'Freedom or the Fire' Chapter Thirteen- Memory and Recovery

For two days Byron slept, his dreams filled with images of his life before the perversion of his body and purpose.  Memories came and went before his mind's eye, filling him with joy, sadness, confusion, bitterness, and other less easily identified states of mind.  He did not resist the dreams; he welcomed them with arms wide open.  Presently, he was dreaming about his son's fifth birthday.  He walked through the grand house he and his wife had purchased in Desanadron, not far from his post in Fort Flag.  The fine oak walls and floors creaked under his feet, and he looked in a hallway mirror.  A handsome, blond-haired young man looked back at him, his eyes bright and shining blue pools, his smile quick and gentle.  In his hands he carried the present his son had been begging for for months; an orange and white tabby cat, which purred in his arms as he pet it.  "Come on then, cat," he whispered, creeping up the stairs toward the bed chambers.  "We'll give him quite the surprise."  Byron stalked like a thief to his son's doorway, pushing the door open slowly, having oiled the hinges the night before just for this occasion.

            His son's room was in its natural state, which was, of course, a state of disarray.  Children's toys lay everywhere, as well as clothes.  But he would not bother Jacob today about it; he was a boy, and boys were messy.  Let the child enjoy his presents, particularly this one, without worry.  He could see the soft rise and fall of Jacob's chest, a scrappy and wire-thin youth who had his father's features, the same high cheekbones, the same soft blue eyes.  Even the same quick smile and laugh, though Byron liked to think he sounded less a boy and more a man.  He slipped into the room, avoiding the toys like they were caltrops, moving to his son's bedside and sitting gently on the bed.  Jacob's eyes fluttered open, and Byron held the cat to his face.  "Happy birthday, Jacob," he said, and the boy screamed with delight.  He grabbed the cat, petting it, squeezing it until it thrashed to be free, and finally letting it go to explore its new home.

            "Thank you father," the boy said, wrapping himself about Byron's barrel chest.  He embraced the boy in return, feeling a strange pang of regret.  "Father," the boy asked, his tone worried.  "What's wrong with your eyes?"  Byron remembered then that this was a memory, but it was also a dream.  He stood and stalked over to the mirror inside of Jacob's closet.  His eyes had disappeared in his Human face, and had been replaced with two pinpricks of white light.  He hung his head in shame and anger; even in dreams he was haunted by what he had become. 

            "I'm sorry, son," he said, his voice still that of Byron Aixler, filled with sadness and pain.  "Go now and see your mother, she has something for you."  Jacob moved off down the hall, dressing swiftly before he departed.  Byron looked up, and his Human features were returned to normal.  Why was this happening, he wondered.  What was the point of this memory-dream?  He determined to find out, and so followed the course of his memory.  He stalked through the halls of the mansion, passing servants who smiled widely at his passing, wishing Jacob a happy birthday, and reminding Byron that the party guests would be arriving later that afternoon.  "Thank you," he said to each, smiling warmly as he had that warm summer day.  He found Jacob in the main den, playing with the toy sword and shield his mother had bought for him from the market, from a nice old Cuyotai man.  Alice was a wonderfully beautiful woman, even here in Byron's dreams, her shimmering honey-colored hair swept back over her shoulders, the curve of her hips and breasts ample and suggestive, and her dresses always hung loosely, though not enough so to hide her feminine assets.  Her eyes were the color of emeralds, glinting with kindness and a hint of playfulness that Byron had fallen in love with as a young man.

            "Byron, dear," she said, calling to him to join her with her sultry, husky voice.  "Come, sit, you look troubled, husband," she said, as she had that day.  Tanarak's forces had been extending their influence by this point, taking small villages and city-states under his control.  Byron had stood for enough of the injustices of the warlock, and had already assembled the resistance's first major factions.  "You can only do so much, dear," Alice said to him. 

            "I know," he replied, not fully in control of his words.  Jacob lunged and jabbed at imaginary opponents, almost knocking over a maid in the process. 

            "Young master Jacob," she chided jokingly.  "You shall have to remember that a good soldier never attacks a lady!"

