good master Rockmight, I have spoken with the spirits and my Keeper," Masaton said.  His smile faded for a moment as he continued.  "And they have told me of Richard Vandross.  And of Byron of Sidius, and his quest," he added, smiling once more.  "There is a great deal of work to be done in a short time to prepare the city.  As High Elder, I need only seek the approval of his majesty the Prince for any plans you may have." 

            "I have a few ideas," offered Hayes from his seat.  He looked around at the group, and they collectively held silent for him.  "There are some Cuyotai tribes living in this kingdom, correct?"  The High Elder nodded.

            "Indeed, there are, though many of them do not think highly of us.  The King has decreed that they may not live in our cities, but may only enter for business," said Masaton, his smile fading once more.  "I doubt they would come to our aid."

            "Not necessarily," continued Hayes, a small grin creeping across his lips.  "The Prince is in charge right now, correct?"  The old Elf nodded, an eyebrow raised in question.  "And any edicts he enacts right now are as good as any his father might make if he were present.  That's how things go in any kingdom.  Is that so here as well?"  Once again Masaton nodded, his eyebrow still raised.  Hayes made a gesture with his hands, trying to get someone else to say what was on his mind.

            "So the Prince can call an edict into motion allowing the Cuyotai to live within the Elven cities, in exchange for their aid," said Selena from her place next to the Paladin. 

            "Bingo," Hayes exclaimed, pointing his finger rapidly at her.  "Do you think it'll work," he asked the old Elf.  Masaton rubbed his hand through his small silver beard, mulling the matter over. 

            "Someone will have to bring the idea not only to the Prince, but to the Cuyotai."  All eyes turned on Shoryu, who stared back in alarm.

            "What?  Me?  I'm no diplomat," he said, waving his hands to dismiss the idea.  But everyone was smiling that rather fierce and sardonic smile that suggests that the one smiled at has no choice in the matter.  Finally, smiling like an idiot, Shoryu shrugged his shoulders.  "All right, I'll do it."

            "And I shall go with you," said Ellen, gripping one of the Cuyotai Hunter's hands in her own.  Their eyes met for a moment before they returned their gaze to High Elder Masaton.  He smiled and nodded his approval.

            "Very good.  You two should depart soon, and while you are gone, I shall speak with his majesty," said the High Elder, rising from his seat.  He patted Byron on the shoulder lightly.  "Thanks for the seat young man," he said jokingly.  He put a hand on his hip.  "These old bones, you know, heh heh.  Well, let's not dilly-dally!  There is much to be done!  Master Rockmight," he said, swooping in low to come face to face with the scarred visage of the Dwarven Boxer.  "You are well known and well liked in this city.  Do what you can to get additional help from the able-bodied citizens of the city.  Anyone who you think has something special or unique to offer this effort, get them to help out any way they can.  All right?"  The stoic Dwarf nodded.  "Miss Bradford," he said, standing erect and facing the young Pyromancer woman.  "Study the forests just outside of the city.  Take time and care to make certain that your raging flames do not threaten the whole of our forest.  If you deem it necessary, have some woodcutters go with you to clear out a perimeter so that only a small portion of our sacred woodland is burned, should the need for a wall of flames arise."  Selena said nothing, but rose from her seat and left the cottage, intent on doing something useful that would eventually incorporate her exceptional powers.  Finally the old man turned to Byron.  "And for you, good Byron, I leave the most arduous task.  Come walk with me and we shall discuss it." 

            With the old man's arm hauled up and across his back, almost touching his opposing shoulder, Byron left the cottage into the streets, cloaking himself in shadows as he and the High Elder walked slowly through the streets.  For a good while, they simply walked, the elderly Elf saying nothing, and Byron not wanting to risk the comfortable silence between them.  Finally, Masaton broke the silence.  "Look around, Byron," he said, gesturing about them at various buildings, including a school where the young boys and girls of the city ran about on their recess hour.  The sight brought a smile to Byron within his shadows, the smoke curling to shape a haphazard and lopsided grin.  "These men and women and children have known little strife or war in many years," he said.  "Even in the time when you served Tanarak of Sidius, this city held its ground against the minions of darkness.  Hope is the most precious commodity the people of the Elven Kingdom have, and they will fight to the bitter end to keep it," Masaton said, a trace of sadness in his voice.  "But I fear that even with the greatest of efforts from you and your companions, something may very well go wrong, and that commodity will decrease in presence.  Do you know Major Svelk?"  The question took Byron off-guard.

            "Yes," he said in a low tone.  "We met him at the gates.  Miserable little prick, he is," Byron grumbled under his breath.  "Why?"

            "Because he has already lost hope," replied the old man.  "He left earlier, a short while after you and your company entered Ellen's home.  I sensed deception and a dark secret in him, at the last Council meeting.  He left orders with a Lieutenant to watch the gates, and left for a short while.  When he returned, I witnessed him going into the stables in uniform, and coming out leading a horse with several saddlebags.  He had changed into civilian garb, good Byron, and left the city south.  He has sensed what is to be, and has fled."

            "I don't understand," said Byron, slightly glad that the Major had left the city.  "How is that important?  So one man left, big deal.  Why is he different from anyone else who chooses to escape?"  The High Elder came around in front of Byron, stopping the big Dread Knight in his tracks.

