'Freedom or the Fire' Chapter Sixteen- Springing the Traps

As the morning sun spread its warm glow like a soft blanket across the realm, the company awoke to meet the new day.  Phazion Lurik was introduced swiftly to the members of Byron's party, and the tall Lizardman appeared to have regained a measure of his composure and stature.  Healed and fed, Byron saw that the wounds the man had suffered had been paltry and flesh-deep only.  Lurik possessed great strength of body and purpose, he saw, from the way his muscles twitched and flexed beneath his simple white tunics, to the man's carriage and demeanor.  As Byron had slept, the Voice had revealed some of Vandross's intentions to the great Dread Knight.  For a while, he had despaired; Vandross had slowly and surely slipped from the status of conquering tyrant to power-hungry madman.  The one-eyed devil had no plans to attempt domination of all of Tamalaria.  Instead, the Voice had told him, Locke had discovered that Vandross intended to rend the land asunder, and then turn himself over to the Immortal Rest, in order to arise again in a millennia’s time, in order to repeat his atrocities.  This could not, Byron thought, have been his original intention.  The Dread Knight poured some of the brackish coffee Morek had prepared down his throat, letting its warmth spread through his stomach and chest. 

            Byron turned his attention then to James Hayes, who had been seeing to Lurik's needs, offering what succor he could in the forms of more food and drink.  The Human Paladin needed something to cling to, Byron realized as he drew the Morning Glory to inspect the blade.  This was a false gesture, of course.  He simply wanted to observe how his companions would react to this newcomer without interruption, and a hulking Dread Knight, regardless of who he was, generally discouraged distraction with a weapon in his hands.  Only Shoryu or Alex would be comfortable enough to approach him as he was, but the Cuyotai was engaged in conversation with Ellen, helping her pack up their provisions, and Alex seemed to be playing a card game with Selena Bradford. 

            Morek Rockmight and David Spore had engaged in conversation with  Lurik, and Byron peered as hard as he could without giving himself away at the Dwarven Boxer's eyes.  He saw there the typical distrust and skepticism of northern Dwarves, knowing that Morek was in his own way measuring the worth and nature of this Battle Priest.  David, being a tad more friendly than his Dwarven counterpart, didn't seem to be withholding any judgement.  The Monk simply enjoyed what little conversation he engaged in.  As he returned his attention to the Morning Glory, a bronze piece clattered to the grass between his splayed feet.  He looked up then into Shoryu's smiling countenance.

            "Penny," Shoryu said, his tone light and carefree.

            "What," Byron asked, picking up the bronze piece.  That's right, he thought.  People referred to these small currencies as pennies sometimes.

            "Penny for your thoughts," Shoryu said, lowering himself gingerly to the ground next to his undead companion and leader.  But once again Byron was baffled.  If he had an eyebrow, he would have raised it in question.  Instead, he attempted to mimic the expression as best he could with his animate bones.  "It's an expression among the folk of Ja-Wen.  It means I'd like to know what you're thinking," the Cuyotai whispered.  Ellen, Byron saw, was meditating some short way off, gathering her strength for the day ahead. 

            "Oh," Byron said, setting the Morning Glory evenly across his knees as he sat cross-legged.  He clasped his hands in front of him, resting his armored elbows on the thick blade of his weapon.  "There is something not adding up about this man, this Lurik," he confided to the young Hunter, his voice low and light.  "I am not entirely certain just what that is exactly.  He claims to be a Battle Priest." 

            "Indeed," said Shoryu.  He dragged his rucksack over to his side, reached in, and produced a small stoneware bowl.  Holding his hand over it, palm down, he produced a sharp claw from his left pointer finger, making a small slice in the palm of his right hand, letting the blood drain down into the bowl.  After a moment, he forced the wound to regenerate, closing it as though it had never been.  Only a small, discolored line marked the passage of his cut, and he handed the bowl of blood to Byron, who accepted the unexpected gift in one huge fist.  Byron lifted the bowl over his bare skull, then tipped the blood out onto it, the magic of his body absorbing the fresh, copper-scented substance into his body.  He felt a hundred times renewed, and thanked Shoryu for his gift with a nod, returning the stoneware bowl to the young Cuyotai.  Shoryu sneered at him, a sort of grimace that held potential violence, and then tucked the bowl away.  Yet again, Shoryu thought, I come close to losing myself.  Byron, however, thought nothing of it.  He knew full well the risks of feeding off of the Cuyotai’s blood.

            "Yet he bears no weapons, no religious insignia.  He offers nothing more than his word as proof of what and who he is.  I do not like to admit such apprehension, Shoryu, but I do not fully trust this man as yet," Byron murmured, shaking his head. 

            "Perhaps he shall prove himself as we return him home," Shoryu offered, leaning back on his arms as he stretched in the grass, soaking up the vibrancy of the ground and the sky.  Byron sniffed at the air, and found his vacant nostril hole offended.  The entire company had collected a good amount of sweat, grime and dirt.  They were all due for a bath.  Sheathing the Morning Glory across his back, he stood up and moved away from the company in search of a stream.  The springiness of the grasses on these plains felt good under his heavy boots, allowing him to move swiftly, freely.  For a moment, he forgot about his struggles and conflicts, and simply enjoyed the sights and sounds of the world around him.  Tamalaria held beauty in abundance, from the shrill calls and songs of its flitting birds, to the sheen of morning dew on its grasses.  Each tree and stone hummed of knowledge gleaned from hundreds of years of silent existence, and the wind whispered of secrets told in regions far from the ear of those who heard it.  Had his mood not been so befouled by suspicion, he might have chuckled at taking it all in; but he could not.  Byron walked the path of those already dead, and his final destination, he knew, had already been determined.  All of the lands' majesty would be lost to him when he felled Richard Vandross, for the tie that held him to this un-life would be severed at last.  Whether he fell in defeat, or rose to triumph, death surely awaited him.

            After a few more minutes, he found a suitable stream for bathing at the bottom of a sloping hill.  He would return to the others to recommend a short bathing session, but not for himself.  The subtle stench of decay would forever cling to his flesh, for he was, regardless of how much humanity he regained, a member of the undead.  No water was pure enough to cleanse him.  Turning about, he marched back to the camp to find that everyone had packed up what was left.

            "Where have you been," Morek asked in his gruff, guttural tone. 

