'Freedom or the Fire' Chapter Nineteen- Glory

The plan had gone off without incident, which pleased Richard Vandross to no end.  The Dwarves hadn't even bothered to pack many of their belongings in their terror, fleeing the village in droves, in all directions.  Some of the guards had mustered enough courage to defy Vandross and his minions, but only long enough to be torn apart by Tamriel's enormous claws and the swords of Khan grunts.  Vandross hadn't lost a single man in the effort, making the pillaging of supplies much easier.  The one-eyed warlock called a halt to the night's travel, declaring that they would rest for the whole of the daylight hours in the village.  Vandross himself slunk off to a modest one-story home, navigating the small rooms until he found a bedroom.  The bed itself, thankfully, was just big enough for him to lay flat on his back (his feet dangled over empty space, however), and he passed into slumber in an instant.

            A few hours later, at around noon, he was roused by a gentle nudging at his shoulder.  He opened his good eye and was looking into the darkness of Colonel Molis's helmet, his gimlet eyes shining darkly at the warlock.  Vandross buried his face in the pillow, and managed to say in a muffled voice, "Shall I ever have a decent rest again?  What is it, Colonel?"

            "My lord," said the half-demon, stiffening to attention and snapping off a smart salute.  Standing upright, the top of his helmet scraped the ceiling.  "One of Lieutenant Amon's men has discovered something you may find interesting," Molis said, motioning someone else into the low room.  A Khan, stooped almost in half, came forward with something wrapped in a blanket.  Molis unveiled the object, which appeared to be a huge, wicked scimitar, much like the one Vandross had once wielded.  The blade was inscribed with several Dwarven runes, and it shone in the sunlight filtering through the window.

Vandross rather liked the look of it, and wondered what sort of Dwarven enchantments had been placed upon it.  "May I present this to you, my lord, as a new weapon."  Vandross swung his legs over the side of the bed, grasping the hilt of the weapon and testing its weight and balance.  The weapon almost seemed too large for a Dwarf, but Vandross knew that the stocky mountain people of their Race tended to be stronger than any Human.  Such weapons were not uncommon among their people. 

            "I sense magic in this weapon, Colonel," Vandross said, still eyeing the blade.  "But I must admit that I cannot tell what sort of magic it is.  Would you be so kind as to tell me, if you can?"  Molis nodded, and reached for the weapon, which Vandross gave to him.  A patch of shadows reached from inside one of the half-demon's gauntlets, and wrapped around the blade.  There was a slight shimmering, and then the shadows recoiled back within the Colonel's glove. 

            "It will not break, my lord," he said, handing the weapon back.  "It is an extraordinary weapon, lord Vandross.  Not even adamantite will break it.  And, from what I can sense, it cannot be removed from your hand once you wield it, if you do not wish it.  No warrior, regardless of skill, can disarm you with that blade in hand," Molis said with a hint of jealousy in his voice.  Vandross made a noise of approval and ordered the Khan to find him a sheath for the weapon.  The soldier saluted and moved off to do as his master bade him.  Molis saluted as well, and was about to leave when Vandross called him back.

            "Wait a moment, Colonel.  I have something I must ask of you," the one-eyed warlock said, motioning the half-demon to one of the wicker chairs near the corner of the room.  Molis sat obediently, his frame and posture still militant.  "Why are you here, Molis?  Honestly, I mean."

            "Sir," Molis asked, and Vandross could almost see an eyebrow raise in querry. 

            "I mean, Colonel, that you seem able to have accomplished much of what I have done, and without much difficulty.  When I began this undertaking, you were often silent and a bit sullen.  You joined our assault on Fort Flag, but up until then, you had been sort of hanging back in the shadows.  You are mine to command, have been since I first awakened the demon within you," Vandross said in a hushed whisper, leaning forward with one hand on his left knee, his tone and look gaining intensity.  "What are you?"

            "I am a half-demon, my lord, as I have said," Molis reported in a flat tone of voice.  He was being evasive, Vandross realized.  The Colonel hadn't been prepared for such questions.  And if Vandross wasn't careful, he might experience a fair amount of agony before he could do anything about it.  He had to be careful with this half-demon; more careful than he would be with Vilec Roak or any of his kind.  Though the half-breed was strictly forbidden to directly harm Vandross due to the magic that summoned him, he could certainly make things difficult for him through his ranks.

"What precise type of demon I am is of little or no consequence.  I am your third-in-command, your left hand man.  You needn't concern yourself with anything other than my performance in the field, for little else about me truly matters."  Damn it all, Vandross thought, this man was hiding something from him, something vital.  What was it?  He dismissed Molis to go tend to his duties, since the half-demon never seemed to sleep.  He would get answers from the half-demon, but not by directly questioning him.  He had to lay a trap for the Colonel, get him to reveal something to someone else in the expeditionary force.  He had been foolish as an apprentice under Tanarak to release that unseen demon from its hold in the bowels of Mount Toane.  He would discover more about its nature, its exact origin in the Hells, if he could.  He would also try to figure out who the original host mortal had been.

            Too restless now to return to sleep, Vandross negotiated his way out of the squat dwelling and into the noon light.  His men stood around smoking pipes, talking in their own native tongues, and barking harsh laughter at each other's jests.  He spotted Vilec Roak just outside of a tavern, drinking something from an earthenware mug, and guffawing at some secretive joke one of his men whispered into his ear.  The one-eyed warlock, cloak whipping out behind him, stalked through the snow laden street to stand before his General, who tried to stand and failed.

            "No need to get up for my sake, Roak," Vandross said, observing the reek of hard liquor on the Shadowbeast Prime.  "I have a request to make of you.  Find out what you can about Colonel Molis, and come to me when you've learned something of value."

            "What sort of information do you need," the Prime asked, suddenly sobering up slightly.  Disciplined, Vandross noted.  Much as Bael had been.

            "I need to know where he comes from, what his demon lineage is.  I need to know who he is, exactly, the mortal host.  He has great power, Roak, and his origins might reveal to me the source of his abilities.  Go about this with caution and care, however.  I don't think he'd be too appreciative of people snooping.  He wouldn't even give me any straight answers, so he's likely to be withholding of others."  Roak nodded and grunted his acquiescence, then put his mug down and began walking here and there, joining conversations with an ease that came to Shadowbeasts as clever as him.  Vandross walked into the tavern himself, taking a glass and a bottle of Dwarven stonegut, a harsh drink indeed.  He needed to relax, and this might just do the trick, he thought.  Let Roak handle the investigation.  After all, if Molis decided to become hostile, at least Vandross himself would be clear of the line of fire. 

            The first twenty-four hours after leaving the Monk village passed in a blur of snow and blowing wind for Byron.  However, he didn't have the same perception as Shoryu enjoyed.  The young Cuyotai ranged a good ten minutes ahead of the rest of the company, keeping his wits about him.  He didn't let his recent rapture cloud his judgement, keeping his mind focused on the task of scouting.  Even in the heavy snowfall, he was able to tell that a small search party had recently come close to his current position.  From the size of the tracks, and the general scent, he guessed they were Khan.  Vandross had indeed sent a group to encounter them.  Using what little bit of the tracks was left, and placing it against the rate of snowfall, he estimated that they were about four or five minutes ahead of him personally, fifteen ahead of the party.  And they were heading back to wherever they had come from, perhaps to lay an ambush.  Shoryu sprinted ahead, leaving a purposeful trail for the others to follow.  He would only go ahead enough to estimate the war party's numbers and strength. 

            Using the twisting mountain paths as cover for his approach, Shoryu kept himself pressed against the cliff faces as he moved.  The tracks were becoming fresher and fresher as he moved, and soon he was looking at tracks that were only a minute or so old.  He could hear the crunch of snow under heavy feet as he approached, and in the whipping wind, that meant he was practically on top of them.  Keeping low to the ground, Shoryu burrowed through the snow, so as not to make any noise.  Peering around the corner of a turn in the path, Shoryu spotted a pack of four Khan, gathered around a pile of stray branches and brush, as well as some casks of lamp oil.  Apparently they were stopping to make a fire and perhaps a meal.  It made sense, Shoryu thought.  They were still a full day and a half from the entry paths to these particular mountains.  Their path back to Vandross probably made it another day or so before they reached their final destination.  They would need to keep themselves fresh, even if they were accustomed to an environment like these mountains. 

            Perhaps he could dispatch them, if he was quick about it.  But they would likely survive a bow shot or two, and there were exactly four of them.  Four on one, eh?  He didn't like the odds, regardless of how swift he was.  Perhaps if he could lure them closer to the edge of the drop, down a few hundred yards to a crushing death.  A sound, he had to make a sound to get their attention.  He decided to take one of the arrows that Ellen had given him, one that held a spell on it to shatter the ground beneath the arrowhead.  However, if he did it now, and here, the company would have to find another way back.  Wait a minute, he thought, looking at the jut hanging over the Khan party.  If he could get that to come down, the Khan would be buried under roughly half a ton of snow.  Rolling slowly onto his back, he took aim at a diagonal, staying out of plain view still.  He redoubled his efforts to focus his eyes, and found a small goat standing on the jut.  Taking aim slightly to its right, he let one arrow fly.  As his bowstring twanged, the largest of the Khan looked directly at his snout and hands, the only parts of him in any measure of view. 

            "You there," the Khan bellowed, lumbering to his feet.  "What are you doing?"  The Khan looked up at where the arrow had landed, and smiled viciously.  "Your shot is pathetic, Cuyotai whelp!  Your meal escapes you even now," the tiger-man growled, pointing up at the retreating goat.  Idiot, Shoryu thought. 