            "Then by all means, son, attack her," Byron jested, giving everyone a good laugh.  There was a sudden flash of light, and Byron found himself standing in the middle of a burning building, a huge, black sword in his hands.  Dark power surged through his body, and he found that he was no longer in control of himself.  All around him soldiers and magic users hurled attacks at him, and he moved like liquid night among them, cutting their limbs free of their bodies, blasting them apart with streaks of magic, blood and body parts flying all about him.  In minutes he stood atop their bodies, walking over them like a carpet.  No, he said softly, in his own mind.  His voice was not his own, and only heard in his own mind.  Shadowbeasts met him outside, asking for further orders from their great General.  "Sweep the homes and flush all of them out.  The Soribeasts have not fed yet," he said, his words coming out involuntarily.  Another flash of light blinded him, and he was standing in another familiar place.

            He was in a small village, everything wrapped in flames.  Tanarak's apprentice stood next to him, hidden in layers of robes and a huge great cloak.  The apprentice led Byron into a small, untouched cottage.  They slaughtered a few ill-equipped people on their way to the back room, where Alice and Jacob huddled together in fear.  No, Byron shrieked in his mind.  Why am I remembering this?!  "Do it," the apprentice ordered, but Byron hesitated.  That's right, he thought.  I couldn't do it.  "I said do it, Byron of Sidius," the apprentice shouted at him.  "The master and I own you!  Kill them!"  But Byron would not.  "Fine!  I'll do it!"  And with a single stroke, the apprentice cleaved both mother and son in half with his own long sword.  Byron screamed in rage and attacked the apprentice, punching him over and over, tossing him about the small room like a rag doll.  The hood came down, and Byron saw the face of Richard Vandross as he had been, both eyes filled with pain and anger.  "How dare you," he screamed, flinging magic at Byron to back him away.  But Byron shrugged the magic off and came at him anew, and would have killed him, had Tanarak not saved him.  The warlock stood in the doorway, and drew Byron away from Vandross with a vacuum of force.  Byron thrashed against his constraints, but Tanarak was the master, and he, the slave.  He could do nothing.

            "Apprentice Vandross," Tanarak hissed, calling the fallen man over to him.  "You have much to learn about handling a sword, apparently.  Byron, you shall teach him.  And you, Richard, shall in turn instruct Byron in the ways of your Shadow magic.  You each have much to learn."  The images faded away to Byron sparring with Vandross outside of Mount Toane, the Human apprentice using sloppy form.  Something deep inside of Byron still raged against his controlled body, and in a moment of spiritual strength, Byron forced his puppet body to grasp Vandross by the head and plunge his thumb of bone deep into the man's eye, spraying puss and blood as he gouged the eye out of the Human's skull.  Byron had been punished for that incident, though he could not remember how, and so he seemed to float in a void of darkness.  He was suddenly back in the field, training Vandross, but keeping a lot of his sword secrets to himself.  He was able to do at least that much for himself, despite being shackled inside of his own body.  And Vandross in turn taught him about Shadow magic, but Byron sensed that he too held back secrets.  Neither one trusted or liked the other, and the patch over Vandross's right eye was proof positive of that.

            Byron woke up then, fully clothed and armored.  He thought for a moment that he had been stripped of his armor, but Shoryu and James Hayes, without his knowing, had put his clothes and armor back on.  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, testing his strength by trying to stand.  He found he had no problems.  But something was different, he felt it instinctively.  He walked over to a full height mirror, and gasped in shock.  His armor was whole, but had changed.  The symbol of Oun sat where the crest of Sidius formerly had.  He took the armor off, wanting to make certain it was the same armor.  He saw then that he was wearing a long sleeved shirt.  He never wore a shirt before, he thought.  He pulled it up to his chest, and stopped, looking in the mirror; he was whole.  He tested the theory, just to make sure he wasn't delirious, by poking himself in the stomach.  It was barely there, but he could feel himself jabbing his stomach.  How could this be, he wondered in excitement.  No matter.  He pulled the shirt down, donned his armor, and left the back guest room.

            The rest of the company, Shoryu, James Hayes, Selena Bradford, Ellen Daires, Alex, Morek Rockmight, and now David Spore, sat around a large round table, playing some sort of game involving dominoes.  "Let's not get too comfortable now," he said, watching as everyone whipped their heads around to look at him.  Shoryu leaped up from the couch, throwing himself at the Dread Knight.  The two went down in a tangle of laughing limbs and fur and metal.  Byron tossed Shoryu lightly off of him, hopping to his feet.  "It is good to see you are all well," he said, still chuckling lightly to himself.