            "I have found a stream, master Morek.  I pray none of you takes offense, but you could all use a wash," he said in as dry a tone as he could muster.  He attempted a wry grin.  "Particularly you two, Shoryu and Ellen.  The smells upon you are not just those of travel and work," he said with a chuckle.  Both Cuyotai and Elf burned red in the face with embarrassment, each suddenly taking a great deal of interest in the ground at their feet.  "Come.  I shall show you," Byron said lightly, leading the company downhill.  Enjoying the sound of general chatter behind him, Byron stalked over the springy grass until at last he stopped before the stream.  As he turned around, he noticed that Shoryu, Morek, James, David and the newcomer, Lurik, had stopped a short way up the hill, their backs to the stream.  "Is something wrong, gentlemen," he called up.   A clearing of a throat from behind him nearly turned his head.

            "Ah ah ahh, good lord Byron," Alex squeaked in his 'ear'.  "The ladies are waiting for you to retreat a bit," the Ki Fairy taunted, flapping about. 

            "Then what are you doing, my diminutive friend," he asked in a whisper.  Alex spread his smile as wide as it would go, nearly splitting his face.

            "I believe the young folk call it, sneaking a peek, a-ha," Alex said as he darted away.  Byron shook his head and laughed softly despite himself, climbing the hill to join the men of the company.  They had all sat down with their backs solidly turned to the ladies down at the stream. 

            "Gentlemen," he said, sitting on a round-topped stone.  Poor David, he thought, looking over at the one-armed Monk.  David Spore had sat down cross-legged, and had his prayer beads wrapped around his hand, praying for strength.  He leaned in to hear what the Monk was muttering to himself.

            "A Monk must be pure of heart, a Monk must be pure of heart," the man repeated, a quiet litany against the temptation to look over his shoulder.  Byron almost burst out laughing, especially once Shoryu opened his snout to make things more difficult for the young Monk.

            "You know, I must say, from personal experience, Ellen is indeed a beauty beyond compare," he said aloud, though his comment seemed directed at David.  A cold sweat broke out on David's forehead, and Shoryu grinned derisively at him.  Morek and James chuckled softly, enjoying the young Monk's clear discomfort.  Even Lurik joined in the taunting.

            "Indeed," the Lizardman said aloud, looking innocently up at the sky.  "I imagine they both are stunningly attractive, though men such as we must surely swear off the sins of flesh.  Or at least, we mustn't presume to look at what isn't ours to gaze upon," he chided.  "From what I gather, young Shoryu could look around without fear of reprisal from Miss Daires.  Ah, young love," he said, and thus made David chant his prayer louder and more rapidly. 

            "Is everything all right," Selena asked behind them as she approached with a small towel, rubbing her hair dry.  David heaved a sigh of relief as the other men of the company burst into gouts of laughter.  Selena and Ellen looked at them in confusion, then to each other.  The women shrugged their shoulders, and sat themselves easily on the blankets they had laid out.  "We missed something rather amusing, I gather," the Pyromancer declared as she leaned back.

            "Think nothing of it," Byron said to her as the men tore down the hill, quickly undressing and tossing themselves in the stream.  Ellen and Selena did not turn aside or away from them, looking frankly and plainly down at them.  "You know, the lads were gentlemanly enough to look away whilst you were down there," he said, trying to sound admonishing, but failing.  His tone had too much implied smile in it. 

            "Well, Ellen has claim to something down there, you know," Selena said as she raised her internal temperature to dry herself.

            "And nobody ever said that Selena is a lady," Ellen said, smiling broadly and giggling with her Pyromancer companion and the Dread Knight.  Byron suddenly stiffened; something in the back of his mind had just screamed at him to be alert.  Leaping to his feet, he whirled and drew the Morning Glory, its argent, ghostly flames trailing along and around the blade.  "Good Byron," Ellen whispered behind him.  "Is something amiss?"  Byron put his free left hand back to both stay and silence Ellen and Selena.  Something was out here with them, in broad morning daylight. 

            "I'm not certain," he whispered back.  "If there is, then someone is either very foolish, or very brave."  He winked out the lights in his sockets, effectively closing his eyes.  Feel it out, he told himself.  Let the power within seek out the wrong.  This he remembered doing in his time as a Human Paladin, letting his instincts, his soul, carry him to the unseen demons he had fought against in his mortal years.  A moment later, however, when he 'opened' his eyes, he found himself standing in front of a tree.  He sheathed his weapon and scoffed at himself for his paranoia.  Foolish, he thought.  I'm jumping to conclusions.  I need to move, take action, he thought.  He hoped that the men of the company would finish soon, so that they could be on their way.  In the shadows of the oak tree he'd approached, Vilec Roak smiled.

            The remainder of the day was spent in semi-silent travel, the rolling plains passing by on either side of the company as they rode.  Phazion Lurik, his wounds having been healed, showed a surprising swiftness, able to keep up with the horses and Shoryu as they cantered and trotted along.  Byron wanted to hurry, even to rush ahead to the north, but he reminded himself that so long as nothing significantly stood in the path of the company, they were in good shape.  As the sky faded from bright azure to a dim orange and purple glimmer, the sun fading over the horizon like a swooping bird, Byron slowed the company to a walking trot, making things much easier on his Cuyotai friend and the Battle Priest.  Plains roaming animals kept their distance from the company, barely visible on the outskirts of Byron's limited vision.  He had become almost accustomed to this sort of behavior from the creatures around him, but something in their stand-offishness made him worry.  As he had passed through the Elven Kingdom to its borders, he had not been so openly feared by the children of mother nature.  And Ellen's presence as both an Elf and a Gaiamancer should have left them feeling at ease.  But as he called a halt to the company's day, the animals continued to stare at the group with apprehension.

            No amount of percipience could help him pierce the emotions of them.  Instead of beating his head against that particular wall, he dismounted and suggested that camp be made for the evening.  David approached him as he stalked a short distance away from the company, towards the gathered animals at the foot of a small hill.  He turned to face the one-armed Monk.

            "Byron, don't you think we might make some more progress before the sun truly sets," he asked, looking around nervously.  "Something in the air does not sit well with me."

            "No," Byron said, looking not at David, but at the animals and the sky in turn.  He almost felt eyes upon him, like a specter had come at evening's nearing to haunt him with indecipherable hints.  "We shall go no farther, Monk, though I agree that there is a wrongness to the area.  Something hidden from us spreads an ill aura about the area.  Do what you must to secure us, David," he said, pointing to David's hip, where he kept his sutras.  "We shall keep watch in pairs tonight.  Inform the others.  I must be alone for a few minutes," he rasped, sounding harsher than he had intended.  When he turned his attention once more towards the assembled animals, they were nowhere to be seen.  A sharp, freezing breeze whipped past, leaving him chilled to the bone, quite literally.  The air itself seemed to whisper rumors of danger and fear to him; and both drawing near.  In his mind's eye, Byron saw dozens of Shadowbeasts rolling over the peaceful hills and valleys toward his company, led by a massive demon.  His head felt light, as if floating in a tub of some dank water.  His vision clouded for a moment, and when it cleared, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.  The lush, green grass of the land still stood straight, the trees that spotted the area remained standing, and the bushes and shrubs retained their resilient mien.  And yet, he wondered, what was wrong with this scene?