            "Sir, didn't the Lieutenant say that one of the Dread Knight's companions was a young Cuyotai Hunter," one of the smaller grunts asked.  As the mountain shook from the arrow stuck in the jut, the Khan leader's eyes widened in revelation. 

            "That's right!  Shoryu Tearfang, drop your bow and surrender to us now, and we may be merciful!  Perhaps," he added with a chuckle to his fellows.  Shoryu smiled like a madman, one eye twitching and squinting as he tried to contain his mirth.  But it was to no avail.  "What is so amusing, you scrawny Cuyotai faggot?  Do you not realize you are doomed if you resist us?!"  Shoryu threw his head back and laughed, the derisive laughter of a lycanthrope on the verge of rage.  He didn't often take pleasure in taking life, but these Khan had both threatened and insulted him.  For all he knew, there was more blood on their hands than those of his entire company, who would be arriving at his current position shortly. 

            "Perhaps if you changed your point of view, sir," Shoryu said, pointing to the slabs of mountain granite that would fall on top of the Khan in five or six more seconds.  As one, the Khan all turned their attention skyward, and all had the same general reaction; the smell of Khan urine stung Shoryu's nostrils for only the briefest of moments.

            "Ah, shit," grumbled their leader, as nearly a ton of mountain rock crashed down atop the Khan, making instant burial stones as they filled the small niche in the mountain side.  Blood oozed out in rivulets from beneath the pile.  Shoryu spat on the pile of rubble, and picked a nice, settled spot after visually assuring himself that nothing else would drop on top of him.  There, he waited for the rest of the company.  After waiting only for about five minutes, he saw the blurred and snow-covered forms of Morek Rockmight and Byron come through the veil of snow, followed by the others.  The great, massive Dread Knight looked around, and eyed the pile of rubble suspiciously. 

            "This wasn't like this when we passed through the first time, Shoryu.  What happened here," he asked, and Morek Rockmight raised an eyebrow at the Cuyotai Hunter as he snickered under his breath. 

            "Not much, really.  The matter is dealt with, good Byron," Shoryu said matter-of-factly.  "Nothing at all to worry about.  Would anyone care to sit a spell and rest?  I think I need a few minutes," Shoryu said, still snickering at his own private joke.  Ellen sat next to her husband, and the two wrapped their arms around each other's waists.  Byron fixed the pile of rubble with a steady glare, and sensed the last traces of a quickly ebbing life.  He focused his efforts, and his magic streamed from his eye sockets into the cracks in the pile.  Beneath all that stone, four Khan lay dead, all in military uniforms.  Vandross's flunkies, he thought.  Surely one arrow couldn't have caused this destruction, but Byron soon realized it must have been one of the enchanted arrows that Shoryu had further enhanced by having Ellen lock a spell on it.  He looked up, and saw a billy-goat sticking its tongue out at him.  He had seen stranger things....

            Richard Vandross couldn't quite explain what happened when he walked through the former Dwarven village, but it went something like this; as he roamed the streets, looking over his men, a blanket of shadows began to spread from his body, writhing about like it was a living skin.  His own troops shuffled aside, keeping back from the serpentine darkness, and he felt heat gathering behind the patch over his right eye.  Something was shifting, changing inside of him, and for reasons beyond his knowledge.  He didn't feel threatened, didn't sense the Orbs' will in this.  It was as though his body and magic were reacting to a perceived threat beyond his normal field of perception.  After reaching the opposite end of the village, he was fairly certain he saw what it was he had reacted to; a huge Black Dragon flew past, heading northwest.  Something in his very blood boiled at the sight of it, and he knew he would be seeing that creature again. 

            As soon as the Dragon was out of sight, his body returned to normal, and Vilec Roak approached.  "My lord, evening is nigh, and the men grow restless now that they are fed and have slept.  We should be heading out soon."

            "Hmm, agreed.  Has there been any news from the party we sent in Byron's direction at the foothills?"

            "None, my lord.  But do not forget, if they found Byron and his people, they would be heading back with caution, so as not to leave any trace of themselves.  They are Khan, my lord, quite adept at survival in climates such as this.  Also, my lord," Vilec Roak whispered conspiratorially.  "I have discovered where the Colonel comes from."  Vandross shot Roak a look that was unmistakable; come here and tell me. 

He led Roak into a small traveling goods store, stooping down to ensure that he didn't brain himself on the ceiling.  "Lord Vandross, one of my own, a Shadowbeast by the name of Gurik Luran, used to reside in Mount Toane.  He dwelled there after the fall of Tanarak of Sidius, the warlock who formerly possessed the Orbs of Eden’s Serpent.  Gurik survived the wrath of Rimzan of Grey by hiding in one of the deeper tunnels.  One day, while debating if he should continue his residence there, he came upon a chamber that would not admit light.  He described it as having a wall of darkness much like his own skin, right at the entrance.  This, he said, made no sense, for the inner fires of Mount Toane lit all of those tunnels and chambers as brightly as the sun does the southern plains.  Furthermore, that very chamber had been lit the day before, and he became curious.  When Gurik tried to pass through the veil, a voice spoke to him, and told him, 'Get thee back!  I have need of rest, for my rebirth is most recent!'  The creature came out some time during that night, Gurik relates, and approached him in his sleeping quarters.  He knows it was Molis, for the half-demon has not changed one bit since that time, either in appearance or demeanor. 

            "It was the same day that we moved our forces into Mount Toane, my lord.  Molis was already there, apparently waiting for you to command him," Roak finished in a final rush of slurred words.  There was a hint of panic in his voice, as though he had read something terrible in the tale he had been told.  "I dare say, my lord, that he was waiting for you specifically."  Vandross thought over this information for a moment, trying to process it all.  

            "That’s as should be, Roak.  I released the demon that was within one of the lower chambers when I was still an apprentice, though it did not immediately take a host.  What of his composition?  Do we know precisely what he is yet?"  Vilec Roak cleared his throat awkwardly, his yellow eyes darting back and forth.

            "Not yet, my lord.  His mortal half, we know to be Human, my lord.  But the demon within him is something I do not recognize.  Regardless, this half-demon was not born so, I believe.  Sometimes, when a full demon surfaces on its own from the Hells, it requires a host to maintain its existence on the mortal realm.  Usually, this simply results in the fusion of the mortal body with the demon, making either a demon possessed mortal, or a demon with a mortal body.  But, once in a great while, the two elements, the two souls, collide, and create a whole that is one half of each original.  That, my lord, is what Molis is.  He is no child born of a mortal and demon's coupling."  Vilec Roak was actually sweating, and had almost become delirious, Vandross realized.  Apparently, such creatures were a big deal, if made in the way that Molis was.  But again, this wasn’t exactly new information for him.

            "So, what's the difference between a half-breed like Molis and one born of a mortal and a demon parent," Vandross asked, keeping his voice low.  He wasn't so much afraid of being overheard, as he was that Vilec Roak was going to bolt from him. 

            "There is a great difference, my lord.  Those born of two parents possess only half of their demon parent's power.  They have mortal weaknesses, mortal emotions, and mortal concerns.  There is much about them that causes little concern, sire.  They are shunned by both worlds from which they come, and are often discouraged from an early age in all things.  They do not become heroes or villains, do not reach grand stature.  They do not become hostile, for the most part.  Half-breeds like Molis, however, retain all of the powers and skills of the demon half of the fusion.  They retain the knowledge of their mortal host, as well as their skills and training.  They have the best of both worlds," he nearly screamed, gesturing wildly with his hands.  "And at any given time, they may take on the visage of either half of their being, though Molis has never done as much I suspect.  Perhaps when he fought Tamriel, but I still don't think that was the extent of his demonic power.  My lord, he must not be allowed to go near the Orb of Eden’s Serpent!  If he is, he may become a threat to even you!"  Vandross, out of instinct and insult, slapped Roak hard with one gauntleted hand, knocking his General to the floor.  Roak looked up at him, fear in his eyes.  He crouched on his hands and knees before the one-eyed warlock, groveling.  "I am sorry, my lord!  I have spoken out of turn!  I will not do so again!  Please pardon my behavior!"  Vandross brought the tip of his left boot under Vilec Roak's chin, lifting his face so that their eyes met for a moment.  Fire blared behind his mangled eye. 

            "You are forgiven, General.  Do not forget, you are a Shadowbeast Prime, and my General.  And he can never be a threat to me.  I summoned the sealed demon that is half of his soul, if what you suppose is the truth.  By the binding magical laws, he is forbidden to harm me.  Regardless of power or fear, Molis is a Colonel, and is below your rank.  Remember, this is an army, and any army worth its weight in salt keeps discipline within the ranks.  Isn't that the lesson he taught to the Major," he said, referring to Tamriel, the hulking Renka.  Vilec Roak stood and brushed himself off.

            "Yes, of course," he blurted, getting a grip on himself.  "Discipline, every army needs discipline.  Thank you for balancing me, sire.  Come now, we must prepare to march," the General said, now fully in command of himself again.  He had spent too much time among mortals, Vandross realized.  The emotions that Roak had mentioned were filtering through his demonic aura, giving him a taste of emotions that no demon knew in the Hells; fear, apprehension, distrust, and confusion.  With the power of the Glorious Mother of Destruction, Vandross might be able to sweep those feelings away from the Shadowbeast.  If not, he could always destroy him.  With that thought in mind, whistling softly to himself, Vandross walked alongside his marching forces. 