            "As it is good to see you up and about," chided Hayes, grinning like a fool.  "You were asleep for quite some time.  Two whole days have passed while you snoozed," he said, taking his turn.  "We have all mostly recovered from our wounds, though the city itself has much more healing to do.  So, what's our next move," he asked, his face turning solemn.  Byron moved over to the arm of one of the couches, taking a seat gingerly.  He hadn't thought much about what he would do if Vandross were successful in his attempt to take the Orb. 

            "There is one final Orb that remains.  We must find out where it is before he does."  Byron shifted uncomfortably on his narrow seat, looking at the table.  He looked at Shoryu's tiles, and made his move for the Hunter.  "We must keep him from attaining it.  The important thing in all of this is that we were able to keep the city intact.  What were the final fatality counts?"

            "Five and a half hundred regular army, forty Dark Watch, and twelve civilians," said Morek from his wicker chair.  He alone seemed dark and brooding among the company.  "The King and both Princes were reported to have been killed in the melee, the King and his second son having taken the uniforms of soldiers to help their people," he said, obviously unaware of the truth of the situation.  "Deardry has been named Queen of the Elven Kingdom.  The people of the city are banged up, but they are in high spirits.  The High Elder narrowly avoided death, they say.   He knew when to pull out of danger's way."  Byron was pleased to hear this, despite Morek's lack of comment on what had obviously happened to the other members of the Council.  A sharp rap on the door came, and Ellen answered it.  Standing in the doorway was Bael, his heavy armor battered and damaged.

            "What happened to you, Bael," Shoryu asked of the Lizardman as he took a heavy seat on the floor. 

            "We heard the rush of hundreds of Vandross's men fleeing the area.  We, along with a small contingent of Cuyotai, tried to nab as many as we could, but there was this huge demon with them, a thing of terrible might.  It butchered many of my men, and a few of the Cuyotai, though they are much more agile than we Lizardmen.  They rely more on skill and less on huge, heavy armors.  But we gave them a run for their money, killed about half a hundred of them before the big thing lost interest in us.  I myself had the misfortune of meeting up with a Khan Berserker among the stragglers, very angry chap.  I would be too if I'd been in the midst of a killing frenzy and been ordered to retreat, I suppose.  But now that Khan's head sits atop a spear in front of my home, in exchange for the injuries he gave me."  Ellen moved to help him up, but he waved her off.  "My wounds have already been tended to.  But my village's smithy was killed in the attack, so I've come to town to see about repairs.  In the meanwhile, I'd like to talk with you, big man," he said, pointing at Byron.  Byron stood up and strolled outside with the husky Lizardman.  The two of them watched in silence for a while as the Elven people of the city of Whitewood continued repairs to the homes that had been damaged or destroyed during the short term siege.  They worked with the determination of a community that refused to be defeated. 

            "Casualties were kept low," Byron remarked distractedly as he watched them work.  "Unfortunately, his majesty and his sons were slain."

            "Then, the Princess, Deardry," Bael asked, leaving the question unfinished.   Byron nodded, and Bael made a discontent noise in his throat.  "Hmmm.  It shall be difficult for her, you know.  There has been a King for as long as many of even these long living folk can remember.  She will have to be strong for them.  They are her people now, her charges.  The position of leadership can be daunting," Bael continued, accepting a mug of coffee that Ellen brought out for him with a smile.  "How's the boy," he asked after his first sip, referring to Shoryu.

            "He is well," Byron replied, looking after Ellen as she closed the door to her cottage softly.  "He and Ellen have quite a thing going."  Bael nearly choked on his coffee, sputtering for a moment.

            "You're serious?  An Elf and Cuyotai?"  Byron nodded, grinning with his jaw.  "Well, can't say I never saw it before.  There's this one Chieftain, a Cuyotai, has an Elven wife.  I met him, actually, chasing those stragglers.  He came chasing after them from the city, went back home afterwards.  Guess he had to make some rounds, tell a number of villages of their dead.  I understand good Chieftain Tandaba fell in combat?"  Byron nodded his head slowly, sadly.  The black furred man had been full of life and laughter, and now was little more than a stain on the earth.  Shoryu had spoken highly of him. Of course, that mattered little now.  The boy had his lover to keep his spirits up, and if need be, he had Byron himself.  He reminded him so much of Jacob, now that he thought about it.  "Too bad," Bael said, bringing Byron out of his thoughts.  "I'd met the man not long ago.  Seemed a gentle sort, a kind man.  Never expected he'd be much of a warrior."