            Halfway back to his company, he realized what was missing; there was no wind.  Not even a hint of swirling air could be felt, and as he looked around once again, he noticed just how upright the grass and shrubs were.  Nothing, no animal or force of nature, touched them.  In the plains of Tamalaria, such circumstances murmured of ill omens.  As he stood finally in the center of the unfolding camp, he looked into the eyes of James Hayes, who nodded knowingly in response, and drew his broad sword.  Shoryu, Ellen and Selena looked at the Human Paladin, and noticed that Morek had equipped his silver studded gloves.  David returned to the company, having set up sacred sutras in a wide circle around their encampment.  Alex had opened his Fairy Space, and floated a heavy spiked mace to Phazion Lurik, an appropriate weapon for a Battle Priest.  Byron drew the Morning Glory, to find that the blade was positively beaming with radiance.  It was reacting, he realized, to the wrongness in the air and the ground.  Tremors, slight at first, shook the ground beneath them.  But they grew in intensity, and the ground rent itself beneath them.  The damage within the area of the sutras was slight; outside of the mystic power of David Spore's Monk powers, however, deep crevices were created in all directions.  From the north, out of a small copse of trees, approached a small group of cloaked figures, a Gaiamancer at the forefront.  Byron peered as hard as he could at them, and Shoryu leaned to him to say, "Illecks, good Byron.  Dark Elves."  As they slowly approached, the Gaiamancer summoned forth three Rock Golems, each one bearing weapons of stone and wood. 

            "Everyone, make ready," Byron bellowed above the sound of the tremors.  David had thankfully made their area of protection relatively large, giving them all some space to work with.  If he could, Byron would keep the company within the protection of the sutras.  But something in the way Lurik flinched drew his attention from his strategic thinking.  "Phazion Lurik, what troubles you?"

            "Those men, they were with the Shadowbeasts and the giant demon that attacked my entourage," the Lizardman quailed, anger mixing with fear in his voice.  "I shall crush them all!"  Without further hesitation, the Battle Priest streaked forth, out of the sutras' protective circle.  Leaping and bounding around and over the rents in the earth, Byron watched Lurik close the gap with his enemies. 

            "Selena, Ellen, Shoryu!  Stay within the circle and use your magic and arrows!  Morek, David, direct left!  James, you're with me!  Let's go!"  With a furious roar like a lion, Byron led his companions out of the circle, maneuvering around the rifts as Lurik had done, but with slightly less speed.  The Lizardman had already engaged in battle with one of the Rock Golems ahead, and was dancing circles around it, tearing into it with his mace at its weak spots.  For a moment, Byron forgot his distrust of the man, impressed with his prowess on the field of battle.  In a minute, he and James Hayes hammered hard into the second Golem, tearing it apart in moments.  A blast of arctic cold slammed into him, Aquamancy throwing him and the Paladin back.  As he landed on his back, Byron used his momentum to roll back into a crouch, launching a blast of lightning force from his fingertips.  The streaks of yellow, forked force lanced into one of the Illecks, holding him in place as he thrashed and screamed in agony, his body coming off of the ground.  Using his hold on the man, Byron threw him high in the air, smoke trailing after him.  As the Dark Elf fell back to the earth, Byron swept the Morning Glory in an upward arc, splitting the man in half.  Blood sprayed the ground, freezing on contact with the air.  The remaining four Illecks seemed to hesitate, and this spelled their collective doom.

            Morek, having approached undetected due to his stealthy movements, launched a fatal punch into the larynx of an Illeck Pyromancer among the group, closing his wind pipe.  As the fallen man knelt down, clutching at his damaged throat, the Dwarven Boxer brought his elbow crashing down into the back of his skull, resulting in a gut wrenching crunch of skull and gray matter.  David Spore had once again wound up on the unfortunate end, receiving a blast of force to the chest, launching him back.  But one of Shoryu's arrows, having been launched at a high arc, blasted through the side of the Illeck's head, leaving a gaping hole where flesh and bone should have been. 

            Ellen, meanwhile, had engaged in some form of magic-to-magic struggle, the Illeck Gaiamancer and she both pressing their palms hard against the ground, releasing magical force into the earth.  Beads of sweat ran down her face, and the smell of maple tree sap wafted through the air around her.  The amount of exertion appeared to be too much for the Illeck, his skin becoming paler than the normal Illeck, and his arms and legs trembled.  A moment later, a man-sized fist made of solid packed earth reared up in front of him, snatching him into its grasp.  With a single burst of sound, the man screamed in terror and agony, and then he was gone, absorbed into the ground.  Blood stained the spot where he had stood, rising up through the soil to turn the grass the color of copper. 

            Finally, as the last survivor of the assault tucked tail to flee, Selena Bradford threw up a wall of hellfire in front of him.  The Illeck was too busy looking back to check for pursuit to realize he was about to run headlong into a flaming wall of death.  Alex fluttered along a short distance up, hovering high enough that the flame barrier wouldn't touch him.  On the near side of the wall, an Illeck ran for dear life.  And a few seconds later, a skeleton and a pile of ashes appeared on the other side of that same wall.  Through some perverse god's humor, the skeleton continued to move for a few seconds before falling apart.  Alex giggled to himself, and returned to the Pyromancer's shoulder to congratulate her on a job well done.

            The whole of the company seemed largely intact, David and James having taken a little damage.   Byron made a quick head count, making certain everyone was accounted for.  "Well, that went better than I think we could have hoped," he said thickly.  "But it went a tad too easily for my liking.  Alex," he said to the Ki Fairy, addressing him almost formally.  "Be a sport and do a quick fly-round, make certain there are no others awaiting us for ambush."  Alex fluttered off into the sky, flying around the area and checking on the surrounding area.  In the fading daylight, he saw no sign of other hostile forces, but he did see what looked like a village about three hours' march away.  Rather than report that much, he simply flew down and informed Byron that all appeared to be well.  Satisfied with the relative safety of the company, Byron told them all to settle in for the evening once more.  Things were looking up for them, he supposed.  Phazion Lurik had proven himself in battle, and no one had been badly injured.  It felt, however, as though they were simply being tested, measured.  The sensation that someone was watching him from the shadows persisted.  There was little or nothing he could do about it at the moment, however, and so he chose to ignore it.  The company sat in a shared meal of silence before the first watch of two set themselves to keep an eye out.  Byron and James Hayes decided to take theirs as the first watch, and the last shred of sunlight disappeared over the horizon.  The sounds of nocturnal animals, wolves baying, owls hooting, arose in the air and replaced the rather dreadful silence that had made Byron aware of trouble in the first place.  He rather enjoyed the sounds of nature; they gave him some small measure of comfort, an assurance that life was proceeding as normal.  There wouldn't be much comfort for the company if they ran into more of Vandross's forces, as it seemed they must upon occasion.  After all, the one-eyed warlock was gaining power and ground.  He would not be kept at bay forever, that much was certain.  He would make his next move, and soon.  Already some of his cronies had attacked the company, and they were still a good four days' ride out from the entrance to the northern mountains. 