            "He fought alongside the defenders of this city during the siege led by you under Tanarak's banner," whispered High Elder Masaton.  "He is a brave man, fearless despite any situation.  He would not be afraid of this attack on the city that comes.  He is motivated by something other than fear."  Byron cocked his head at the old man.

            "I still don't get it," he said, his voice muffled by his smoke and shadows.  The old Elf pressed in close against him, looking up at Byron with a look of fear, something Byron had not expected from such an obviously wise and capable man. 

            "Good Byron," he said, his voice trembling.  "He has betrayed us!"

            Selena Bradford hadn't wasted any time in taking action, bringing Alex along with her to the outside of the city.  "In case you haven't noticed," complained the Ki Fairy from his seat on her shoulder.  "I'm not a woodcutter, lady.  Never held an axe in my life.  It's mostly because I'm, you know, two freakin' inches tall," he shouted into her ear.  But Selena simply smiled a toothy grin at him, causing him to retake his seat.

            "I know that, little man," she said, sauntering eastward away from the city.  "But you possess magics of your own, and a few things I think may come in most handy during this whole campaign."  She walked for nearly an hour through the winding trails of the forest, not once turning from her path.  Finally she stopped, standing in the middle of the path.  "This is good," she said to no one in particular.  She sat on the ground then, leaning back against the trunk of a strong oak tree.  She pulled her small rucksack from her back and rummaged through it for some of the dried meat and a small portion of cheese she had brought with her.  "Would you like some," she asked, offering a bit of cheese to the Ki Fairy, who greedily snatched it from her fingers.

            "Certainly, I'm famished," he squeaked, devouring the small portions of cheese and meat Selena offered him.  She pulled an aleskin from her pack and took a long, hard pull of it.  Its warmth spread through her, mixing with the small summoning of her magic.  "So, what is it exactly that you think I can do to help you," he asked, not forgetting that she had brought him for some purpose or other.

            "You can move objects with your magic, right," she asked him, taking another strip of meat before she packed her food away. 

            "Yes," Alex garbled around a mouthful of cheese.  "What of it?"  Selena smiled gently at him and rose to her feet, facing north. 

            "Good.  What I need you to do is no small task.  Do you think you're up to it, little man," she asked, taunting him.  She knew that insults and taunting would probably be the only way to get the Ki Fairy to do anything, and she knew better than most how to rile someone. 

            "Of course I am," Alex responded, puffing out his chest in a display of machismo.  "Just name it, lady!"

            "Great," she exclaimed.  "I need you to part these trees, roughly twenty yards or so, a straight line.  I need them parted for the next, oh, half a mile."  Alex's eyes bulged out of his head, his jaw dropping as he took in the weight of what she was asking. 

            "Are you insane!  I haven't even done anything mildly close to that scale of magical expenditure!  I haven't done anything for the last few chapters!  What makes you think I can do this?!"  The Ki Fairy was incredulous; he began to rant and rave at her in his native tongue. 

            "Are you saying you can't do it," she asked, cooing mockingly at him.  "It's all right, I'll just go back and get some big, strong woodcutters to do what you obviously can't," she said, turning to walk back to Whitewood.  Alex hovered in the air behind her.

            "Oh yeah," he screamed at her back.  "I'll bet your stupid woodcutters can't do this!  Hah!"  Alex called forth a series of incantations, and Selena watched as a large floating orb of black and yellow energy pulsed and formed in front of the diminutive Fairy, his hands weaving strange, archaic symbols in the air.  With a final movement and a scream of rage, Alex sent the orb of energy hurtling through the woods.  As it raced past, the trees in front of it and to either side for thirty yards disappeared without a sound or trace, as if they had never been.  Alex remained hovering in place, his hands together and his head lowered, chanting in the tongue of magic.  Finally, after a little more than half a mile, he separated his hands, and the orb of magic disappeared.  Alex dropped to the ground from the effort, panting and wheezing. 

            Selena ran over and stooped down, scooping his limp form off of the ground.  He opened his eyes a moment to smile at her, a full mouth of razor-like teeth gleaming in the patch of light filtering down through the tree canopy.  "Can, your woodcutters, do that," he asked between gasps for breath. 

            "What was that," Selena asked, stroking the Ki Fairy's head.  She had pushed him too far, she knew, and Alex had nearly used the whole of his life energy in turn.  But he had indeed accomplished something no mere team of woodcutters could.  He had cleared a straight path of trees, enough that no flames would reach from one side of the path to the other. 

            "Simple, really," Alex said, trying to sit up.  With a finger Selena gently pushed him back down on her palm.  "I sent them to the Shadowrealm.  They, can be brought back, whenever, I choose."  He hacked and wheezed for a moment after that.  "I, need to rest, a while.  How many more, or these lines, do you need," he asked, his eyes full of laughter. 

            "Three more," she whispered, seeing his eyes begin to droop.  He would be asleep soon, and she didn't blame him.  He had used more magic in one moment than she thought many could in a lifetime. 