            "Oh no, he and his men did some heavy damage at the beginning of the battle," Byron said, running his fingers over the cross on his breastplate absent-mindedly. 

            "See you've got some new armor," Bael said after finishing his coffee.  "The old stuff get too banged up?"  Byron nodded, not really thinking much about the armor, as much as the symbol it now bore.  "Ah well.  It happens to the best of us, as I can tell you.  I've had this armor for years, never really considering how much a part of me it is.  But, we all have things that we keep around.  Oh, thanks, another cup if you would," he said to Ellen, who had slipped outside to check on him.  She returned shortly with a refill, and Bael blew on it, smiling at the Elven woman.  "Well, your boy has good taste.  Quite a looker, that one is," he commented, grinning like an idiot.  Byron chuckled softly, still watching the reconstruction going on all around him. 

            "Bael, I need you to do me a favor," Byron said, looking Bael in the eyes, seeing there a sense of calm and contentment.  "It is a small thing, and I hope you might have the resources to get it done."

            "Of course, my friend," said the big Lizardman.  "Name it, I'll do what I can."  He took another long pull of the coffee.  "Lord, this is good.  The stuff my mother makes is like tar."  Byron laughed mirthfully, finding he enjoyed Bael's company when the man was in a relaxed mood.

            "I have a contact, an informant I have relied upon for years.  He's a Gnome, a Pickpocket by the name of Lee Toren.  I need to get in touch with him before we take any course of action.  He supposedly has a hiding place south of Whitewood.  I need you to find him, and have him come to us here.  He is a reliable fellow, with a vast network of spies and fellow thieves.  Take this to him," he said, handing a small money pouch to Bael, who hefted it in his free hand.  "Tell him it's payment for services he'll be rendering."

            "Wait, that's the fellow that gave you the horses, right," Bael asked.  Byron nodded.  "I owe him much.  If you hadn't had the speed of good mounts, I might have bled to death on the hills near Fort Flag.  I have to thank him yet.  I'll have trackers look for him.  They're some of the best manhunters my Race has to offer.  Well," he said, draining the last of his mug, handing it to Byron.  "I'll be off then to take care of this, after I drop this armor off with a smithy.  Tell Ellen I said thanks for the coffee," he said, removing his armor.  Underneath, his flesh was ragged and mottled with scar tissue.  There didn't appear to be a single patch of flesh which hadn't seen combat damage in his years as a military man.  Byron felt for him; he too had known little outside of the soldier's life.  He hoped secretly that Bael would never again don his armor.  He wished the man peace.  But a man like Bael knew little outside of the battlefield, and would likely be needed again in the future.  "Stay well, good Byron," Bael said as he stalked off towards the local smithy.

            "Go well, friend," Byron called after the big Lizardman.  He turned and walked back inside, seeing that a new game had begun.  Ellen took the mug from him, walking to the kitchen with Shoryu right behind, his hands tucked into the rope belt at her waist.  Byron took a seat where they had been sitting and took Shoryu's turn again.  Everyone else grumbled, for he had made a well calculated move that the boy would likely have missed, standing up afterward to let the couple take back their seats.  For the next two days, the time passed easily with the company exchanging stories about their pasts, jokes and jests, and serious discussion about what they would do in the near future.  On the third morning, as Byron rose and stretched, moving into the kitchen to prepare a fresh cup of coffee, he noticed that someone had already started it.  Groggy, he yawned widely and stretched again, sitting at the kitchen table with a large cup of coffee. 

            "You're welcome," said the squat little Gnome thief he had known for years.  The suddenness of Lee's appearance and his words surprised Byron, and he shoved quickly away from the table, unbalancing his seat and falling back to the floor. 

            "You could try not startling me like that, you know," he said, settling himself back into his seat, pouring the coffee right down his throat.  "So Bael got someone to you?"

            "Oi," Lee replied, taking a swig of his own mug.  "Couple of days ago, little fellah come runnin' straight up ta me, says somefin about the 'mighty Byron wishing to have my council', or some other somesuch.  Point is, the guy looked loik someone 'ad lit a fire under his arse.  I left that afternoon, got here this morning.  Asked around a bit, pretty much everyone 'ere thinks you're a hero, pointed me right 'ere.  I let meself in, but I's plumb tired.  Didn't sleep much last night, the ground was a bit uncomfortable.  Anywho, whatcha need of a fine gentleman loik me?"  Lee grinned broadly, revealing a set of tobacco yellowed teeth, what ones he had left in his head. 