            For a moment, Byron considered James Hayes out of the corner of his eye.  The Human Paladin had encountered a great deal of grief in his short time of service with Byron.  He had seen his fort devastated, the city of Desanadron hobbled, and an entire regiment of fighting men and women slaughtered in the great city.  His faith in Oun was wavering, that much he spoke of.  But beneath even that outward doubt, lay another, more personal set of worries.  The man had been wounded a few times, and might very well not survive the final confrontation with Richard Vandross.  Surely Hayes wanted a crack at the warlock himself.  Byron was not at all surprised that everyone in the company, with perhaps the exception of Phazion Lurik and David Spore, had a personal score to settle with Vandross.  For Selena, it was the assault on Desanadron.  For Shoryu, the destruction of his tribe.  For Hayes, the extermination of his unit.  For Ellen Daires, the blasphemous attack on Whitewood.  For Morek, the threat of losing a long time friend, Ellen, in a fatal attack on her home.  David Spore and Phazion Lurik had their own reasons for coming along, though David had become good friends with Morek Rockmight, and for a Monk, friends were worth fighting for.  The greater balance of power also hung heavily in matters.  For Monks, balance and order was everything.  Richard Vandross would bring about discord and chaos, as vast as he could spread it.

            More than this, however, was at stake for each member of the company.  The powerful Pyromancer, Selena Bradford, was renowned for her particular potency as a sorceress.  She had earned the title of Sorcerer Supreme, a title of honor and respect most female magic users can only dream to be granted.  Her lethal flames were known across the entirety of Tamalaria.  James Hayes represented the Order of Oun, one of the most powerful factions in the lands, with a presence in all territories.  Shoryu stood as the last surviving member of his tribe, and so must succeed in the name of his tribe's honor, and survive to hopefully rebuild the tribe.  Ellen Daires would be his companion in this matter.  Morek Rockmight was one of the leaders of Traithrock, the mightiest city in all the Dwarven territories.  The Dwarves' fealty to the land and its defenses had become the stuff of legends, and he would rather die honorably fighting the encroaching evil than let it be said that the Dwarves had no say in the salvation of Tamalaria.  David Spore, whom many surely saw as a broken man with only one arm at his disposal, seemed to be aiding them so as to prove his worth to the world.  Alex, the diminutive Ki Fairy, appeared to simply be along for the ride.  And then, there was Byron himself.  He had his own sins to atone for.  All the lives he had snuffed out in the service of Tanarak of Sidius.  All of the families he had torn asunder, destroying each member, man, woman or child.  He had tapped into the darkest places of Hell for powers to unleash upon the world at large.  And he had let it all happen through his body.  He would have a lot to answer for in the afterlife. 

            Of course, he mused, his deeds didn't hold a candle to the inferno that Vandross would suffer.  His would be true and utter damnation.

            Midnight came, and Byron and James Hayes had swapped posts with Selena Bradford and Morek Rockmight.  One magic user and one fighter to each pair, Byron had insisted.  It was the safest way.  The auburn haired Bradford rose groggily from her bedroll and sheets, her eyelids sagging heavily and her nose twitching furiously.  Byron snickered to himself at the cat-like movement of her nostrils, to which she only responded with a rather unendearing grimace.  James almost caught a blow to the chin for his troubles, poking Morek in the stomach gently.  The taciturn Dwarf rolled heavily over, knocking into James's knees.  The stout Paladin fell backward, pinwheeling his arms for balance, only to land flat on his back.  Morek rolled up his body, cocking his arm back to ready a damaging blow.  When his eyes focused, he saw that it was James who he had assaulted in panic.  "Sorry abou' that, lad," he grumbled as he stretched his limbs.  Now, the Dwarven Boxer and Human Pyromancer were the only members of the company awake.  They had not spoken much to one another, each preferring the company of another member over all of the others.  For Selena, it was Alex or James, and for Morek, it was David or Byron.  Neither one shared a lot in common with the other, however, and as such they hadn't had much occasion to speak at length.  Now, however, with little more than the wind and the animals to give them audible comfort, they walked in a circle around the camp together, making small talk.

            "First time we've really been around each other exclusively," Selena commented as they made their rounds.

            "Oi, that it is," Morek said, his words dry and stinted.  "But I can't say as it's much of a surprise."  He looked up at the tall woman, making note of the way she kept her hands at her sides, her fingers constantly flexing.  Heat emanated from her entire body, her magic kept close at hand, ready to be summoned up at any time.  If there came a need for it, her power would lash out at anything that threatened the company.  Thinking about it more thoroughly, Morek supposed she could handle her own in any situation.  With little effort, in fact, she could probably have laid waste to the entire group of Illecks they had encountered earlier.  Yet, for some reason, she had kept her power restrained.  He decided to make a comment on the subject.  "You didn't do much earlier, during the fight I mean.  Not to offend, but is there some reason you didn't add in?"  Selena smiled wryly at him, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly.

            "My magic is a bit more taxing on my strength than, say, Ellen's is on her.  Touching the very ground beneath her with her palms is enough to gather power.  I require sustenance and rest.  I hadn't slept well last night, and so had little to offer that would not have totally incapacitated me.  I would rather hold back everything, than use lesser powers," she said with an air of hauteur. 

            "A blitzkrieg rather than a stealth attack," Morek asked, raising one bushy eyebrow.  He shrugged his shoulders and continued to put one foot in front of the other.  He understood her thinking, to an extent.  He preferred to pummel his opponents utterly with a single opening to jabbing at them slowly, pecking away at them.  A single, killer blow would solve most problems, but he also understood that sometimes strategy and technique were the better methods.  Selena Bradford, it appeared, didn't have time for tactics and games. 

            "I suppose you could say that, Morek.  Tell me, how long have you known Ellen?"