            "Well," he said, his voice beginning to slur.  "We've got, ten days, like the old man said.  I can get it, done.  But right now, I think I'll, just-" and like that, he was asleep.  Selena carried him back into Whitewood, to Ellen's home.  In the back guestroom, she opened a dresser drawer, one with several soft sweaters in it, and laid him atop the soft fabric.  She hoped he would be up to another of these sessions the next day.  He had proven quite useful to the group, and she had taken a liking to him.  His attitude meshed well with her own.  Perhaps when the whole business with Vandross was over, she would ask Byron if she could take Alex with her.  She hadn't had a friend like him in a long time.

            Evening had drawn close, the sun setting in the distance over the horizon, when Shoryu and Ellen came to the first of the Cuyotai villages they intended to visit to seek aid.  They had walked hand-in-hand the whole while, enjoying one another's company in silence, sharing the occasional kiss on their trail.  But for the most part, they kept their attention on the surrounding woodlands.  The Elven Kingdom was host to not only Elves, Humans, Cuyotai and Lizardmen, but to some of the stranger and more dangerous beasts of the lands of Tamalaria.  They didn't want to be caught off guard this far away from the company.  Thankfully, the first sign of trouble they came across was a trap that Shoryu had brought them just short of.  He looked at the ground, seeing the trip line that had been carefully covered by leaves and foliage.  However, one end of the line had become exposed from lack of maintenance, and Shoryu followed the path of the cord to its termination.  It ended after a series of tightly drawn cords at a wall assembled entirely of wooden spikes, which would have swung down on them from the trees above.

            He picked Ellen up in his arms, watching as she blushed and gasped, nearly crying out.  He leaped smartly over the trip line, set her down, and took her hand again.  They walked fifteen more feet when a pair of Cuyotai guards, these two lighter brown in color than Shoryu, almost white, came bounding out of the surrounding trees.  Each brandished a short spear, the tips glistening in a patch of sunlight which broke in a shaft through the tree-top canopy.  Shoryu and Ellen stood stock still, offering no defense or show of insult.  The pair of guards circled them, their snouts twitching as they sniffed the pair.  Satisfied, the taller of the two nodded at his companion, who stood his ground, his weapon in hand, while the other went to fetch someone.  In moments, he returned with a broad-shouldered, black furred Cuyotai of great height and muscle. 

            The black Cuyotai wore the open leather vest of a Hunter, along with a feathered headdress, clearly marking him as the village Chieftain.  He glared at the pair from Whitewood, his big arms crossed in front of his barrel chest.  There was distrust and a clear disdain in his eyes as his gaze swept over Ellen, but his eyes went wide with shock as he looked down to see that they were holding hands.  He stared at Shoryu, his eyes still agape.  After what felt like an eternity, the big man smiled a broad smile, and threw his head back in laughter.  "Hahahahahaaa!  Well met, young one!  Come with me, and we shall speak.  The nights around here are dangerous," he offered, his voice surprisingly buoyant and jovial for such an intimidating figure.  His voice was tropical in accent, as if he came from an off-coast island before arriving in Tamalaria.

            He led the couple of Byron's company through dirt streets in a well-organized village.  It had the sort of semi-permanent structures of a small town, the buildings low and squat, but made well enough to survive harsh weather.  The majority of the Cuyotai had the light brown fur of the guards, but a few were black-furred and huge like the Chieftain.  "Dis is my village, as you may have surmised," said the big man over his shoulder.  "My name is Tandaba," he said, turning and bowing to Shoryu and Ellen.  "Tandaba Bloodclaw, Chieftain of Inusama Village.  And what are your names, good sir and madam?"  He smiled at Shoryu and Ellen in turn, his eyes seeming to search them for their intentions. 

            "I am Shoryu Tearfang, formerly of Tanawabe Village.  My home and people have been destroyed by the one-eyed devil, Richard Vandross."  There was a flicker of recognition in the large Chieftain's eyes, and for a moment, his face dropped into a look of stony silence. 

            "You mean, the village near Hamalot?"  Shoryu nodded his head.  The big Chieftain looked around, his jaw slack.  He found a crate nearby and slumped down on it.  He slowly removed his headdress, hanging his head near his knees.  With a look of great pain, he raised his head to look up at Shoryu and Ellen.  "My friend, many of our own villagers lived there once, a few years ago.  I myself knew Chieftain Silek Stareye.  Are you the only survivor?"  Shoryu looked away, off at a pair of Cuyotai cubs sparring.  He nodded.  "Oh, good gods in da heavens above," muttered the Chieftain.  He spent a few minutes in studied silence, lost in thought.  After a moment, he looked up at Ellen, his headdress in his hand.  "I apologize, miss.  I did not yet ask your name," he said with a wry smile.

            "I am Ellen Daires, of Whitewood.  We need your help."  The Chieftain looked up at her, puzzled by her statement. 

            "Surely, miss," he said, his hands on his knees.  "What is it you require of me and my people?"

            "The one-eyed man that destroyed Shoryu's village.  He brings an army to attack Whitewood."  The big Chieftain remained silent a moment, lost in his own thoughts.  His eyes had the glazed look of one about to cry.  Yet he did not.  Instead, he nodded to no one in particular.  Standing to his full height, he let out a roar to gather the people of his village.  Every man, woman, and child came to circle the three who had just met one another. 