            When they finally reached their entry point to the mountains, Byron and his company nearly collapsed from exhaustion.  They had pressed on without rest or a real meal for nearly two days, and they all needed sleep badly.  Even the Dread Knight could feel himself slipping into slumber as he flopped to the floor of a small cave that Shoryu had found for them to rest in.  He felt most grateful when James Hayes volunteered to keep the first watch, and Byron slipped into sleep.  Evening was approaching, and what little sunlight penetrated the general fog of snow and gloom outside of the cave quickly disappeared, leaving only the darkness of night.  The weather had improved over the last couple of hours, letting the company arrive at the cave earlier than expected.  That was well, Hayes mused as he looked around the cave, seeing everyone slumbering peacefully. 

            They had gotten lucky, he thought to himself.  Only Shoryu had been forced to deal with opposing forces, and he had done so quite effectively.  And, from the way the young Cuyotai had laughed at his handiwork, he had enjoyed himself.  James hadn't seen this side of Shoryu, the primal lust for combat that all lycanthropes suffered on occasion.  The group already had to deal with Morek Rockmight's battle-lust, and to have to deal with both the Dwarven Boxer and the Cuyotai Hunter might prove difficult.  Together, the two of them could probably take down a small battalion, but they would eventually draw too much attention for the company to deal with.  He prayed silently to Oun for guidance, and strength. 

            His watch passed slowly, for he too was in great need of rest, and it was only in times like this that time seemed to crawl for him.  A Paladin's training gave them great endurance and resilience, but almost forty-eight hours of marching had drained him considerably.  He barely had the energy to stand upright, but decided that doing some menial task might keep him awake enough to last his entire shift.  He removed the iron cooking pot from his rucksack, and placed it over the fire Selena had created to provide warmth and light.  Pouring in some snow to melt for water, he began adding some of the cooking ingredients he had taken from the guest house kitchen, blending in vegetables and strips of dried meat to give the food some body and flavor, making a good stew.  When it was prepared, he had a small bowl for himself, and let the pot simmer as he awoke Selena for her watch.  The Pyromancer looked at the food with a savage glare, and thanked James with a grunt before pouring herself a bowl and devouring it.

            Selena felt bolstered by both sleep and food, and prepared some of her best spells, locking them on her hands and robes.  The effort drained her only slightly, but she felt much better having some natural protection now.  She had left the Monk village without properly preparing any defenses, and was thankful as Hayes had been that no encounters had come their way.  She might have acted foolishly if they had encountered anyone past the twenty-four hour mark.  At that point she had gone numb to the world around her, sealed within the tomb of her mind.  The only thought that passed through her at that time, was left, right, left, right, don't trip, don't look over that ledge.  A fairly useless litany if they had come upon opposing forces, but something that she could hang on to given her circumstances.

            She felt an urge to spit on herself at that point, disgusted at her lack of endurance.  She was Selena Bradford, damn it!  Sorceror Supreme!  A trek like this should be nothing to her!  But she had to admit that she had never been so physically taxed, except in combat, and even then she had been allowed proper rest afterwards.  This forced march had been paced by Shoryu, and insisted upon by Byron, both of whom seemed to have more stamina than anyone else in the company.  Byron, for obvious reasons.  He was a Dread Knight, despite the amount of his body that appeared to be mortal beneath his armor.  And Shoryu was trained as a Hunter, and Hunters had to be accustomed to trips like this, especially when scouting.  Selena liked the Cuyotai, and managed a faint smile when she thought of the ceremony she had been part of, to join the Cuyotai Hunter to the Elven Gaiamancer in wedlock.  It had been quick and simple, for they hadn't had the time to do things properly.  And Selena wasn't a fool; she knew why they did it there in the Monk village.  Both feared that one or the other would not survive the rest of the journey, the rest of the struggle against Richard Vandross and his armies.  They were smart to be afraid, she thought grimly. 

            Near the end of her shift, a sudden movement just outside of the cave startled Selena.  Had Vandross sent lackeys back to search for them?  Had her fire given them away?  She wasn't sure, and didn't want to take a chance.  Summoning her magic to bear, she let the heat of her power reach through the cave, rousing the others to consciousness.  Crimson and pale yellow light shimmered off of her robes, and fire rimmed her eyes as she wove arcane symbols in the air before her, speaking in the dead tongue of mages.  She desisted just before completing the spell, and risked a quick glance about, just to make sure the others were getting to their feet and were aware that they had a visitor. 

            "Who goes there," she bellowed at the vague silhouette standing in the entrance of the cave.  The figure, she could tell, was both tall and thick, massive in the way of Khan.  It could be another war party was coming, but she doubted it inwardly; the sounds of the creature's movements didn't indicate what it was, but it hadn't drawn a weapon on her and her companions yet.  The creature muttered something, then turned its head to their left, and rasped something in a strange language, rough and guttural.  Were those, horns, she thought.  A moment later, another of the creatures appeared in the entry, and both walked into the firelight, hands held before them to show they were unarmed.  Two Minotaurs, dressed in primitive clothes made of pelts and carrying crude weapons made of what appeared to be bones, came forward. 

            "We are not your foes, fiery one," the first Minotaur said, his bull head sweeping left to right to take in all of the company members.  Byron, Selena noticed, had not even drawn the Morning Glory.  Had he known that there was no threat here?  Perhaps, she thought.  The Dread Knight's abilities were beyond her ken, but she trusted his judgement.  She undid the spell, letting her hands drop to her sides.  Byron came forward and put a solid hand on her shoulder, squaring himself to face the Minotaurs eye to eye, so to speak.  They were the same height as Byron, standing at six and half feet roughly, and had an aura of silent pride about them.  "Please, let me introduce myself and my companion.  I am Adrian Fistcrush, and this is my cousin, Brock Swordslash," said the Minotaur, and Byron had to suppress the urge to laugh aloud.  Ah, Minotaurs!  Such names as theirs never ceased to amuse him.  He even recalled one Minotaur, who had served in the Final Push, whose name had been Punch Rockgroin, and he almost burst into a cackle just thinking about the oddball Minotaur Shaman.  However, he retained his composure, and offered a slight bow.

            "I am Byron," he said, and gave Selena a nod.  "This is Selena Bradford, and I apologize if she seemed a tad bit hostile.  With us are-,"

            "We know who you are, Byron of Sidius," said Adrian, holding up a hand.  Byron gave him a curious stare, and kept his hand at the ready, in case the Minotaurs proved to be hostile.  Then, he saw it; both Minotaurs wore a black armband, with a skull on it.  The same armband had been worn by the bordermen of the Elven Kingdom!  "We have been sent by our elders, who have received word that an army assembles in the city of Desanadron in order to resist the warlock Richard Vandross.  The army also gathers in secret in the city of Ja-Wen, deep in the tunnels and caverns beneath the city."

            "How did you find out about us," Byron asked, still wary of the Minotaurs.  They were, after all, quite large, and probably capable of massive amounts of damage.

            "An emissary from the Elven Kingdom came to us two days ago, lord Byron," said Brock, his voice surprisingly deeper than his slightly taller cousin, who had done all of the talking for them to this point.  "He told us of your victory in Whitewood, their people's capital city.  Shortly after, large numbers of soldiers and concerned free warriors joined ranks, in the name of a common cause.  They all, like you, seek to resist this madman, for the memory of Tanarak of Sidius is still fresh in their minds.  Though this Vandross and Tanarak share no common bond," the Minotaur said, and Byron thought, oh, if only you knew.  "It is apparent that he will be a tyrant just like the warlock who came before him.  The peoples of the lands of Tamalaria remember that dark age, and have no wish to repeat it.  Do you approve, lord Byron?"  Byron stood there, slightly dumbfounded.  All of this, and all because he had done what he thought was right.  He could hardly risk to believe it, but it seemed that his recent stand against Richard Vandross had erased all trace of his atrocities from the land and its people.  Most likely, however, the Elven Queen had made her own opinion known, and let her stature influence many thousands in his favor.  And whoever was running Desanadron now was surely there to witness the glory of Byron's leadership in the battle for the city-state. 

            He nodded slightly.  "I approve, Brock Swordslash, Adrian Fistcrush.  You have been sent to join the ranks of the armies who oppose Richard Vandross, correct?"  A barely perceptible nod.   "Good.  You both appear to be capable young men.  May your gods bless you, and may mighty Oun bless you as well, even if you should not worship him," he said, making a gesture before each of them.  It was the same motion that priests of Oun made to bless the members of their congregations.  The Minotaurs smiled at him, and saluted.  Without another word, they turned to walk away, but Byron stopped them with a hand on each shoulder.  "Wait a moment.  Why did you come here?  How did you know who we were, and where we were?"

            "We didn't," said Adrian.  "We thought you might have been another patrol of Khan, like the one just up the pass," said the Minotaur warrior.  "Do not worry, lord Byron.  We have already dispatched them," said the Minotaur matter-of-factly.  Byron took a step back in surprise.  Just up the pass?  Had they camped so close to potential foes?  How long would it have taken for them to run into the Khan patrol?   "There were three of them, and they appeared to have been readying themselves to head back to a larger group.  We have sensed that there is a vast force further west, but they are not our concern, lord Byron.  We apologize for the disservice, but we must go join our new unit."

            "No need for apologies," Byron said, waving them off.  "Go with your gods."  Without another word, the Minotaurs left Byron and his company staring after them, silence thickening into a total absence of noise.  Byron turned to face the others.  "Grab your things.  We might be closer to Vandross's forces than we previously thought.  We head out, now."  Groggy and worn, the company shuffled about the cave, collecting their belongings and hefting their rucksacks onto their backs.  I'll have you yet, Richard Vandross, Byron thought.  I'll have you yet.