            "About, ten, eleven years," he said, picking up a light rock and hurling it as hard as he could into the distance.  The soft, subdued sound of water splashing met his ears.  The stream rushed past, however, erasing all evidence that anything had struck its surface.  "We first met at a trade conference between Traithrock and Whitewood.  The old established trade routes had come under constant attack for a few years, mostly by Jaft and Khan highwaymen.  Scavengers and bandits, to be sure.  There are plenty of reasons for them to carry on this unsavory business along those older roads.  The ways are surrounded by forestland and swamps alike, offering little comfort for wayward travelers or unprotected caravans.  Those few wagons traversing those roads are often filled with the rarest of items and materials, and fetch rather a high price in the less reputable cities and townships."  Morek knew this from experience; twice on his trip to Whitewood for the conference he had fought against petty thieves and braggarts, most of whom presented little or no challenge.  "We spoke at length during the meeting in their Council Hall of making the ways safe.  Patrols of both Elves and Dwarves were assigned to the protection of the roads, each group containing at least two of each Race.  In the territories between our two, the city-states of Desanadron and Palkatel offered up their aid in our cause.  Thus were the old routes made safe again.  Ellen and I, we spoke afterwards, mostly of the differing natures of our kingdoms.  Our opinions were set as in stone, but I tell you this, Selena, we both share a love of the earth itself.  We Dwarves are people of stone and rock, of highest peaks, blanketed in snow.  We have a deeper appreciation for metal ores and stone than any other Race in all lands, in Tamalaria, or elsewhere."  Selena nodded, appreciating all that the little Dwarf had offered.  Rarely did Morek speak at such length, much less of his own people.  There lingered hints in his tone of the depth of his love for both his Race and his realm.  Outwardly reserved and brutal, Selena had the impression that Morek Rockmight was truly a man of passion. 

            "For most of my life," she began as the two of them widened their circle around the camp.  "I lived in Desanadron.  My friends, what few I had, often tended to be of the aristocratic and, well, dry sort."  A brief breeze blew through the night air, bringing with it the far off scent of herbs from the copse of woods nearby.  But something else lingered; a peace of sorts, as though this night would be a truly restful one.  As the hours passed, Selena and Morek grew more and more silent, eventually going back to the company to awaken the last watch for the last dark hours of night, and the wee hours of the morning.  To Shoryu and Ellen fell the duty of this last watch, and Morek and Selena awoke them with little trouble.  The Cuyotai and Elven girl awoke refreshed and renewed, thankful for a bit of unbroken sleep.  They, like Morek and Selena, began walking around the company in a brief circle, their words few at first. 

            "What do you think will happen to him, if he fells Vandross," Shoryu asked Ellen, his eyes moist and filled with an acute anxiety.  In truth, Shoryu wore his worries on his sleeve; there passed no emotion or thought through his mind or heart that Ellen could not read as clearly as the sky.  He could hide nothing from her, though he seldom tried. 

            "I am not entirely certain," she said with the natural grace of her tone.  Her voice was light and lofty, lined with the softness of feminine tendencies, and yet husky at the same time, shot through with power.  "But there are things that perhaps we should not think on.  Byron's fate is his own, and we shall aid him as best we may.  But what is fated to be for him, we cannot interfere in.  It is not our place," she said, her voice softening further still.  Though she was not as attached to the hulking Dread Knight, she had become fond of him.  She admired his powers, his prowess with the sword, his tactical abilities.  But more than that, she liked him for his fatherly presence.  He had a close tie with Shoryu, doting on the young Cuyotai like a kindly uncle or older brother, watching out for him.  Byron seemed ready to lay down his own life in exchange for the lives of his companions.  And he would do it without hesitation, she suspected.  But matters had never once gotten so bad, or at least, not since she had joined the company.  If ever they did, however, she would rise to meet the occasion.  For now, however, she had to let those thoughts rest aside.  At the time, Shoryu needed her companionship and understanding.  "You love him, don't you," she asked suddenly, guided by impulse.

            "Well, that's difficult to say," he sputtered, awkward in a moment's time.  "I feel close to him, yes.  He is, in the words of my people, toa-akhim magto.  It means, roughly, 'guiding elder brother'.  He is, as a Human, younger than I.  And even as a Dread Knight, younger.  Yet he is much more experienced in the ways of the world.  For all of my life, I was sheltered away in a village of my tribesmen.  To the post of Hunter I availed for all of my young years, training with the bow day and night.  I became the best shot in the whole of the tribe, and when other cousins from outside of our village visited, with tales of their marksmanship, I bested them with ease.  I felt great pride, as like a father does upon the birth of his first child!  But, I do not think much of those days now," he said, hanging his head.  "Being with him has changed my views of the world.  Though I have been a well trained scout, I see every day the most wondrous beauty anew of the world.  And I have him to thank."  The Cuyotai pup moved a little in Byron's direction, looking at his still body.  "He helped keep me alive when surely I should have died.  I owe him a debt that I shall never be able to repay."  The early signs of dawn surfaced in the distance, deep purples and reds giving a hint of daylight. 

            Two hours later, as the two of them awoke the rest of the company, Shoryu found himself wanting to put distance between himself and this place.  His lover's question had set unwelcome thoughts into motion.  Thoughts that involved the end of this quest they all had embarked upon, and that led unerringly to Byron's death.  The bond between he and Vandross could not be severed, or altered.  The terms of the magic did not brook any change in the cost or outcome.  The fact that Byron intended to vanquish the warlock despite the inevitable cost to himself spoke volumes about the purity of his purpose, his soul.  He would not be turned aside; no matter the cost, as he had said. 

            "Hail, Byron of Sidius," called the reptilian Battle Priest from the upper branches of an oak nearby.  He had one hand over his eyebrows, keeping the sunlight from his eyes.  "I see my town in the far distance!  But something is amiss!"  From a good twenty feet up, Phazion Lurik leaped down, somersaulting halfway to the ground.  Byron marched toward him quickly, measuring his strides in his head, making his movements swift and plain.  He intended to test the Battle Priest this day, to reassure himself, if no one else, that the Lizardman was who he claimed to be.  If he wasn't, Byron would know; he had seen true Battle Priests in battle, and this Lurik, if indeed that was his true name, had moved more like an assassin than a Battle Priest.  Had there been a bit more hesitation in his violence, a slightly less skilled swinging of that mace, more time spent on the ground in combat than leaping about like a frog, Byron would have been none the wiser. 

            "Phazion Lurik, I have a few questions for you before we address the matter of your home.  Something has been bothering me since first we met, and I shall not attempt to conceal my concerns.  You are a Battle Priest, yes?"  He asked this question in the hopes that there would be no hesitation on Lurik's part; a good liar never hesitates, or tries to explain things in depth. 