            "I need to know where the fifth and final Orb of Eden’s Serpent is, Lee," Byron said softly, trying not to wake the others who were sleeping still in the living room.  "Vandross got away with the one that the Elves kept here, no thanks to me.  I was more concerned with keeping the damages to a minimum for the city."

            "Noffin wrong wi' that," Lee said, taking a long pull on his drink.  "Funny you should mention the Orb, though.  Last I'd heard, there was this brotherhood of Monks what kept it in their temple, but they've decided to move it.  Where to, I've got no idea.  But I can look into it fer ya.  Thanks fer the up front payment, by the way," he said, smiling widely.  "By the way, where's that Cuyotai boy you 'ad wif you, Shoryu wadn't it?"  Byron nodded, and pointed to the door to Ellen's bedroom.  "Huh, so he gets a nice cozy bed and yer friends don't.  What's up wif 'at?"

            "Well, the owner of this humble home is a young Elven woman, a Gaiamancer by the name of Ellen Daires.  She has a, erm," he sputtered, trying to find a way to say what was to be said without Lee getting mischievous.  "Well, an interesting relationship with Shoryu."  Lee raised an eyebrow, and when Byron tried to look away, the Gnome Pickpocket smiled like a devil at play.

            "Yer kiddin' me, right?  Oh that's too much!  Hahahaaa!"  He laughed loudly, and Byron tried to quiet him, too late.  Morek Rockmight, his eyes bloodshot from a bit too much late night drinking at the tavern with David Spore, stalked into the kitchen to see the little Gnome cackling like a mad fool.  He slunk on cat's feet right next to Lee, who was still unaware of the Dwarven Boxer's presence. 

            "OI," Morek shouted right in Lee's ear, sending the shocked Gnome to the floor.  Lee looked up into the cavernous, violent eyes of a Dwarf who didn't like his hangover disturbed by a lot of noise.  Not that any Dwarf enjoyed hangovers in any circumstances, but Morek wasn’t any Dwarf.  "Who is this little piss-ant what likes to make noise enough for a circus?!"  Morek grappled with Lee, hauling him up off of his feet.  Morek had a good foot and change on the Pickpocket, who thrashed around in Morek's powerful grip.

            "Easy, Morek," Byron said, taking another sip of his coffee.  "He's Lee Toren, an old ally of mine," he said, watching as Lee worked his way free of Morek's grip by somehow pulling the Dwarf's belt free of his trousers.  The powerful frame of the Dwarf shifted, and he looked down wide-eyed when Lee held up his belt tauntingly.  He looked down, dropped the Gnome, and took his belt back gruffly.  Lee laughed at the stocky Dwarf, who gave him a withering glare, shutting him up quickly. 

            "Well, I've got my work cut out fer me," Lee said, putting his mug in the sink.  "If you want to, you might want to head northeast, toward that monastery I told you about.  I don't fink those Monks would take the Orb far.  I'm sure they 'ave some way of masking its presence, keep it safe, you know, but they ain't gonna risk keepin' it around."  Byron nodded, and Lee waved to him and the disgruntled Boxer as he slipped silently out the front door. 

            "Wake the others, Morek," Byron said, putting his own cup in the sink and rinsing it out with the handle-pumped water.  "We'll leave this afternoon, after we make some provisions ready.  I'm not exactly sure where this monastery is, but it'll take us at least a week to get there, I'm sure.  Do you know anything about it," he asked, turning to Morek, who had just sat down with a fresh cup himself.

            "I think I do," Morek grumbled around his unusually ratty beard.  He hadn't trimmed it since arriving in Whitewood, and it was beginning to look a tad messy.  "There's a Monk brotherhood due east of Traithrock, about two days travel away.  I'm from Traithrock myself, so I can get us there.  That the plan, then?"  Byron replied yes, and the company awoke one by one, each told to pack some things and make ready to leave.  They had done what they could in Whitewood.  Shoryu was pulled aside separately by the big Dread Knight, so he could talk to the young Cuyotai privately.

            "Shoryu, you have a good thing here with Ellen," he said, gripping him by the shoulders.  "You needn't risk yourself or her in this anymore.  Stay behind and lead a life together."  But Shoryu shook his head immediately.