            The one-eyed warlock stalked ahead of his marching elements, a full two days ahead of Byron and his companions, if his perceptions were accurate.  He could feel the Dread Knight closing on them, however, with each passing few hours.  It was as though the undead warrior wasn't taking time to rest.  Vandross had sent two groups of Khan to patrol the path behind the main body of the company, perhaps slow Byron and his men down, but he had received no report from either group.  Furthermore, the Dread Knight's pace only seemed to have slowed for about five hours during the night.  But Vandross sensed that he was on the move again. 

            It came as no real surprise that Byron was gaining on him, when he thought about it.  He had a group of less than ten, whereas Vandross was leading an entire unit of just over one hundred men and women.  The one-eyed warlock signaled for Vilec Roak to join him at his side.  The Shadowbeast Prime and General swept over to Vandross's side, and fell into step.  "Yes, my lord," he said.

            "Send a couple of your people ahead.  Make certain that they know they can move however they need to, including through the Shadow Realm.  I need them to give us an idea of what direction we're heading in, so that we can make better time.  Byron and his company are gaining ground on us as we speak.  We have only a couple of days before they catch up with us.  Do you understand?"  Roak moved away without a word, and began conferring with a pair of Shadowbeasts among the rank and file.  The two of them disappeared into the shadows of an overpass, and did not emerge on the other side of the overpass.  Vandross smiled to himself, and when Vilec Roak returned to his side, said, "Thank you very much General, for your help.  Remind me to give those two promotions when they return."

            "My lord, I told them to not only to find the best path, but to try to locate the Orb of Eden’s Serpent as well.  If it can be detected, they will find it.  Also, I have warned them to be wary of Dragons, and report back immediately if they spy any in their lairs, my lord."

            "Very good, General," Vandross said, folding his hands behind his back.  "By the way, what sort of Dragons live in these mountains?  If you know offhand, that is."  Vilec Roak rubbed his chin a moment in concentration, then held up a finger in revelation.

            "I do recall, my lord, for I have been here on a few occasions.  For the most part, Red Dragons, White Dragons, and Black Dragons, my lord.  White Dragons are not a major threat, sire, for they are the weakest of the chromatic-type Wyrms.  Red Dragons I do not deem much of a threat either, my lord, for their views of the world are much like your own.  One might even be persuaded to aid us in our efforts," Roak said with a hint of glee.  "But Black Dragons, my lord, are another matter entirely."

            "How so," Vandross asked, raising an eyebrow at his General.  Roak took on a speculative stance once more, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched for the right words.

            "Well, my lord, they are physically mighty, and magically adept in many areas.  They are cunning, and greedy beyond measure.  They find all life forms other than Dragons and Draconus, you know, Dragonmen, to be beneath them.  They even disdain Lizardmen, who are not unlike them in many ways.  And, my lord, Black Dragons covet one thing above all else."

            "And what is that, General?"

            "Power, my lord.  If a Black Dragon has the Orb of Eden’s Serpent, even if it somehow doesn't know about it at first, it will find a way to put it to use.  We know that Monks took the Orb in a cask of some sort, an object that makes it undecipherable.  But Dragons are large, and not exactly known for their grace.  If the Monks took the Orb to a Black Dragon and left it with him, he might accidentally knock the cask open, and discover the Orb for himself."

            "And absorb it," Vandross said bitterly.  "No matter.  I doubt that any Monk would be brave enough or foolish enough to try to secret something away in a Black Dragon's lair, much less any Dragon for that matter.  We will find the Orb of Eden’s Serpent for ourselves, Roak, I have no doubt of that.  We simply need to find any unoccupied caves or secret lairs that might be among these mountains.  Besides," he said, feeling a slight pulse from within his body; the other Orbs were reacting to something nearby.  "I don't think those Monks' efforts will work.  I believe I can feel the Orb.  It is somewhere nearby, within perhaps another day's distance.  We will find it, and I shall have it," he said, almost to himself.  Roak saluted and fell back into line with his ranks, and Vandross continued to walk alone alongside the elements and ranks. 

            The rest of the day seemed to drag for him in a sequence of non-events.  The unit stopped briefly for a meal near evening, and Vandross called a halt to their progress when a section of a narrow pass collapsed, taking several of Talus Cur's magic users with it.  The fall, when he peered over the edge of the crumbled path, was about three or four hundred yards long.  He could just make out four or five limp forms on the hard packed ground below, and marked them off mentally as necessary casualties.  Ah well, he thought.  At least it wasn't anyone important.  But the collapse of that passage meant they would have to find another way around, and he didn't want any delays.  Before he could turn to call on Vilec Roak, two Shadowbeasts, the ones that Roak had dispatched earlier in the day, stood before him, saluting. 

            "Report," he snapped at them. 

            "My lord," began the one on the left, bearing the stripes of a Sergeant.  The other, though larger and more brutish, was only a Corporal.  Ah, discipline, Vandross thought.  Good to see something's working around here.  "We have found a series of pathways that will take us to the same place as that passage.  And, we believe we may have found where the Orb is," he said with a wicked grin. 

            "Really," Vandross said with an equally vicious smile. 

            "Indeed, my lord.  There is another small village, just to the west of here about half a day's travel.  It is a Monk village, from the appearance and activities of the inhabitants."  Of course, Vandross thought.  Why would the Monks risk leaving something like the Orb of Eden’s Serpent with a Dragon, when they could simply move it among their own kinsmen? 

            "Gentlemen, give your findings to the General, and have him lead the unit to those pathways!  We do not rest until we are a few hours away from that village.  I want all of the men to be well fed and rested, prepared to storm that village and take the Orb!  Men," he yelled, addressing everyone in his force.  "We needn't bother about with Dwarves and Dragons!  These scouts have found the Orb's location for certain!  We march onward now, to victory, and glory!"  A resounding war cry issued from the unit as a whole, and weapons and armor clanged with anticipation.  "How many are there in the village," he whispered to the Sergeant.

            "Nearly eight hundred, sire," the Shadowbeast replied. 

            "Ladies and gentlemen," Vandross bellowed again, addressing the unit once more.  "There are eight hundred Monks and warriors in the village we head to!  Blood shall be yours to spill, and lives yours to rampage over!  In the name of your leader, I, Richard Vandross, I charge you to destroy all those who oppose us with extreme prejudice!"  Another roar of bloodlust escaped the gathered warriors and mages, and Vandross felt a warm glow moving through him, a serpent of joy slithering its way up his spine and into his insides.  It was a grand feeling, indeed.  "We march!  Now!"  With Vilec Roak in the lead, and Vandross staying on the side as usual, the expeditionary force moved with renewed vigor and determination, each member of the unit thirsty for the taste of real battle.  Monks would be able to provide them with just enough of a challenge to make their efforts worthwhile, as far as they would be concerned.  And to think, Vandross mused, we had a complex strategy prepared and everything.  It was nice to know that for once, things were simpler than he had planned on them being.

            Meanwhile, in a cave just a short way away from the four fallen mages, a Black Dragon chose to ignore the strange container the Humans had left with it...

            Shoryu sniffed at the air, his lupine snout twitching as he took in the surrounding scents.  Vandross's smell wasn't one he'd soon forget, and when the company followed his nose over the crest of a slanted passageway, they looked down into what looked like a ghost town.  Morek Rockmight drew breath between his teeth in a harsh rasp of either fury or disgust.  "The warlock was here, but there has been no battle.  I smell little blood here, other than that of a few animals," Shoryu reported, returning to the company.  Morek punched a nice sized stone, shattering it on impact; the rest of the company took a step or two back out of caution.

            "He must have tricked the Dwarves who lived here!  More black magic and witchcraft, more trickery!  I tell you Byron," growled Morek through grated teeth.  "You may want him to yourself, and that is fine, but I want one shot at him!  One glorious uppercut," he rumbled, mostly to himself this time.  Shoryu stayed ahead of the company, and lead them down into the village.  Byron looked around at the squat buildings, each hewn of either sturdy redwood trees or stone, each with a distinctive look.  None of these homes was exactly like another, and the overall atmosphere was quaint and homey.  Judging from the bodies of a few guards, Shoryu had guessed correctly, for they were the only bodies, and they numbered less than one dozen men.  The struggle here hadn't been large, and there was nothing to indicate that Vandross had suffered any casualties among his ranks. 

            "Byron," Shoryu said, sniffing the air and the ground.  "I believe we are losing ground on him.  And I estimate from the tracks that he leads about one hundred men or so.  There are some women among the ranks as well," he said, his nose twitching again.  "Shall we investigate?"  Byron thought hard on this point; he wanted to ensure that no one had been left behind, Dwarf or otherwise, but checking the village would only waste more valuable time for them.  A moment later, he shook his head.

            "No, Shoryu, we shan't.  We already have enough to deal with.  How far away from them do you estimate we are?"

            "Well, good Byron," the Cuyotai Hunter said, testing the air once again.  "We had gained a full day on them, and were perhaps eighteen hours behind.  Now, we are a full day behind again.  If we continue at our previous pace, we may catch them before they enter Dragon territory."

            "Too late fer that," Morek stated flatly.  "This is the border village.  We passed by all of the other Dwarven cities by coming along these routes.  I didn't make any corrections to our course because I didn't fink that we'd need to stop anyplace.  I figured we might catch him here, fighting with the townspeople.  Looks like I was wrong."  Byron tried to cycle through their options, and decided finally that following directly behind Vandross's force might not be such a good idea.