            "Listen well, my people!  There is ill news from afar!  Behold, dis young man is da last survivor of an attack on our brethren in Tanawabe Village!"  There were mixed responses from the villagers, and one milky-eyed woman, a light brown furred Cuyotai of considerable age from the way she carried herself. 

            "What of my granddaughter," she asked in a hoary whisper.  "What of Moksha?"  Shoryu turned to face her squarely, and a faint trace of a smile creased the old woman's face.  "Shoryu," she said, more a question than a statement.  "As I live and breath, Shoryu Tearfang!"  She came forward in a rush, pressing hard against him, her sobs wracking her entire frame.  "Oh, Shoryu, dear boy!  She's dead, isn't she," she asked, looking up into Shoryu's eyes.  He could see that she was blind in one eye, and going so in the other.  Kira Conata, he remembered.  Granny Kira, who had left in search for a cure to an illness that was stealing her sight. 

            "I am sorry, Granny Kira," he said softly, cradling the old woman in his arms.  She cried against his chest, the tears flowing out freely, a strange yellow pus mixing with her tears.  He held her a moment longer, before she broke away from him to seek condolences from her husband, Goram Conata.  He had once been a proud and noble Hunter for the village, gone with her in the hope that they could together cure her.  It appeared they had failed.  Shoryu hung his head; so much had happened in recent years, so little of it good for his people.

            "Some good can come of dis, yah," shouted the Chieftain over his people.  "Da rat bastard dat done dis ting, he's marchin' on Whitewood as we speak!  I say we go get us some good ol' fashioned justice, what say ya?"  No one responded however, and a youthful warrior stepped forward from the crowd. 

            "So what," exclaimed the youth.  "The Elves have done little to make us welcome in their kingdom!  If this foul man attacks Whitewood, we shall be well far away and left alone!  Let the Elves fend for themselves!"  A few of the young warriors of the village shouted their agreement with the young Cuyotai who had spoken.  Tandaba let them shout for a minute before raising his hand to silence them.

            "No, Tokap.  The Elves have been more gracious dan you tink.  They do not encroach upon us, they let us alone, and they do not expect taxes from us.  Not dat we could pay dem at any rate.  No, do not protest," he said, holding a hand up swiftly to silence the youth from speaking further.  "You know dat I am Chieftain here, and my word is law.  But you know as well that I am a fair man.  Anyone wishing to help da city of Whitewood will come with me to speak wit dem.  Dose who want noting to do with da whole business, can remain behind.  Agreed?"  There was a murmur of general consensus among the people of the village, and several older armored Knights and lightly dressed Hunters came forward. 

            The village instantly divided into two groups; those who would go, and those who would stay behind.  Most of those who agreed to come with appeared to be seasoned veterans, many of them originally from Shoryu's village.  Some of them recognized him, and asked him what had happened.  He related what had happened to him since the attack, down to his coming to them, over a group meal around a fire in the center of the village.  Ellen held his hand through the telling, and more than once he caught Tandaba glancing at their hands and giving him a kind smile and wink.  As he wrapped up his tale, he noticed a very young boy, a boy with much the look of Tandaba in his face, peeking through the crowd.  Shoryu gave a barely perceptible nod at the boy with his snout, looking into Tandaba's eyes, and the big Chieftain looked over to see his boy crouched in hiding among the crowd.  He smiled and nonchalantly stood and stretched.  "Oh, goodness, dese old bones are tired.  I tink I need a-HA," he cried, snatching the boy up from his hiding spot near him.  The boy struggled in earnest as the Chieftain shook him playfully. 

            The boy swung the wooden play sword from his hip at the Chieftain's chest feebly, finally giving up and being lowered to the ground.  Tandaba ruffled the boy's hair and sat him on his lap across the fire from Shoryu.  "Please excuse my son.  He is anxious to be a warrior, big and strong like his pa, right boy?"  The pup's eyes lit up as he smiled and nodded at Tandaba.  "He doesn't speak much, Shoryu, so I'll have to apologize for him."  Shoryu looked at the crudely fashioned play sword for a moment, still gripped in the pup's hand.  It had dirt and grime on it, and a slew of weed stains.  He himself had done much the same thing when he was that young, but he had always managed to break his toys.  His father had to constantly make new ones for him, and after a while, showed Shoryu how to do it himself.  His first attempts had come out looking much like this boy's. 

            "How old are you, little one," Ellen asked softly.  The boy's eyes opened wide, and his jaw hung open a moment.  Finally, he showed her eight of his little fingers.  "Oh, you're eight?  My, you're already very big for your age!"  The boy jumped off of his father's lap and scooted around the fire to Ellen's side.  He looked up at her with a question twinkling in his eyes.  "Yes?  Do you want something?"  The boy looked down at her hand in Shoryu's, then up at Shoryu.

            "Is she your girlfriend," he asked suddenly, and everyone went silent before bursting into raucous laughter.  The sound of it warmed Shoryu's heart, but also made him acutely embarrassed. 

            "Well, um, I don't think either of us knows yet," he said, getting a kiss on his cheek from Ellen.  He blushed brightly under the thin fur on his muzzle.

            "Yes I am little boy," Ellen said to the pup, who giggled.  But immediately he looked up again at her.

            "You have magic," he said, and once more a hush fell over those gathered.  Ellen looked deep into the boy's eyes, seeing something she had not sensed before. 