            "You were there for me whenever I needed you, good Byron.  You brought me back from the brink of death.  Without you, she and I would never have met!"  He clapped the big man on the back as he stood along side him.  "You and I started this thing together, and we'll finish it that way.  I promise."  He patted Byron on his broad back, moving away to help Ellen pack her belongings.  Byron smiled inwardly; they had all come to expect a great deal from him, but there was more to it than leadership.  They were his friends, the best he could ask for.  At a little after noon, they departed Whitewood with the Queen's blessing, and the thanks of all of the Elven and Cuyotai people of the kingdom.  And while the Lizardmen didn’t have a presence in Whitewood, a single warrior by the name of Bael had already undertaken the task of assembling forces that would aid the Dread Knight in the near future.

            Richard Vandross stalked through the tunnels of Mount Toane, passing his palm across the familiar stone.  So many memories, he thought.  So much began here, he thought.  The most vital parts of who he was now began here, years ago.  He remembered the way his master, Tanarak, had roamed the mountain in much the same fashion as he did now.  War had been waged from this place, and was so now.  Vandross had dispatched a force of a thousand men north, towards the Port of Arcade, a huge, sprawling metropolis which ruled over the surrounding lands for miles.  A good sized city-state, and it would be a perfect first trophy for his collection.  What he wanted from all of this was different than what Tanarak had wanted, however.  He had discovered through meditation on the Orbs the powers he could access now, and what he would have when he took the final Orb. 

            Among the powers he now possessed was the Immortal Rest.  It was a way for him to enter a dormant state which would preserve him perfectly as he was at the moment he slipped into sleep, and it would seal him away from the outside world, to awaken again whenever he wished.  His dreams would tell him of the world beyond his seal, showing him the state of the lands of Tamalaria so that he would not reawaken uninformed.  This knowledge gave way to the reason he now wanted the power of the Orbs.  He did not wish to dominate the land as its iron-fisted ruler, as Tanarak had before him, as he had once wished for himself.  He wanted something better than that.  He could sense the hatred and fear that the lands held for him, for he was becoming vastly known, and vastly feared.  Children trembled at the mention of his name, and he could feel their terror from anywhere in the land.  It made him feel wonderful, knowing as he did how they loathed and abhorred him.  No longer the weak child himself, but a conqueror!  It was a sweet thing, and as the days passed, it became almost as good as food to him.  He craved more of it, an endless supply!

            He told Vilec Roak at dinner on the evening before Lee Toren arrived to speak to Byron in Whitewood, though Vandross knew nothing of that, nor would he care.  Byron did not fear him, though the Dread Knight should.  That spell of his had left a permanent mark on Vandross's skin, and he hated it; it was the symbol of Oun, a Paladin sigil of worship.  It had been branded onto his feet.  But it mattered nothing now, as he related to Roak how he felt.  "I do not want this feeling to end, Roak," he growled in his double-voice as he tore into his mutton.  "Not now, not ever!  And I know how to keep it going, how to feel it over and over again!"

            "Um, how my lord," Roak asked.  He had distanced himself further and further from the one-eyed warlock.  He sensed a great change in the man that he did not care for in the least.  When he had first been summoned by Richard Vandross, Vilec Roak imagined a new stretch of service to a ruler and tyrant as powerful and wise as Tanarak had been.  That, however, didn’t appear to be what was in store for him and his.

            "I shall terrorize and raze the land, Roak," Vandross said, smiling like a madman, the thin red lights behind his eyes gleaming brightly.  "I shall slaughter thousands by my own hands, by the hands of my armies, until all fear and abhor me!  I shall feast upon their sweet, honey flavored fears," he said, giggling now.  "And when there is no one left who does not fear me, I shall send myself into the Immortal Rest, and seal myself away for a thousand years.  It'll be time enough for histories of me to turn into lessons, then into stories, then into myths and finally into legends.  Only the well educated or wise will fear the tale of Richard Vandross, and I will know it!  Then, when they are most vulnerable, I shall rise from the slumber, and begin my reign of blood all over again!  I will have the fear of a whole new generation to feast upon!  Hahahahahaahaaa!"  Vandross had laughed like a fool for nearly an hour, slamming his fist down on the stone table time and again, overly pleased with himself.  The thought of it came back to him now, as he passed by the dining chamber.  Something stirred deep inside of his heart.  What was this feeling that persisted? 