            "Shoryu, take the lead once again, but parallel Vandross and his men.  I'd rather not run the risk of confronting them whilst they're on the move.  I want to dictate the pace and location of our meetings from here on, not him.  Everyone, come on," he said, trying to sound upbeat, but knowing that he had failed.  "We'll have our query yet."  The young Cuyotai Hunter gave his new bride a quick kiss, and ranged ahead of the group, finally reaching the edge of Byron's vision.  As the company left the village, they were led by Shoryu into a series of pathways so narrow they were forced to march single file, with Byron in the front, and James Hayes serving as the rear guard.  In this fashion they traveled for ten hours straight, without so much as a stop for food or water.  Though Byron didn't know it, another Monk village was about to fall under attack at that moment. 

            "Byron, come here," Shoryu called back at him as the passage opened into a field of snow on a flat cliff top.  Across from him, Shoryu stood on a path that skirted the rim of a mountain, and it didn't appear trustworthy.  He stomped through the ankle-deep snow until he reached the Cuyotai, and raised a proverbial eyebrow.  "Look," Shoryu said, pointing to a point about a dozen yards ahead.  The path had fallen away from the mountain, effectively barring passage around the mountain.  Byron had seen another path open from the field behind him, a path trampled flat from scores of feet; they had gained ground on Vandross once again, but he didn't like the idea that they would be forced to come right up on the one-eyed warlock.  Shoryu, curious as ever, crept slowly to the edge of the drop off, and nearly fell back when he looked down.  "Byron!  Bodies!  Four of them!"  Now the entire company came rushing over to the Cuyotai, being cautious not to make the same mistake as the four Illeck mages who lie dead three hundred yards below them.  "And Byron, that isn't all," Shoryu said with a broad grin.

            "What do you mean," Byron asked.

            "I think I know," James Hayes said with a hushed voice.  He too, was smiling from ear to ear.  "Byron, I believe I can sense what young Shoryu smells down there!  A Black Dragon, Byron!  Just like master Wong told us!"  Byron did a double take, and peered down the drop to the surface below.  It did look like there was a cave mouth down there, now that he looked at it harder.  And as he looked on, he reached out with his mystic feelers, probing into the shadows of the cave he mentally viewed through his magic.  There, inside, slumbered a hulking, black-scaled Wyrm, smoke steaming from its gigantic nostrils.  And last but not least, there, near its hindquarters, sat a cask, its lid sealed tight.  The exact same sort of cask the Monks had used. 

            They had found the last Orb of Eden’s Serpent.

            Richard Vandross had marched for almost ten more hours, when the unit was called to a halt by their leader.  The Shadowbeast scout had given Vandross the head's up that they were within forty minutes of the Monk village they sought, and the one-eyed warlock could hardly contain himself.  He would finally have what he had come so far for!  And without encountering Byron and his ilk.  Something had happened, almost at the same time they had decided to go to the Monk village, and the Dread Knight had ceased to follow.  Perhaps they had been unfortunate enough to encounter a Dragon?  Indeed, if a Dragon had attacked them, they would likely defeat it; not, however, without suffering injuries and delays.  They would have to take the time to set up a camp and lick their wounds, time enough for Vandross to claim the Orb of Eden’s Serpent, and take himself and his unit back to Mount Toane without so much as a sighting of the Dread Knight. 

            His ranking officers, Lieutenant Amon, Major Tamriel, Talus Cur, Colonel Molis and General Vilec Roak all approached as he had requested, and snapped off a salute to their leader.  He actually returned it in style this time, his optimism for the situation glimmering in his good eye.  "Gentlemen, I called you all here for a very good reason!  The time is nearly upon us, when I shall receive the power of the fifth and final Orb of Eden’s Serpent, completing the chain of artifacts within my body.  When this is done, I shall have the power of the Glorious Mother of Destruction, and shall become a one-man army of my own!  And all shall be made to grovel in terror at my feet," he said, his tone of voice shifting into the dual harmony of possession.  "When the time comes, and we return to Mount Toane, you shall each be given a reward for your loyalty, and command over new regiments!  And you shall each be assigned to take control of a region of the land, and keep it in my name!  The weak shall be tossed to the wayside as slaves and food for my beasts!  The ignorant masses shall weep as they see me approach!  And I shall revel in their despair," he shouted, throwing his head back and cackling like a hyena, half-crazed with power and the promise of what was to be his so shortly.

            Vilec Roak stepped forward, and caught Vandross's attention.  "My lord, the men must rest, though they pretend they do not need it.  Their thirst for blood must be slaked, but I fear that if they charge in now, they may not perform up to par.  A good number of them may perish in the process."  Vandross nodded.  Though he didn't personally give a damn about any of the lives of his men, he did care about their numbers.  He would have to return through the mountains until he found a clearing of some sort to open a rift to teleport through.  If they were attacked in the interim, he might still be too fatigued from unlocking the Glorious Mother of Destruction to defend himself.  He needed as few fatalities on his own side of the battle as he could manage. 

            "Issue the order, General.  Every soldier is to take food and rest.  Have Talus Cur help them get to sleep with a spell or two from his men.  We've already lost four to the mountains themselves, through their own folly.  Had they not ranged ahead of us, one of the Gaiamancers might have detected the weakness in the path," he said, rubbing his goatee thoughtfully.  "Get it done."

            "Yes, my lord," the Shadowbeast General said with a salute before he moved off.  Vandross set up his own bedroll and curled into it, a smile plastered onto his face as he lay down to catch a few hours' sleep.  When he awoke two hours later, he felt refreshed and ready for anything, rolling up his bedroll and putting it back in his rucksack.  He summoned his officers to him, and was immediately troubled when Colonel Molis didn't respond.  Everyone else, including Sergeant Robin, the Human Beastmaster, had answered his call, each of them looking groggy but better off with the little sleep they'd gotten than before. 

            "Have any of you seen the Colonel," he asked a tad more harshly than he had intended.  He was afraid now that the Colonel might be doing something foolish, like going into the village on his own to take the Orb for himself.  He may have been a half-demon, but he still had a demon's blood, and a demon's ambition.   He might try to claim the Orb for himself, and Vandross wasn't sure if his hold over Molis would remain if that happened.  Nor was he certain that if he lost control, he’d have such a large advantage over Molis anymore.  Probably not much advantage at all, now that he thought about it.  Without the Orbs he already had, surely the Colonel could have laid waste to him; one Orb in the half-breed might make him a thousand times more dangerous. 

            "I am afraid not, my lord," Roak said with a stiff salute.  "I also noticed he was missing, about twenty minutes ago, when I first awoke.  I cannot sense him without great effort in the best of cases, but now, it is as though he never existed, my lord!  I cannot find him with my magic, and no one else has had any luck.  However, I am certain it is not important that he be here now, my lord.  If he returns too late to partake of this meeting, I can relate any information he might need personally."  Vandross harrumphed and went on to lay out an attack plan with his officers, all the while wondering what his enigmatic Colonel was doing.  Perhaps something had called him back to Mount Toane?  It seemed entirely possible that the half-demon would drop everything to go back to his place of origin.  Some demons were territorial like that, and he wouldn't be surprised to find out that his domain had been attacked in his absence.  As a point of fact, he thought, he would feel better if that were the case.  At least then he wouldn't be so worried about the Colonel's loyalty and intentions.  With a brief shake of his head, he brushed the thought aside. 

            He did not know that the Colonel was closer to Byron of Sidius than to him or Mount Toane.

            It had taken a while, but James Hayes had successfully lashed several of their lengths of climbing rope together, and had volunteered to be the first to attempt the climb down to the cave entrance below.  As Byron anchored the rope by tying it around his waist, the Human Paladin made a slow, steady descent, reaching the end of the rope after about ten minutes.  He gave a thumb's up to the others above him, and waited patiently as each of the members of the company from Whitewood descended in the same manner.  Lastly, Byron secured the rope to rock outcropping as best he could, and risked the climb himself.  He had about fifty feet left to go when he felt a strange tug on the rope.  Probably an animal had decided to investigate the rope, a mountain goat or lion, he thought grimly as he jumped off of the rope, landing awkwardly and falling on his face.  Shoryu and Ellen had nearly been bowled over when Byron fell forward, but helped him to his feet as he looked up.  There was no sign of anyone being there, but the rope suddenly dropped down in a piled coil to them.  James inspected the other end, and shook his head.

            "Good thing you jumped, Byron.  Looks like it pulled out from the rock," he said, showing the frayed loop to the Dread Knight.  At least it hadn't been foul play, Byron thought with a sigh.  "Question now is, how do we get back up without the rope?"

            "I think I can be of some assistance there," said an unfamiliar voice from the entrance to the cave.  The company whipped their heads around to see a man in full silver plate armor stalking toward them.  His features seemed obscured, and Hayes made the sign of Oun before him; a demon.

            "Who are you," Shoryu asked, leveling an arrow on the chest plate of the creature before them.  "I smell Human blood in you, and something else, something sinister!  Give us your name!"  Byron looked closely at the metal collar around the man's neck.  On his left side, there was a small golden eagle connected to the collar.  A Colonel, probably in Vandross's army.

            "My name is Colonel Molis," said the half-demon in a calm, level tone.  "Byron Aixler, tell this boy to lower his weapon, lest I be forced to make him lower it," the half-demon said, his voice militant and filled with potential violence.  Byron side stepped next to Shoryu, and lowered his weapon.  Shoryu kept the arrow notched, in case he had to open fire.  Byron then did a double take, looking at the man in a new light; he had used his proper name!  Did he know this man, this demon?  "I am a half-demon, in the employ of Richard Vandross the warlock.  You all have good reason to abhor me, but please, trust me for now.  I mean you no harm," he said, removing his broadsword and laying it on the snow covered ground.  The half-demon even kicked it over to James Hayes, who hesitated before picking up the weapon.  