            "Yes, yes I do," she said, as much to him as to the crowd.  "Mine is an earthen born magic, known as Gaiamancy.  Do you know what that is?"  The boy nodded his head rapidly, getting excited.  "Why do you ask?"  The boy said nothing more, but ran back in front of his father, who was now perplexed.  The boy put his play sword in his belt, and turned to face the fire.  He closed his eyes and pressed his hands together, as if in prayer.  A soft green light pulsed from his palms, the light dulled by his hands.  The entire village was on its feet, staring in wonder at the boy.  He opened his hands, and a small sphere of green light hovered over the heads of those assembled, expanding swiftly into an image.  It was an image of Shoryu as he entered the village with Ellen, though the shapes were slightly distorted in proportion and color.  They had a slightly misty film over them, something Shoryu hadn't ever seen in an Illusionist image.  Yet he was certain that this was what the boy had produced. 

            "How did you do dis, boy," Tandaba asked as he picked the pup into his arms.  "How," he asked, his voice filled with awe and wonder.

            "I saw it in my head, about an hour before they got here," said the boy aloud, and everyone looked from the moving image to the boy.  "It happens sometimes," he said, his voice suddenly small and frightened.  "I can't help it."  Tandaba hugged the boy hard to him.  Tears could be seen streaming into the matted fur of his snout as he cradled the boy where he was. 

            "It's all right boy," he whispered, softly as to not be heard.  "How often does dis happen," he asked, not noticing that Shoryu and Ellen had come up to them as the others around them marveled at the image suspended in the air above them. 

            "Once or twice a day," said the boy.  "Oh, I'm sorry miss," he said, bowing his head slightly.  "I never told you my name.  I'm Straig."  He extended his small paw, and Ellen and Shoryu both shook it in turn.  That night, sleeping in the Chieftain's guest room, the couple from Byron's company lay close to one another, cradled in each other's arms.  All the while, Shoryu thought about pups of his own.

            Byron stalked through the darkened tunnels beneath the library, making his way carefully past the traps and pitfalls set by the defenders of Whitewood.  What he had discussed with High Elder Masaton after the old Elf had revealed Major Svelk's treachery had been nothing short of earth shattering.  The traps in the tunnels were old and worn, many of them having ceased to function after a while.  And the magic users who defended the chamber of the Orb of Eden’s Serpent hadn't been heard from in many days.  Had they died, Byron wondered.  Has Vandross already sent someone into the city without his knowledge?  Impossible, he decided, casting off his doubts.  He would have known if one of Vandross's men had entered the city.  He would have sensed them, and destroyed them. 

            Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were coming to a head, and someone was going to have to give some ground.  He had already thwarted Vandross in minor ways; he had destroyed his Berserker, Shoryu had killed his Beastmaster, and they had together slain hundreds in Desanadron.  Vandross had seemed bent on occupying the city, the better to get a stranglehold on the lands of Tamalaria.  He had cast off his General, believing him dead and gone.  Once again, something that Byron hoped would come back to haunt the one-eyed devil.  But otherwise, the company hadn't done much to foil him.  Whitewood would be different, Byron vowed in the silence of the tunnels underground.  He would first-hand watch Vandross turn aside from the Elven capital.  Thankfully, the High Elder had secured the Prince's cooperation in the effort, despite knowing who Byron was.  The Cuyotai would be allowed into the cities, to live if they wished.  Trade would open up again at the least.  When the King returned, the High Elder had jested before sending Byron to check on the Orb, there would be hell for his son to pay.  Byron turned his attention back to his current whereabouts, the shadows and darkness of the tunnels mixing with his own, making him appear to be nothing more than a wraith, an inky black spot lurking through the depths of the earth.  Not a bad analogy when he thought about it.  The sounds of rats burrowing through the ground and bats stirring filled the air, echoing hollowly off of the circular walls.  Byron came around a turn in the tunnel, and found himself at a crossroads in the paths.  He had been told to go left here, and moved to do so.  But he had also been warned about a trap of some sort.  What had it been?  His sense of hearing was on edge, his shifty movements frugal; he did not want to alarm anything or anyone down here who might not be the guards of the Orb. 

            But as alert as he was, Byron did not hear the trigger in the floor under his foot until it lifted up.  Stopping dead in his tracks he looked down between his extended foot and the one behind.  He had stepped on a slightly raised portion of the floor. "Ah, shit," he muttered as a dozen holes opened in the wall opposite him.  Spears came flying out, and he brought up a shield of purple energy to deflect them.  He reached down, bending his knees to stoop next to one of them.  The weapons were rusted and falling apart.  He probably could have broken them on his armor.  Still, the trap had been ingeniously hidden, and there had been little delay between triggering the trap and its execution.  He glanced about the chamber, then continued down the left hand tunnel.  He saw a faint glow of light around a turn in the tunnel, further down.  It was torchlight, he realized, recognizing the flickering pattern it played in the darkness.  Pressing himself against a wall, further into the shadows as he could go, he crept along the walkway, a silent predator stalking prey he had no intention of killing.