            "Indeed I am, Byron.  I am a follower of Tonari, the great God of Rage," he said, which would explain his apparent penchant for violence in combat.  Damn, Byron thought.  If he is a deceiver, he is very good at it.  Well-read, well spoken, with all of the intellect of a Priest. 

            "Why do you not have a symbol of your God," Byron asked, hearing the soft crush of grass as the other members of the company approached to watch this interrogation. 

            "While my weapon was lost in fear, my necklace I lost to one of the Shadowbeasts who attempted to rip the life from my jugular."  Byron thought well on this; there had indeed been marks of claws just glancing Lurik's throat.  Well enough, he thought.  His home is close, and he will be safe.  For once, someone outside of the company might turn out to be what he appeared.  That would be a nice change of pace, at least in Byron's mind.

            "Very well, Phazion Lurik.  My curiosity and suspicions are satisfied.  You are who you claim to be in sooth, and I shall bear you no further illness of heart.  Therefore, tell me, what is it that you said is amiss?"  Lurik shook his head, seemingly sloughing off the interrogation as though it had never occurred, or he was accustomed to such suspicion.  Lizardmen were not the most trusted of the Races, and often became bitter and sarcastic as a result; Phazion Lurik, however, was a Priest, and did not lash out at Byron in turn. 

            "The normal signs of morning life are not present," he said to the Dread Knight flatly.  "There are no women gathering in the animals, no men preparing the central fire for the community lunch, nothing!"  Lurik threw his hands up in the air, as if in disgust or dismay.  "Yet I sense no great evil.  At least, not as yet.  But come," he said, hefting his own few belongings up off the ground.  "Your horses are well trained, it seems.  We should come upon the village in a couple of hours."  A pang of anxiety tainted the Priest's voice, leaving Byron with the sensation that he could not bear to see more of his people harmed.  A Battle Priest is still a Priest, Byron thought as he mounted his large stallion.  And as such, the father would be emotionally distressed and battered if he found that his people were either gone, or dead.  Either way, it would be the work of Richard Vandross.

            "Damn you, warlock," Byron muttered under his breath as his horse began to move north at a canter.  Downhill toward the copse of trees between themselves and the Upper Plains they rode, Shoryu morphing into coyote form and sprinting ahead to look for signs of ambush.  The sun beat down on them, the air turning from a nice spring-like quality to a harsh summer heat as they passed through the narrow forestland.  Byron heard a squeak behind him, and pivoted in his saddle to look back for the source of the sound.  It was Ellen Daires, who had just had a squirrel hop on her shoulder.  She squeaked again, giggling like a little girl at the chittering face of the little brown rodent.  Byron smiled as he turned himself back around in his seat, shaking his head to himself.  A sweet girl, he thought.  Shoryu was a lucky young man.  Soft, poignant loam wafted through the wooded air, and for the time being, Byron felt at peace.  Something inside told him to savor it, for this would be a trying day indeed.  As the company broke through the other side of the woodland, summer heat slammed into him, filling his lungs with humid, fetid air.  Already the stench of death hung in the air, and in caution he summoned up a minor degree of his magic, both Paladin and Dread Knight power. 

            The Upper Plains little resembled the Lower Plains in the western regions of Tamalaria.  While the Lower Plains flourished with health and beauty, the Upper Plains gave little to sustain life of any sort.  It was a wide stretch of blasted flatland, the grasses brown and dry, the trees bent with age and lack of nourishment.  Two days exposed to this sort of terrain and environment wouldn't have much effect on the company itself, but the horses would be hard pressed to find sustenance here.  The streams, what few there would be, were either protected by greedy and heavily armed landowners, or stalked by creatures the likes of which Byron would rather avoid, for the sake of the company's safety.  After all, they had enough enemies for one lifetime.  Byron slowed the company's pace for the sake of their mounts, letting his stallion lead the way on its own accord.  The stallion cantered along the flatland easily, shifting its path from time to time to avoid craggy, rock-strewn stretches of ground.  The air held a shallow scent of moss and grime, as though the whole of the Upper Plains needed a wash.  Byron bounced slightly with the guarded steps of the horse, looking around for some sign of life other than the company.  But to his senses, there lived no creature here large or healthy enough to be discerned. 

            After two hours of such travel, the company could see the outskirts of the village clearly.  It was a semi-modern affair, like the suburbs of the larger city-states.  Two and three story buildings stood in the center of the village, one of them with a flag posted atop it, flapping in the humid wind.  Little or nothing of any specific nature could be clearly seen, but as they continued to draw nearer, Byron could smell decay and smoke; telltale signs of death.  Shoryu stopped short of the first domiciles, morphing fluidly back into his bestial semi-human form.  His nose twitched as he scanned the air with his sense of smell.  He moved toward Byron and his horse, backing up instead of turning his back on the village.  Caution or fear made him draw his bow, and Byron dismounted as he saw Shoryu sweep the homes with both eyes and nose. 

            "What say you, Shoryu," Byron whispered as the young Cuyotai Hunter came to a halt, his back still to Byron, facing the desolate village itself. 

            "Something living still lurks here.  And this is a very civilized city for such creatures, but I have smelled Lizardman flesh and blood.  Only one scent continues to move, however.  What about you, good Byron," he asked, turning to look Byron in the eyes for a brief moment.  Byron didn't care for the apprehension he saw reflected in those orbs.  "What do you sense?"  Byron looked down the cobblestone street leading into the village proper.  It could have been a town, he thought, if perhaps the population were larger or the buildings better spaced.  But such was the nature of Lizardmen; they liked closeness.  He let the lights in his eye sockets wink out, 'closing' them, and let his ethereal magic force flow like smoke down the street.  In his mind's eye, he saw what the smoke saw, a form of magic that had been called a sogratec, also known as a feeler.  Guiding the sogratec, Byron urged it to whip up and down back alleys and side streets for a while.  Upon finding nothing, he began to retract the magic, when out of the corner of its field of vision, he saw movement.  Turning the sogratec around, he found himself looking at a small, lithe Shadowbeast.  Surely this creature was not alone, he thought, incredulous at the very notion that one minor demon could kill all of the inhabitants of the village.  During the initial sweep, Byron had also sent the feeler into the homes and shops, only to find dead Lizardmen everywhere.  They had all been decapitated, the heads nowhere to be found.  Now, looking at the Shadowbeast, he knew some other foul treachery had been committed. 