            "Why should we trust him, Byron," Shoryu whispered to the Dread Knight, who held a hand up to silence the Cuyotai. 

            "Go stand with your wife, Shoryu," the undead warrior whispered back.  To Molis, he said, "The Hunter raises a good question!  Why should we trust you?"

            "I, like you, was once Human, mortal, Byron Aixler," Molis said, once more referring to Byron by his mortal name.  "I stand by the one-eyed madman for reasons of my own, which I feel no need to reveal to you at this time.  But please, know this; I have taken a great risk by coming here to help you.  Surely Vandross has realized I am not with him by now.  He and his forces march on a Monk village farther north and west of here, thinking the Orb of Eden’s Serpent to be there.  But I know differently.  And I knew you would find it.  I also knew that you would need my help."  Colonel Molis took one step forward, his hands open and out at his sides.  "What say you?"  Byron thought long and hard on his choices.  Had this half-breed been under his command once, perhaps when he was a Paladin in the Order of Oun?  It was possible, for he sensed that the Colonel was telling the truth about his former status as a Human.  He detected no deceit there.  But this might be another one of Vandross's traps.  He didn't want to run that risk. 

            "Shoryu, Ellen, come here," he said, calling the married couple over to him.  As they looked into his eyes, he could see that they were anxious to be of some help in this situation, and to share the duty.  "Stay out here with him, keep an eye out for anything suspicious.  If you have to, kill him.  I shall take Selena, Morek and James inside to retrieve the Orb.  With any luck, we won't have to deal with the Dragon directly, for he now rests.  Alex, go inside quickly and check to make certain," he said to the Ki Fairy as he fluttered around the Dread Knight's skull.  Without a word, Alex flew out of sight.  "Remember, take no action lest you must.  If this creature truly means to aid us, it will be invaluable assistance.  Do you understand?"

            "Indeed, we do lord Byron," Ellen said.  Now there was a title he hadn't heard for some time from an Elf, he thought with a smile.  "We will not fail you!  Come, husband," she said, taking the Cuyotai's hand and walking over to Molis. 

            "Morek, Selena, James, let's get ready," he said, checking the Morning Glory.  As he drew the blade, he snuck a look at the half-demon out of the corner of his eye, but the man hadn't even flinched at the sight of the blade.  The Shadowbeasts in Vandross's employ generally had some negative reaction to the weapon, but the Colonel had sat down and engaged himself in conversation with the Cuyotai Hunter and Elven Gaiamancer. 

            "Byron," James Hayes said as he returned his weapon to its scabbard, approaching the company's leader slowly, looking over his shoulder at the half-demon.  "I do not like this.  I sense great demonic power in him, but no malice.  And he seems to know you somehow.  Will Shoryu and Ellen be enough should he prove hostile?"  Byron nodded, confident in Shoryu and Ellen's powers and skills.  They had surely faced greater threats over the course of their service with the Dread Knight.  "Alex returns," James Hayes reported as the Ki Fairy joined them.

            "Byron, the Dragon sleeps lightly.  The slightest noise will rouse him, so I suggest we tone our volume down to a dull roar out here," Alex squeaked.  "The cask the Monks described is near the tip of his tail, and though you might not know this, Black Dragons have a second set of nostrils on their barbed tails.  He will surely smell you or the Dwarf," he said, dodging a swatting hand from the Boxer.  "But Selena and James are freshly bathed and carry no natural reek of their own, like your flesh rot odor or the, well, whatever of master Morek here," he said, evading the angered Dwarf's grasp once again.  "Hey, at least we don't have any Jafts in our group," he complained as Morek took another swat at him, missing by mere inches. 

            "Keep movin', you smarmy little barstard," Morek said around a mouthful of dried meat from his supplies.  "It's good practice fer me!"  Alex darted over to Selena's shoulder, and the Pyromancer raised an eyebrow at Morek as the stout Boxer stamped up to her.  His eyes barely reached her ample chest.  He gave her an awkward smile, and turned away, grumbling under his breath.  "Shall we get this over with," he snapped at Byron and James, who shared a broad smile at his expense.  Walking slowly, cautious and aware of their own noise, the four companions, five including Alex, crept into the Dragon's lair.  They were not privy to Molis's conversation with the Cuyotai and Elf woman.

            "So, you two are recently wed," the half-demon asked with an ease to his tone that made Shoryu instinctively relax a little.  He gazed into Ellen's eyes for a moment, and turned his attention back to the Colonel.

            "Indeed.  We met in Whitewood, while defending it from your master," he said, trying to sound annoyed.  Molis put up a hand reflexively, stopping Shoryu in his tracks.

            "No man is my master, Shoryu," he said, his tone still soft and reassuring.  "I serve him as a means to an end, and nothing more.  I tried to manage the casualties of that battle as best I could, but lord Vandross had an entire army there, you understand.  It is difficult even as a man of my rank to control everything.  I was not serving him when your village was attacked, but I have heard much of it.  I understand why you both may feel a grudge toward me, but do not.  Grudges are foolish," he said, taking a water skin from his rucksack.  Shoryu peered into his open helmet, but saw only shadows and yellow, glimmering eyes like Byron's.  There were no distinct facial features there, probably as a result of his demonic nature. 

            "So, why are you doing this," Ellen asked, hesitantly.  "Helping us, I mean.  You've no reason to, when I think about it."

            "You do not know Vandross's plans," Molis said after taking a swig of water.  "He cannot be allowed to have all of the Orbs.  They already cause a great madness in him, and will do more damage still to his fragile mind if he is allowed to possess them all.  Have you heard of the Glorious Mother of Destruction?"  The couple looked at each other questioningly, then shook their heads.  Molis leaned back against the mountain wall, and removed his helmet, setting it on the ground.  Wisps of darkness writhed like snakes around his darkened head, and he scratched the back of his neck with his free hand.  "It is a spirit creature, only capable of coming into being by the spirits within the Orbs.  When all five are joined, they can perform a ritual within their owner's very soul, awakening the spirit.  She is a volatile being, whose strength resides in the Orbs' manifestations.  It has a single purpose; destroying all life around it, and absorbing the souls of those slain."

            "Their very souls," gasped Ellen, her hand over her mouth.  "Is such a thing even possible?"

            "Oh yes, it is dear lady," Molis replied, offering Shoryu his water skin.  Shoryu decided to give Molis a show of trust, and accepted.  "Don't worry, it isn't poisonous or anything.  Vandross's intention is not to destroy the lives of the peoples of Tamalaria, however.  He wants to feed on their fear for all time, using the Eternal Rest to prolong his life, that he may rise again in centuries from now and repeat this terrible war.  He is a tyrant of the worst sort, and with the Glorious Mother of Destruction, he will be able to spread fear and madness everywhere he goes.  His dream can come to fruition if he has all of the Orbs."

            "So without all of the Orbs, he can't raise this spirit," Shoryu asked with a hopeful grin.

            "Actually, yes, he can," Molis said flatly, and Shoryu's face fell.  "But don't be fooled; the spirit's power would be a great deal less, and using the power would deplete Vandross's reserves entirely.  He would be left defenseless for a short time, which could then be used to your advantage.  He can be easily defeated in such a state."  Shoryu gave Molis a concerned look, a question hanging on his lips.  He finally mustered the courage after a few minutes of silence to ask it.

            "Why exactly are you doing this?  As a half-demon, do you not seek similar goals to those of the Shadowbeasts and other creatures of the Hells under Vandross's command?"  Molis laughed harshly, the sound of it scraping Shoryu's nerves raw.  Streams of darkness shot from Molis as he chuckled, despite the joke being lost on his two current companions. 

            "Not all demons are made the same, young one," he rasped, putting his helmet back on and standing to his feet.  “I do as I do for reasons that are my own, as I have said.  But to ease your troubled mind some, I will tell you this much; it is basically for revenge purposes.  It is because of Richard Vandross that I am the way I am now.  Otherwise, I would be a Human of upper middle age right now, possibly enjoying the company of my grandchildren.  He has taken that from me, and I intend to make certain that he rues his actions.  Now, let us make ready, for I can sense that there is soon to be trouble."

            Byron had let James Hayes and Selena Bradford range about five paces ahead of him and Morek.  The group moved forward in a loose semi-circle, their eyes constantly adjusting to the surroundings, preparing for the worst to occur at any moment.  One hundred yards away, a huge, black-scaled Wyrm, or Dragon, slumbered fitfully, its front claws twitching every so often.  Its hulking upper body heaved up and down as it breathed deeply of the air, and its eyes moved rapidly beneath its scaled eyelids.  The Black Dragon stretched about twenty feet from snout to tail base, with a whip-like, spiked tail that was nearly twelve feet long on its own.  This prehensile tail, however, was curled now against its side, almost gracing the Dragon with the appearance of a large cat, not a creature capable of destroying entire cities or villages on its own.

            The group took small, hesitant steps forward, only moving about a yard every minute or so, trying to watch their step.  Heaps of gold and silver pieces lined the floor of the cave, and if they made any sound, they were sure to rouse the Dragon from its slumber, a prospect none of them liked.  With his hand on the hilt of the Morning Glory, Byron gazed about the chamber and marveled at the horde of treasures and items the Dragon had plundered.  He could detect traces of magical enchantment on some of the weapons and armors, as well as a few shields that lay tossed about in disarray.  Black Dragons, he had read, weren't big on presentation or appearances, as pertained to their personal horde.  Blue Dragons, on the other hand, typically metamorphed themselves into large humanoid forms in order to give their lairs a sense of order and cleanliness.  Then again, Blue Dragons didn't plunder townships; they weren't aggressive like their Black Dragon cousins.  They only took from those foolish enough to insult or attack them for their treasure or scaled hides. 