            He stopped moving altogether as a single man, an older Elven fellow, stepped into the turn of the tunnel.  He was dressed in the simple blue robes of a Thunder Mage, his tunics loose fitting and ragged underneath.  The torch in his hand was barely there, casting shadows everywhere.  "Hello," he called.  There was tension in his voice.  "If someone's there, please help me!  Derin has taken ill!  Hello," he called, desperation in his voice.  "I don't remember the way out!  Someone," he cried, dropping to his knees and sobbing.  Byron moved from the shadows and placed his hand firmly on the Elf's shoulder.  The defender looked up suddenly, fear in his eyes.  Immediately he threw a bolt of magic just past Byron's face, showering the tunnel with rubble as the bolt tore into the earth.  "Shadowbeast, begone," he cried, gaining his feet. 

            "Hold, good Elf," Byron exclaimed, putting his hands out to show he was unarmed.  The Thunder Mage hesitated, calling forth more magic to his hand, ready for release.  "I have been sent by High Elder Masaton to discover why no word has been sent from you.  Take me to your friend.  You say he is ill?"  The Thunder Mage, suspicion in his eyes, moved away from the large Dread Knight, still unaware of who exactly he was. 

            "Indeed, he is.  He has taken a fever, and he raves as a madman.  Come, I shall take you to him."   Through two more tunnels they walked, Byron tracing the mage's steps very carefully.  He didn't want to unintentionally disarm anymore traps than he had already.  The spears brought that count to three.  Through the darkened tunnels they stalked, two dark clad forms moving amid the earth’s innards.  Finally, they came to a steel door, which opened on a series of rooms.  The mage led Byron to another steel door, this one reinforced.  A single slat was at eye level to the mage, with bars in it.  Byron looked into the room beyond, and saw the other defender huddled in the corner of the room.  Feces was smeared all over the floor and walls, crude, archaic symbols drawn in fecal matter and blood.  The Elf had the look of a starved beggar, and his own white robes had been torn and frayed.  Byron shook his head; he knew what was wrong with the man.  He would have to be killed.  "What is it," asked the mage, seeing Byron's head hang in the shadows he used to cloak himself.  "Do you know what's wrong with him," the Thunder Mage asked him, gripping Byron's cloak and pulling him close.  There was a cold sweat on the man's forehead.  He was terrified.

            "I know what is wrong with him, good Elf.  I am sorry.  He is being possessed by a Shadowbeast.  He is fighting back, of course," he said, looking through the slats to see the madman pressed against the bars, his left eye pulsing yellow while the right one held the look of a trapped animal.  "But it is a losing battle.  He will be in the full grip of the demon by sunup.  He must be killed."  The Thunder Mage did not scream; indeed, he didn't weep, cry, or even beg for an alternative.  He simply turned his back to the undead warrior. 

            "Do it," he whispered, his voice cracking.  He had clearly been good friends with the possessed man, but that mattered little.

            "Understand, good sir, that it is what is best for him and for your people," Byron said, trying to offer some measure of comfort.  But the mage said nothing to him, and Byron turned to face the steel door.  The maddened Elf had returned to his corner, and Byron undid the latch and entered, closing the door behind him.  The mad Elf growled at him, cowering in the corner from him.  Byron undid his shadow covering, and both of the eyes in the Elf's head gleamed with fear and loathing.  "Yes," Byron whispered, his voice barely audible.  "I have come to destroy you.  Vandross will not be coming in any back door this time.  He'll have to come through me.  If you leave this man now," Byron growled, advancing on the skittering demon.  "I may spare you your miserable life, Shadowbeast.  The choice," he said, unsheathing the Morning Glory, its light filling the room.  "Is yours."  The demon within seemed to be considering its options, until it flung a handful of feces from the floor to splatter against Byron's chest.  "Wrong choice."  With a single deft motion, Byron beheaded the once-Elf, retaining his stance until the body fell forward against his leg.  He took the sheet off of the bed and cleaned his armor.  He sheathed the Morning Glory, extinguishing its light.  In the darkness, he held the head over his skull, feeding off of the Elven blood; he had gone a long time without feeding as he needed to, subsisting on normal food and drink.  He felt renewed, replenished.  But he agonized over the decision he had been forced to make.  Thinking to spare the Thunder Mage outside anymore grief, he summoned a vortex of wind, using it to clean the room and place the body of the Elf on the bed.  He quickly used his dark magic to secure the man's head back onto his body.  He pulled a clean sheet out of the dresser, and laid it over the body.  It was the least he could do.

            Silently, cat-like, he opened the door and exited the chamber, locking it behind him.  He saw the Thunder Mage, who was weeping openly on a crate he used to store foodstuffs.  "Come," Byron said, hoisting the man up.  "We are leaving.  The High Elder shall send replacements.  You have done your part as well as could be expected."  The Thunder Mage nodded humbly, walking ahead of Byron.  Together, they left the darkness of the tunnels beneath the library, out into the fading light of evening.  The High Elder was there to greet them, and was taken off guard when the Thunder Mage embraced him and began to sob, unable to feel any shame.  Masaton patted the man gently, and consoled him.  He offered the man a tonic that would help him relax, and Byron explained what had happened to the High Elder.  The old Elf shook his head in dismay. 