            He drew the sogratec back into himself, and opened his eyes.  The others of the company were staring intensely at him, waiting for an answer, or, perhaps, for an order.  He was, after all, their leader.   "There is deception here," he began, slowly, thinking through every word he chose to speak at this moment.  He was well rested, clear-minded, and had been offered a cup of Shoryu's blood that morning to bolster his body.  "I have exasperated my feeler, and all that I saw or heard was a single Shadowbeast scavenging about.  There is surely something else going on here, so everyone stay alert, and stay together.  No splitting up this time, understood?"  They all nodded mutely in turn, James and Byron drawing swords, Shroyu notching an arrow, Morek strapping on his enchanted gloves, and the ladies of the company preparing magic.  David Spore kept his sutras on hand, ready to be flung at the first hostile creature he encountered.  He had the vague sense that the deadness of this town was not altogether natural; rather, everything seemed a tad too neat and tidy. 

            As the company inched its way along, Shoryu and Byron on point, James and Morek looking left and right to guard their flanks, and David at the very back of the group, he stopped periodically to peer into the front windows or open doors of the buildings.  Something appeared to be out of balance, unfitting, to his Monk sensibilities.  Firstly, why had none of the inhabitants been outside when they were slain?  Or, for that matter, why did they all seem to be engaged in some activity other than fleeing for dear life?  As they passed by a tavern, he called up to Byron to halt the company a moment.  David placed a single sutra in the doorway, to bar anything from coming in after him.  The low ceiling of the serving room creaked as the building settled, the wind outside whipping up into a good current of stale air.  Behind the bar, a beheaded bartender slouched against the back wall, a glass still in one hand and a rag in the other.  No sign of his head could be found, nor that of any of the four customers.  The woodwork, crude though it was, seemed well fashioned for Lizardmen, natural for their body designs.  Still, they seemed out of place.  Arranged, as it were.

            "That's it," he whispered to himself, his eyes widening with shock.  Nothing had been disturbed in the whole tavern!  No broken glasses littered the floor, and no one, not even a Lizardman, would have had enough grace to fall so perfectly against the back wall.  And judging from the size of the barkeeper, his weight falling back would have dislodged any number of the liquor bottles from the shelves over his head! 

            "Are you nearly done in there," Morek called in to him irritably.  My God, David thought as he took in the last, and most vital detail, of this scene; there was no blood around any of the corpses.  A struggle would have left the place in shambles, bodies in the streets, and blood on everything, to say nothing of the missing heads.  Sprinting pell-mell for the door, David exited and removed the sutra in the doorway, letting it crumble as it lost its power.  "Criminey, boy, you look loik you've seen a ghost or somefin," Morek growled at him. 

            "There's no blood," David blurted aloud.  Byron mimicked a raised eyebrow, and the others started looking into the windows and doorways of other nearby buildings. 

            "He's right," called Selena, returning to Byron with her forehead spotted in sweat.  Fear had begun swimming through her, a predatory stalker waiting for the right moment to surface for air and cause her a fatal mistake.  "These men and women lay dead here only by pose, not by place or time of death!  This is a sham, Byron," she almost cried, looking around.  "Where's Lurik," she asked, and Byron whipped his head around to look.  Where had the Battle Priest gone?  At that moment, a piercing wail rose to meet the humid air, an inhuman shout of pain.  It was the voice of Phazion Lurik!

            "He must have gone off on his own!  Damn it all!  Shoryu," Byron barked.  The pup darted to his side, bow in hand.  "You remember his scent?"  Shoryu nodded, choosing mentally to reserve his energy for action, not speech.  "Good!  Lead us to him!"  Shoryu pivoted on his heel and sprinted away, keeping his pace slow enough for the others to follow.  Something with the heavy odor of blood and ash had appeared as if out of nowhere, the swiftness of its presence causing Shoryu to hesitate a moment before continuing on.  It was a vaguely familiar odor, though where it had first been, he couldn't tell.  Through empty, abandoned streets they ran, feet pounding, breath rattling in their chests.  Byron, Shoryu and James suffered nothing from the run, as they had been trained for long runs.  But Selena, Ellen and Morek were not suited for long, drawn out runs or sprints.  Ellen and Selena weren't physically fit for it, and Morek's stout legs didn't allow for it.  Byron kept the Morning Glory held close, sweeping the streets with both eyes and ears, as it were.  A low rumble shook the ground under his thickly armored feet, and he could imagine something massive moving through the ground itself. 

            As he came around the corner of one of the larger buildings, the one with the flag atop it, he saw a crater in the ground where a town square had presumably been.  Standing in the crater, holding Phazion Lurik in one huge fist, was the enormous beast that Richard Vandross had unleashed on Whitewood.  Seeing it again, he felt his heart sink into his stomach.  The sheer amount of dark power swirling around and through the demon vastly surpassed that available to him; but he had something the demon could never have, and that was the powers of a Paladin.  In addition, he was not alone.  Lurik flailed at the demon with his mace, his swings wild and unaimed, panicked.  Why didn't the Battle Priest utilize his own magic?  Was it somehow being suppressed by his proximity to the miasma around the demon?  It was entirely possible, Byron thought.  He had seen such demons before, fought against them in the name of the Order of Oun.  But there was another danger in facing these sorts of demons, which lay in the fact that their presence easily masked that of other, lesser demons.  That meant that there could easily be dozens of other Shadowbeasts nearby, waiting to spring into attack at a moment's notice. 

            "Help me, Byron," Lurik screamed in agony.  "For God's sake, help me!"  The beast looked from his captive to the Dread Knight, rage in its huge, crimson eyes.  Surely the beast had a weakness, perhaps a particularly vulnerable part of its body?  Whatever it was, he had to find it, and quickly, if he wanted to avoid a catastrophe. 

            "Shoryu, I want you to take aim at its hand!  Shoot Lurik free!  Morek," he shouted, calling the Dwarf to his side as a stream of black, foul-smelling fluid shot forth from the beast's free fingertips.  Smoke curled up from the scorched ground the bile had touched, leaving a gaping hole in the ground.  A warning shot, Byron thought.  The blast would only have struck a member of the company if they had charged stupidly into its path.  The taciturn Boxer sped to his side from the right, his stance defensive, ready for action.  "Morek, there are bound to be other Shadowbeasts about," he shouted over the beast's savage roars.  "Guard our right flank from that road entrance!  Go!"  The Dwarf said nothing, sprinting away to perform the task given him.  "Selena!  Do the same, over there on our left flank!  Ellen, give us a barrier," he shouted, but as he looked at the Elven girl, he saw that she had already arrived at the same conclusion.  She had erected a tall stone barrier in front of the beast, leaving it low enough for Shoryu to get a clear shot.  "David, try to get close enough to use some of your sutras on it!  Everyone, now!"  Byron sprang into motion, vaulting directly behind the stone barrier in order to prepare a spell.  Sheathing the Morning Glory, he pressed hard against the barrier, feeling the wall shake as the beast struck at it.  An earth-shattering scream erupted from Lurik; the beast demon had punched the barrier with the same fist Lurik struggled to free himself from!