            The four of them, Byron, Morek, Selena, and James Hayes had nearly reached the cask, when it happened; Morek hadn't seen the perfectly round gold piece, standing on its edge, and he kicked it as he stepped forward.  The coin rolled for a few moments, each of them locked on it with a sense of dread.  Finally, it connected silently with the Dragon's left front leg, and its eyes immediately fluttered open.  Yawning, the Dragon heaved up and stretched its legs and back, its eyes blinking rapidly to clear its vision.  It didn't seem in any rush to identify the source of its awakening.  For all the group knew, small animals from the mountains might come in all the time.  But as the Black Dragon looked lazily at them, its mild interest turned immediately to puerile rage.  Leaping back and to their left, the Black Dragon cornered itself, squaring off with the company.

            "Who dares," the Black Dragon bellowed, the cavern vibrating with the echo of its voice.  Byron heard rushing footsteps, and looked over to see Molis, Shoryu and Ellen charging toward them.  Had they known something was going to happen?  They were already only a score of yards away, which meant they had to have entered about five minutes ago.  Most likely, he mused silently, the half-demon sensed this would happen.  "Name yourselves, that I might know my next meal!"

            "I am Byron, great Wyrm," the Dread Knight bellowed back, drawing the Morning Glory from its sheath, its length pouring holy light into the cavern, flooding every shadow with illumination and warmth.  "With me are Selena Bradford, James Hayes, Morek Rockmight, Shoryu and Ellen Tearfang, and Molis!  You have something that does not belong to you, and we intend to take it with us!  The Monks left it here knowing it would be guarded from the wrong hands, and we must take it, that it may be destroyed!"  The huge, reptilian beast smiled wickedly at Byron, and laughed derisively. 

            "And I suppose you think yours are the right hands, Dread Knight," the Black Dragon rasped at him.  "Tell me what this object is, and if I have no use for it, you might be able to take it from me!  Provided you play my game, and play it rightly!  Do you want to hear the rules?"  Byron looked around to the others, taking special notice of the subtle signs and shapes that Colonel Molis was weaving at his sides.  Clearly, the half-demon had decided that no matter how many games were played, the Black Dragon was going to want to play the only game that mattered to such creatures; the same game cats played with mice before eating them. 

            "Mine are not the right hands to own the object, Dragon," Byron shouted, so that his voice reverberated off of the cave walls.  "But I do not intend to use the object!  I intend to destroy it!  As for games, certainly," he said, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of mock friendliness.  "Explain your rules, beast!  I would enjoy a little challenge from an intelligent foe!  Provided you have a brain sized to match that thick skull of yours!"  The Dragon grimaced and growled deep in its chest. 

            "You certainly know how to raise my ire, Dread Knight!  Very well, Byron!  Gaze about my cavern, and take it all in!  Have a good look," the Dragon asked, smiling toothily.  "Very good!  A series of riddles, my tiny, bony friend!  'I am what men and women of greed seek, though I am also owned by the poor and meek!'  What am I?"

            "Simple," said Byron.  "You are gold!"

            "Very good," the Dragon bellowed.  "You have made a simple question quickly!  Now, to make things a tad more, interesting," the Dragon mused, still grinning.  "Next riddle.  'Though I have eyes, I cannot see.  The world around me continues on, while I remain as I am!  Through all seasons, whether winter or summer, I feel no heat, though once I did.'  What is it, Dread Knight?"  Byron scanned the cave's confines once more, searching for some sign of what the Black Dragon spoke of. 

            "A question, Dragon.  Must I be the one to answer?"

            "No," boomed the Dragon, smiling once again.  "If one of your companions is foolish enough to test their mental mettle against me, they may try!  Though, I must be frank with you, Dread Knight, they are not as uniquely qualified to answer this riddle," the Dragon said with a chuckle.  Shoryu stepped forward, his bow still in hand with an arrow notched and ready. 

            "A skull," he said, bearing his teeth at the Black Dragon.  "That is the answer," Shoryu said, and Byron whipped his head over to the left, seeing a vacant skull laying amid the charred remains of adventurers who had come before.  Most of them, curiously, were Dwarven.  Hadn't there been a truce between the stoic mountain people and the great Wyrms?  Apparently, that truce ended at the entrance of a Dragon's lair.  Yet, none of the Dwarven remains appeared to have armor, or weapons; all of the suits of armor and weaponry were sized for Humans and other taller Races.  Had this Black Dragon been praying on defenseless Dwarves?  Byron mentally logged this bit of information away. 

            "Very good guess, Cuyotai, and correct," the Wyrm boomed, his smile fading fast.  "Only a couple more riddles, little ones, and the object in question is yours!  Now, the third riddle.  'I am beaten, burned, and stabbed, yet feel no pain.  I am as necessary to war, as I am to peace.  I am a body, without a body.'  What am I?"

            "Armor," said James Hayes without thinking.  It was almost an automatic response, for his seniors in the Order had used a similar set of riddles to test his knowledge of warfare before graduating to the ranks of an officer. 

            "Once again, you are correct, little creatures!  And now, for the final question, one that shall give both you and I something we want!  You seek to have the object within that cask, and I do not know what it is!"  Byron felt a chill run up the length of his spine; if the Dragon found out what was within the cask, he was likely to set aside his rules and traditions in order to claim the Orb for himself!  "The last question is this!  'I am inside the cask thou so seeks!'  What is it?"  Somehow, Byron wasn't surprised by the question, though it was no riddle at all.  Then again, the Dragon had used the question in the form of a riddle, and so hadn't broken its own rules.  Dragons as a whole tended to adhere to their own rules and customs very carefully, as a breach of their laws would sever them from the rest of their collective species; a Dragon who broke rules or oaths, was branded a traitor to all Dragonkind.  If another Dragon, regardless of their specific Race, came across such an outcast, they would be allowed to attack without provocation, and the death of a traitor meant nothing. 

            "I shall answer this question, but you shall have to answer one in return," Byron called out.  The great Wyrm turned about, and squared its body to the Dread Knight, obviously offended. 

            "It doesn't work that way, little man," it boomed, turning its head slightly to bear its teeth at Shoryu, who hadn't closed his lips yet.  After a moment's hesitation, the Cuyotai backed down, his anger put quickly in his back pocket.  "You will answer the riddle now, or be destroyed!  You can't have the object if you're dead, after all!  Answer, and you have my word that no harm shall come to you!"

            "The object is an Orb of Eden’s Serpent," Byron snapped, the blade of the Morning Glory blazing brightly.  The Black Dragon's eyes went wide, and it tore the cask open, dumping the Orb onto a pile of gold.  Its breath came in heavy gasps as it marveled at the artifact of darkness, a thin line of drool escaping its lips. 

            "Marvelous," it said, crouching low to take it in its claw.

            "Halt," Byron shouted, brandishing the Morning Glory at the Wyrm.  "You said that we would have the object when we completed your little game!"
            "Wrong, little Dread Knight!  My words, exactly, were that you could have it if it were of no use to me!  I owe you nothing, for I fully intend to make use of this artifact!  I know of its power and uses, and to destroy it is not only almost impossible, but a waste of such glorious power!"  The Black Dragon attempted to pick the Orb up, but Shoryu launched a volley of four arrows, rapid fire, into the Dragon's claws.  The Wyrm howled in pain as the magic projectiles exploded on contact, ripping half of its front right claw off.  "I gave you my word no harm would come to you!  And you assault me?!"  Byron stalked forward, now only twenty or so yards away now from the Dragon's face.

            "We gave no word that we would not harm you, Dragon!  And we already know that your word is worth less than a pound of dog shit!  Those corpses," he yelled, pointing to the Dwarven cadavers.  "They wear no armor, bear no weapons, only torn and singed clothes and beards!  Do you not have a truce with the Dwarves of these mountains?  What happened to your word then?!  What of it?!"  The Black Dragon looked at the corpses worriedly, and then back at its ruined claw.  It looked to Byron, mouth agape, stuttering.

            "I, I, I can explain that!  They, they came into my lair, without warning or welcome!"

            "That's horse shit," Morek exclaimed, brandishing his fists at the Black Dragon.  "Five years ago, the Black and Red Dragons joined the truce with the Dwarven territories!  We were sworn that there would be no exceptions, no breaches!  You have clearly broken the truce here, Dragon!  You know damn well what that means for you!"

            "No," the Dragon sputtered, his face falling into a panic, his voice laced with fear.  "You can't do that!  I told you, they came to me!"

            "Dwarves don't leave their cities without equipment," Ellen observed from behind her husband.  "Many do not even leave their homes without a weapon!"  The Dragon hung its head, and closed its eyes.  Deep in its chest, it began to growl and rumble. 

            "Traitor," Byron rasped, just loud enough for the word to echo throughout the cave.  He pointed a single, accusing finger at the Black Dragon.  "Traitor!  You are to be branded a traitor to all of your kind, Wyrm!  We shall bear you no more grudge," he said, sheathing the Morning Glory.  Molis gave him a look that seethed with frustration.  The half-demon had apparently expected some combat with the creature, and was dissatisfied that Byron would give up on the Orb of Eden’s Serpent so easily.

            "NO," shrieked the Dragon, lurching forward and blocking Byron off from the entrance and exit of the cave.  "I, I will give you the Orb!  Take it, and leave me be!  Speak no word of what you have seen here, and I shall forget you ever came!  Please!  If the others know of what I have done, they shall surely favor me with a punishment worse than death," the Black Dragon exclaimed with a grand sweep of its ruined claws.  "What say you, great Dread Knight?"  Byron smiled like a devil, and made a gesture back to James Hayes and Selena Bradford, who lifted the Orb and placed it back in the cask, covering it up and carrying the cask between them to Byron. 