            "We shall have to place a pair of Clerics with the next defenders.  They will detect such evil much better than any mage.  But it is good that you have discovered this, Byron.  Already you have done well.  But it grows late.  Go and get some rest, good Byron.  We shall speak further tomorrow."  Byron took a long look at the now groggy Thunder Mage.  The look in his eyes was unmistakable; there is no hope for us.  Byron, stalking the darkening streets of Whitewood, swore that hope would stay alive under his care.

            Two nights later, outside of the Paladin outpost, Richard Vandross fumed at the stupidity of his own men.  They had lost nearly a hundred of their numbers, Greenskins and Shadowbeasts for the most part.  These defenders had proven much more capable than those of Fort Flag.  He had attempted the same trick as before, and it had nearly cost him his life.  As he had stood before the towering stone wall, summoning the magic that would blast the wall apart, a hidden slot in the stone had opened and a hail of arrows had flown at him at high speed.  Two or three of the bolts had embedded themselves in his shoulders and his hip, tossing him to the ground.  The impact alone had saved him; one arrow had grazed his cheek as a result of the fall.  It easily could have gone through his face.  Where had his defenders been?  He had ordered a dozen Greenskins to stand in front of him, to defend him from such an occurrence.  They had instead stood at his back, instead of his front.  "Bumbling, blasted morons," he muttered from his field chair under the medical tent.  He was fine now; the power of the Orbs within him had regenerated his wounds swiftly, but he needed to rest. 

            A skittering of legs clacking along the ground brought him to a sitting position, a long knife in hand.  Vengeance stood at the door of his tent.  "What do you want, Vengeance," he growled, angry enough to scowl even at the spider-beast.

            "There, is something, that, can, be done, sire.  But, you, must be, the one, to do it.  I cannot, do, it, on my, own."  Vandross shrugged and beckoned the creature inside.  He swung his legs over the side of the litter.  "As, I have, said, I, can poison, the hearts, of men.  But, you, must be, the one, to, wield, the power.  I, shall, return, to your, body."  The creature shimmered into a cloud of purple smoke, and entered Vandross through his nose.  Power welled up within him.  He felt alive again, in a way he hadn't since the spider-beast had separated from his body.  Vengeance, it seemed, was the most physically powerful of the three he possessed.  He heard the beast's voice in his mind.  -Summon, the power, from me-, it whispered.  Vandross moved out of the medical tent, stalking through the ranks of his sleeping men.  He stayed well out of arrow range from the fort, and placed his hands upon the ground.  His hands traced signs of arcane power in the dirt, and the symbols pulsed with a sickening green and black glow.  Veins of the power began to show through the earth's surface, the lines slowly moving toward the fort.  Vandross smiled to himself; he knew instinctively what the magic would do to the defenders of the fort.  It was not the swift solution he had wanted, but it would work better than any attempt by his forces. 

            In a few days, infected by the power of Vengeance's magic, the defenders of the fort would begin to turn on each other.  Their fears would become host to their minds, playing tricks on them as no con man could.  They would destroy themselves.  And Vandross would be there to sweep up the remains into his forces as the walking dead.  –And with, another, of our, brethren,- Vengeance informed him, -you, will attain, the knowledge, of making, Dreadnaughts-. 

            Dreadnaughts, Vandross thought.  The large, mindless undead creatures that were in fact amalgamated collections of the body parts of many various warriors and mages.  A few of those, he thought, sure would be useful.

            Morek Rockmight did not like trolling the taverns made for travelers for possible assistance, but he had turned up a few good soldiers the past few days in this exact fashion.  The taciturn Dwarf wasn't keen on socializing, but he kept his conversations brief and to the point.  On a few occasions, he had been outright told to bugger off, which had earned a few men broken noses and black eyes.  Morek didn't think of himself as a man with a short temper; nor did he think himself deserving of being told to have sex with himself, though.  So a few people had been sent packing, so what?  Byron would want the best of the best, and few of those he had convinced came close.  Brave?  Yes, they had been brave.  Dead meat?  Yes, most of them would be.  But he would soon find a man they could depend on. 

            Morek sat at the serving bar, nursing his ale, when a simply clad Human fellow had walked in.  He wore the uniform of some sort of Monk, and Morek raised an eyebrow.  "Pardon me, sir," he said in his booming tenor.  "Are you passing through town?"  The Human looked directly at him, and Morek saw that the man was rather handsome for someone dressed as a martial artist.  Most Monks he knew had the same battered countenance as him.  He also noticed that the man only had one arm.  Perhaps he had misjudged. 

            "Me," said the Monk in a lilting tone.  "No, I live here," he said, his voice carrying an almost musical quality.  Morek raised his eyebrow once again.  "I've been out of town, training some new students.  The name's David Spore.  You are," he asked, extending his hand.  Morek took it in his own, immediately taken off guard by the power in the man's grip. 

            "Morek Rockmight.  Pardon the intrusion, but I've visited here often, and I've never seen you."

            "It's a big city," was the Monk's reply. 

            "Look mister, I'll get to the point," said Morek, putting down his mug.  "This city is going to come under attack in a few days, and we need some more able bodies to help defend it.  Think you're up to it?"  The Monk smiled and got down off of his stool.