            Shoryu launched a volley of arrows into the now empty hand, still remembering the smell and power of that black substance the beast unleashed.  If he could injure its hands before it used that power again, the battle would go much smoother.  Three, four, five arrows flew, each slamming into an individual finger on its left hand.  Blood sprayed from its new wounds, and it began to rampage, stamping about and crushing everything within reach.  The barrier of stone began to crack and fall apart in small chunks, destroyed bit by bit. 

            "Byron," Selena shouted to the Dread Knight.  He looked at her, and saw a line of flames raging skyward, the street closed on the other side of it.  Shadowbeasts already had begun to scale the sides of the buildings in order to get around the flame wall.  How many were there, he wondered.  Dozens, perhaps scores of them.  They should not have been so swift, so ready for Byron's party; yet, here they came, jaws slavering, black forms writhing to taste flesh and blood.  "Byron, they will soon be upon us!  More surely come from all sides to box us in!  We need to destroy the town in order to destroy them!"

            "Do it," Byron shouted, seeing Phazion Lurik drop from the other side of the barrier, looking broken.  David Spore could be seen launching sutras at the beast, imposing spiritual and physical restrictions on the beast.  Its fist lost an edge of its brute strength, and its wounds began to fountain blood on the ground.  The demon dropped to its knees as its companions flooded the center of the village.  Morek bounced back and forth, changing targets with the ease of a force of nature.  James Hayes shot waves of holy force amongst the ranks of Shadowbeasts, felling them in groups of six or seven.  Serpents of fire danced and slithered through the center of demons as they charged the company, released from Selena's mouth and palms.  Shoryu turned his focus from the beast to the Shadowbeasts below, leaping atop the highest standing building and rapidly firing on the Shadowbeasts below.  Though they stood sorely outnumbered, Byron's company had enough power to dispose of their swelling numbers easily.  Perhaps he had misjudged, Byron thought.  Surely all of these demons could destroy the village, but Byron and his companions stood against such forces with skill. 

            But as he turned to check on the others, he saw that while Ellen had encased the huge beast demon in a shell of stone wrapped with vines, Phazion Lurik had regained his feet.  There didn't appear to be any signs of injury at all; and instead of the mace he had come with, the Lizardman was holding a long, thin dagger.  Before Byron could process the possible meanings of this sight, Lurik jammed the blade through David Spore's back, all the while smiling wickedly.  "Daviiiid," Byron bellowed, instantly drawing forth the power he had summoned earlier and focusing it into a small orb of pulsating light.  James Hayes had also begun moving toward the false Priest, weapon raised.

            "Treacherous bastard," the Human Paladin cried, leaping high and bringing his sword down at Lurik.  The Lizardman dodged the attack with ease, launching a counterattack immediately, kicking Hayes aside.  The Paladin landed a few yards away in a heap, his head cocked to the side from the raw power of the kick.  Byron released the orb of power, and it flew into Lurik's back, causing him to convulse, coughing a gout of blood as the power blasted a hole the size of a bucket in his torso.  The Lizardman fell dead to ground, but he had a smile on his lips even as he struck the cobblestone.  As soon as David's body dropped beside the assassin's, the Shadowbeasts that had survived the wrath of the company from Whitewood withdrew, fleeing in whatever direction offered the most direct route away from their potential doom.  A pair of the demons hurled small black daggers back as they fled, scoring solid blows to Ellen’s leg and Morek’s warding forearms.

  The company rushed to David, every one of them dropping their guard in the slim hope that the Monk could be saved.  David Spore hadn't done much to contribute to the group's survival, but they would not leave him to die at the hands of a deceiver.  Byron dropped down beside him, rolling him onto his side and giving him a light slap on the cheek.  David groaned, his eyes fluttering open.  James Hayes had laid his hands on David's side and the area just below the stab wound, letting his healing energy come forth.  But as he probed closer to the wound, a powerful force blasted through David's flesh at him, a coiled viper lashing out at him from within the Monk's blood.  Hayes recoiled, his hands on fire with pain.  He looked up at Byron with sorrow in his eyes and his heart; the weapon had been poisoned.

            "What's the matter," Byron barked at him, perhaps more harshly than he had intended. 

            "Good Byron, though your tone is steely, I know you are only concerned.  Your worry is well placed, unfortunately.  The blade was poisoned, my friends.  David is lost to us."  As he spoke, the Monk's skin had turned a sickly green hue, his veins showing black through the skin.  The poison had already run its course; David Spore would be dead in minutes.  Byron raced through a myriad of possible explanations for the weapon's appearance in the Lizardman's hand amidst the battle.  Surely he would have detected the nature of such a weapon; Shoryu would have smelled the toxin; Ellen would have sensed any natural toxins soaked to the blade.  Someone should have known! 

            "By-, Byron," David whispered through cracking lips.  His skin stretched taut over his bones, the toxin drying his body out in the final stages of its course.  "I, I don't have much time, my friend."  Byron brought his face closer to David's straining to hear his every word.  "The, sutras.  I keep, one, in the sole, of my sandal.  It, will work, for anyone.  Even one who isn't a Monk," he breathed, blood trailing over the corner of his lips.  "It shall, give you, guidance, when you most, have need.  I have, been, in most honorable, company.  Thank you, all."  In a single, final heave, David Spore brought up a gout of blood that sprayed the cobblestone street.  He was at last at peace.  James Hayes rolled him onto his back and closed his eyes.  Byron crossed David's arm over his chest, and offered up a prayer for his immortal soul.  Everyone stood in silence around his limp, blasted form.  When at last they all stood around him, they bowed their heads in silence.  Afterwards, Byron knelt down and removed David's sandals as he had been asked, and pried the sole open on the left one, finding a strangely marked scroll of sutra paper.  The language was beyond his ken, and that of the others as he showed it to them each in turn. 

            An explosion of stone shattered the silence around them, the beast freed from its imposed prison.  Without so much as looking up at it, Byron, James Hayes, and Selena each launched a single beam of their inherent power.  The demon roared in pain and rage one last time before it, too, collapsed to the ground in death.  The combined powers of the Dread Knight, Paladin and Pyromancer left little more than a broken husk of the demon.  In utter silence they walked back through the village south, to their mounts.  The sun hung directly overhead; it was high noon, and their company was now one member short.  Betrayal had taken David Spore from their party, from the land he had fought for with Byron.  He vowed to never again let such tricks by the one-eyed warlock do so again.