            "Agreed.  You have our word, Dragon, which is apparently worth more than yours.  This man," he said, indicating Morek Rockmight.  "Is one of the leaders of Traithrock, and has easy access to your brethren for a meeting.  Take anymore of his people, and he shall reveal all that has been learned here today.  Do you understand?"  With a miserable look, the Dragon nodded, and moved out of their way.  "Excellent!  Let's go, folks.  We're done here."  Without another word, the company left the cave.  Once outside, Molis created a rift in the air, and the company stepped through, teleported to the entry path into the mountains.  Byron recognized the area from the remains of their campsite, and tried to manage a kinder smile for the half-demon than the one he had graced the Dragon with.  "We owe you a great deal for this, Colonel Molis.  I thank you for your aid."  The half-demon stepped forward and clasped Byron's hand unexpectedly. 

            "You owe me nothing, Byron Aixler," he said, his crimson eyes flaring for a moment, then turning into a shimmering blue.  "Just don't curse my eternal soul, or any other Paladin nonsense," the half-demon said with a chuckle before disappearing in a cloud of smoke.  Strange, Byron thought.  Someone said that to me once before.  Who? 

            "I know him," he muttered half to himself.  Morek nodded his head, trying to remember something similar he had heard a long time ago.

            "Well, you have met a number of folks like me who were with you at the Final Push," Morek said.  "Could be he reminds you of someone important."  As soon as Morek fell silent, Byron stood shock straight, fire dancing through his soul.  Of course, he thought, turning and facing Morek. 

            "He doesn't just remind me of someone, Morek!  He was someone!  A Knight, and a great leader of men!"

            "Who was he, then," Morek asked, folding his arms in suspicion. 

            "His name," Byron whispered, looking to the sky for answers that weren't there.  "Was Edgar Cesar."

            Poised high above the Monk village, Richard Vandross scanned the layout of the buildings as best he could, trying to mentally gauge which building would serve best to house the Orb of Eden’s Serpent.  One in particular kept catching his attention; a smallish building, squat, one story, and heavily guarded by fierce-looking martial arts masters.  Perhaps the Orb wasn't in there, but it was drawing his attention an awful lot.  "Roak," he whispered, waiting for his General to slither up next to him.  When at last he felt the demonic presence of the Shadowbeast, he put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.  "It could just be me being paranoid, but I suspect that there is something of value in that little hut there," he said, pointing out the guarded building.  Roak nodded, and squinted his eyes. 

            "Indeed, there is, my lord, but it is not the Orb of Eden’s Serpent.  The energy within that shack is not demonic, or of the same nature as the Orbs.  And the very fact that I can detect it tells us that it is not what we seek.  Remember, the Monks are capable of masking the Orb's power with their casks and containers.  Although," he hissed, morphing his body shape to resemble a large serpent.  "If you wish it, I can take a closer look quickly and see if it might be a nice bit of added treasure to our total."  Vandross shook his head to silence him, and gazed about some more.

            "No, when we go in, we go all in, Roak," he whispered, still searching for something out of place, out of the ordinary.  "If we have to, and I have a sneaking suspicion we will, we can raze the entire village, turn everything into ashes in the process.  If we see something, shiny," he said with a toothy smile, looking at Vilec Roak.  "We will, ah, procure it for our own.  Wait a minute," he said, spying a robed individual exiting a common looking home.  The person, man or woman, was carrying something large and heavy, heaving it directly across the street, where she was helped in by what appeared from the distance to be a Jaft, or some other taller Race.  They disappeared into the house after some words. 

            "My lord," a familiar voice rasped through the darkness.  Vandross swiveled on his knee to see Colonel Molis approaching, his eyes blazing brightly.  Was that anger, or anticipation in his eyes?  Vandross didn't want to hazard a guess just yet, and opted to wait with his eye and ears open, and his mouth shut.  "My apologies, my lord, but I felt it necessary to check on something.  I sensed that the Dread Knight was gaining on us, and had to create a, diversion, shall we call it."  Vandross smiled again, and relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief. 

            "Well done, Colonel," he whispered, motioning him to come to his left hand side, opposite Vilec Roak at his right.  "Roak and I are not certain where the Orb of Eden’s Serpent might lie within the village, Molis, and since I only have one good eye, I'd like you both to take a look.  I have to go utilize the facilities," he said, excusing himself to go around a rock outcropping to take a piss.  After drawing a yellow skull in the snow, he returned to the Colonel and General, and they had both been waiting for him.

            "We believe we've found its location, sire," said Roak, taking the lead.  "There is only one building with a storm cellar entrance.  Three Monks checked their surroundings before opening the doors to enter.  They were acting suspiciously, and between them carried a crate of some sort.  We are pretty certain at this point, my lord." 

            "The house is at the farthest point in the village from us, lord Vandross," Molis chimed in, saluting.  "We will have to get through the rest of the residents before we reach it."  Vandross almost laughed aloud at the tone of concern in Molis's voice. 

            "Excellent," he rasped, still trying to maintain the element of surprise.  "We shall storm down among them, and tear them asunder!  We shall leave no man, woman or child unscathed in our wake, gentlemen!  We shall tear their souls apart!  We shall bathe in their blood, and take rapture in their agony!  No more waiting, no more plotting!  The time is ours," he yelled, and gave the signal to charge.  With a roar, the entirety of Vandross's unit stampeded down the slope into the valley with the Monk village.  The first wave of marauders crashed into the guards closest to them, mowing them down in a splash of crimson, liquid fury as Khan claws tore through Human, Elven and Jaft flesh.  Shouts of terror and shock rose up through the rest of the village, as various Monks, armed with a plethora of martial arts weaponry, charged from their homes and places of work with their own war cries. 

            Vandross himself leaped into the fray, his scimitar flashing and dancing in the moonlight, the blade soaked through with blood in only a few minutes.  After a few minutes of physical combat, he took a hard hit to his left ribs as a Jaft Monk, garbed in a black karate uniform, swung a stone war hammer into his side.  As Vandross skidded to a halt, he leaped at the Jaft, who deftly dodged and blocked the stabs and slashes the warlock flung at him.  Damn it all, Vandross growled in his mind, this one is good!  The natural stench of the blue-skinned humanoid made his eyes water, and he saw that unlike many of the other Monks attacking his men from all sides, this one showed little or no emotion.  And he wore a blue tiger patch on his left shoulder; apparently, this man was a grandmaster or other important person in this Monk order. 

            Vandross stopped trying to wound the Jaft, and began playing a game of stand-off, making each blow and each block a draw on purpose.  But the Jaft didn't get flustered, or try to press any advantage.  He played the game right back.  All right, Vandross thought, let's see him deal with this!  He took a leap back, near to an ongoing battle between Lieutenant Amon and a lithe Elven woman, and launched a streak of lightning at the Jaft.  If I can't beat him down, I'll fry him, he thought.  But he watched the world around him slow to a stand-still, and the Jaft's right hand left the handle of his weapon, sweeping in an upward arch.  As his outstretched fingers pointed directly in front of him, he repelled the streak of magical lightning, deflecting it harmlessly into the sky with a crack of thunder. 

            "What in the Hells," Vandross whispered as the Jaft lowered the head of his weapon to the ground, muttering and chanting as he spun his hands in a circle in front of him.  Chi magic?  The Jaft Monk was obviously preparing to return the favor of Vandross's spell, and the warlock tried to think; he could easily defend against a chi spell, but he didn't want to dilly dally with this martial artist.  Already the Jaft had proven a worthy opponent, and Vandross didn't want to call on the vast powers at his disposal from the Orbs.  It would surely drain him, and he needed his strength if he was going to take in the last Orb and try to unleash the power of the Glorious Mother of Destruction.  Improvise, improvise Richard, he thought.  And then, he had it.  Of course!  He looked up to a high point in the sky above, focusing on it for just a moment, calculating.  As the Jaft finished his chanting, Vandross lashed out with his free hand, and created a teleportation rift directly beneath the Jaft Monk.  As the Monk's eyes went wide, Vandross looked up, and saw him falling from hundreds of feet in the air.  As he finally landed, a sickening crunch of bones and splashing of blood from ruptured eye sockets and organs reported his death to Vandross, who cackled like a hyena. 

            All around him, his men and women crushed Monks underfoot, ripping limbs from bodies, tearing gaping holes in throats and chests, leaving only the harsh cries of agony and the thick, wet noise of bloody gurgles audible in the night air.  Vandross's vision blurred with a cloak of crimson rage, and he stalked like Death incarnate through the waves of bloodshed and battle all around him.  He randomly sent shock waves of energy ripping through the throngs of defenders where they seemed to have an advantage over his own men.  The few Monks brave enough to attack him head-on met dancing death as his blade cut them cleanly into thrashing, writhing chunks of meat.  It was as it had been in the Cuyotai village, in Koreindar, in Fort Flag.  All of those victories, and now what he had struck out to obtain was within only a hundred or so feet!  He stood before the storm cellar doors, and Vilec Roak and Colonel Molis now stood with him.  Each grabbed a door, and flung them open for their lord and master.  He descended into a dimly lit chamber, where three robed forms huddled together, shivering in fear. 

            "Roak," he rasped, and the Shadowbeast darted through the shadows, ripping each of the Monk's throats open, blood trailing behind him as he joined his master before the crate that lay before them.  Vandross savored the moment, and with a grandiose gesture, kicked the lid open.

            As he looked inside and found nothing, the warlock let out a scream of fury that could be heard across the whole of the land.