            "I can do with one arm what you can't with both," he said, a wolfish grin spreading across his face.  Morek wouldn't take that kind of guff, especially from a one armed man.  He hopped down off the stool and swung at the Human, who sidestepped and brought his foot around in a barreling hook kick.  The impact of the blow sent Morek tumbling head over heels into a table, whose present residents decided to vacate.  Morek held his ribs, sore from the blow, and came at the Monk more focused.  The man seemed to be dancing, anticipating his attack.  But Morek proved the better this time.  He parried a few of the Monk's jabbing kicks, finally grabbing his foot and spinning him around, full steam into Morek's uppercut.  The Monk went flying back, crashing through another table.  He was immediately back on his feet, charging Morek and leaping into the air, a flying kick aimed at the Dwarven Boxer's face.

            Morek lunged aside, only to discover that the kick had been a feint.  His back was now to the Monk, who stooped and swept Morek's legs out from under him.  Morek rolled around, dodging axe kicks aimed at his groin.  Finally, he caught the Monk's leg and pulled him down.  The Monk locked his legs around Morek's ribs and began to squeeze, putting pressure on the little man's already sore body.  But Morek didn't yield; he rained down hammering blows at the Monk's head, connecting a few times, and finally the Monk waved his hand in defeat.  Morek, panting and exhausted, helped the Monk up.  "So," said David Spore to Morek.  "Where do we meet tomorrow?  You know, to arrange for my post?"  Morek smiled, bought the man a drink, and began to discuss the matter at length.

            A single bead of sweat, a lone traveler on the man's forehead, traveled torturously down toward its demise.  The smell of body odor permeated the air around Richard Vandross as he stayed crouched to the ground, his palms trembling uncontrollably against the ground.  Through ridgelines in his forehead, born from concentration and effort, a single bead of sweat slithered, running like pus instead of a clear liquid.  Down to the jut between his eyebrows, sliding down the hawk-like nose, and down to the ground.  When it hit, steam hissed up into Vandross's face, forcing tears from his dried out eyes.  For an entire day and a half, he had remained in his prone position, hands pressed against the ground.  Fissures spread from his hands all the way to the fort and to the other side of the walls.  Though he didn't know it, inside the fort, the defenders had already begun turning on one another.

            His first relief came when he saw a large, brutish Human Paladin tossing an Elven Cleric off of the high north wall to his death.  The sounds of battle suddenly flared from within the walls, and Vandross, looking up to see his handiwork grinned toothily, pressing the magic even harder.  His arms throbbed from the effort, his muscles twitching involuntarily at strange intervals.  His whole body felt like a collection of injuries screaming for his attention, none being tended to.  Vilec Roak came up to him from his own ranks, bringing a wooden cup filled with water to his lips.  For the first time since he had begun this effort, Vandross took a quick swig, not moving his palms from the ground.  Fire raced through his throat, the clean, cold liquid working through his system already.  He felt renewed, and strangely grateful.  His plans came to fruition as several portions of his own force stole up to the walls of the fort, ropes and grappling hooks in hands.  While the Paladins, Clerics and Knights within the fort sought to destroy themselves, Vandross's men would help the effort.  Vandross had been very clear from the beginning; do just enough to kill them, but try to leave them as whole as possible.  He didn't want shambling zombies or incapable Dread Knights from this effort.  When he raised the dead from the fort, he wanted to be able to fashion High Zombies and Dread Knights out of the majority of them.  Perhaps even collect parts for a Dreadnaught or two, though that would require a great deal of effort. 

            However, after the ritual that he had nearly brought to a close, Vandross felt assured that he could do almost anything, Orbs of Eden’s Serpent or not.  This constant effort and expenditure of energy had surely brought him right to Death's doorstop, and the hooded shepherd of souls needed only open the door and usher him in.  With renewed virulence Vandross sent a shudder through the rifts in the ground, shaking the very earth itself under all of their feet.  Several Paladins fell from the walls as a result, their bodies making a sickening crunch as their bones shattered into dust on impact.  Then, as swiftly as it began, the end drew near.  His eye went wide as the front gate raised up, two huge Trolls working the winches and then tearing them from their rigging as the gate stood open.  No one would be able to lower it again, even if the fort's defenders should come to their senses.  Battle raged inside, the fort's defenders cutting each other down instead of the creatures who assaulted them without effort or care.  In a matter of minutes, his own army pouring through the gate, the siege was over.  Vandross withdrew his hands from the ground, looking at the flesh of his hands.  It had been seared almost to the bone, his hands tattered and diseased-looking.  He realized he didn't care; victory had its costs, and he was willing to suffer this one.  Richard Vandross stood to his feet, his eye reflecting the light of the rising sun.  Sweat poured down his bare forearms and his face, his crew cut hair shimmering and slick from not bathing.  He stalked toward the fort, a towering visage of doom and dirt, looking as though he had been engaged in fierce combat for days.  He made it just through the gate before he collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.  Vandross felt dozens of hands grappling him, carrying him over the heads of several men.  Afloat in his own void, he felt his body carried inside a building, lowered gently to a bed, and stripped of his armor and clothes.  A cold, wet rag was placed on his forehead, and voices whispered in awe and concern.  He was a great leader, he heard someone say, their voice scratchy and deep.  A Shadowbeast, one he recognized; Vilec Roak.  Then, he was fully unaware of the world around him.  He was falling through darkness, into rest.