            But he had said those things the night before, though he still full well meant them.  He had seemed almost out of control, he thought to himself as he floated past the chamber.  Looking back on it, he thought himself temporarily mad with power.  Such madness would keep him from accomplishing his long term goal.  He would become a cancer that resurfaced every thousand years to feed upon the lives and mortal fears of Tamalaria's denizens.  But something stood in his way, aside from not having the fifth Orb of Eden’s Serpent.  He didn't need it for the Immortal Rest, he had access to that power now.  But so long as he lived, without directly killing Byron of Sidius, the Dread Knight abomination would always be there to stand against him.  Sure, his allies would age and die, but he remained eternal.  He would have to be slain in order for Vandross to accomplish anything.  As he passed further down into the depths of Mount Toane, a small pain centering around his chest began to throb and expand, stretching to his fingers and toes and becoming a throbbing litany.  He fell to his hands and knees, and none of his followers were kept this far down in the earth, so no one could help him.  What was this pain?  He threw his head back and screamed, and a surge of bright red and yellow energy flowed out from his gaping mouth and his eyes.  At first, the energy had no form, no substance, but it quickly became something he recognized, one of the few things in this world he feared.  After a moment, he stopped, the energy gone from him and formed of a new body.  Locke stood before him on the stone floor of a massive chamber used for storing the bodies of the dead.

            The huge Keeper was just as he had been in the realm of Vandross's soul, all gleaming crimson armor, its angles sharp and wicked-looking.  The glinting slab of metal that was his sword was strapped across his back, and the feral, yellow eyes glared down at the one-eyed warlock.  "Richard Vandross," his voice boomed, echoing through the whole of the mountain.  "I am leaving thou presently.  Thou clearly hast no intention of abandoning the path you have chosen, and I shall no longer suffer you.  I have spoken with the Mighty Ones concerning this, and they have granted me mine leave.  Know this; I am no longer a part of thee, no longer responsible for what happens to thee, though I must remain neutral in all things.  If thou attack me, or have any of thine minions do so, death will come swiftly to mine enemies!  And one thing more I shalt tell thee," the Keeper said, lifting Vandross from his knees to his feet with a heave of one arm.  "Thy fate is sealed," Locke shouted, his helmeted face only inches from Vandross's.  Normally, Vandross would have been petrified, yet something had died within him.  He no longer cared about the Keeper's threats.  They meant nothing to him.

            "Go then," he rasped in his double-tone.  "Get out of my domain, creature, go to rot in whatever hell the gods have designed for you."

            "I have been in Hell once already," Locke murmured loud enough for Vandross to hear as he stalked away.  "It is the inside of thy soul."  Without another word or sound, the huge Keeper was gone from Richard Vandross's life.  That was fine by him.  Yet where Locke had been, he now felt an empty void open up.  He wondered for a while if he needed the Keeper after all.  But that mattered little at the moment.  The pain from Locke’s expulsion faded in moments, and Vandross felt thankful for at least that mercy.  He had to think hard about shoring up his forces after the massive losses at Whitewood.  The Elven army and Dark Watch, and Byron's company in particular, had devastated the members of his assault on the city, leaving less than fifty to return with Vilec Roak and his new beast.  Vandross wove arcane symbols of heretical magic in the air, summoning a hundred Shadowbeasts out of the darkness of the vast chamber he stood in.  Each was a slavering, growling beast, each taking the vaguely humanoid shapes of his own soldiers in a moment's time.  He ordered them all to their assigned posts, sensing the powers of each and giving them an appropriate rank.  Ranks, he thought.  The Major he had suggested for promotion had been slain in Whitewood, along with three Captains and two Lieutenants.  Two of the Captains had been ambushed by Bael and his Lizardmen, along with a fresh contingent of Cuyotai, after they had been ordered to retreat.  Vilec Roak had described Bael's fury in battle rather accurately, for he had almost fallen prey to the bitter reptile warrior himself, but Vandross's newest demon had saved him from the final blow, bashing Bael into a tree.  Roak had ordered his men away from the battle, those that remained.

            But at least one replacement had been set, and that was by filling in a post with the half-demon creature he had created as Tanarak’s apprentice, the one known as Molis.  Vandross had come upon this stalking, armored half-breed upon his return to Mount Toane, and it had been quite subservient and remembered its master quite well.  Vandross had awarded him the rank of Colonel, and given him little more thought than to tell him that he should take up the training of some of the less able warriors in his armies.  He could sense the half-breed’s hatred of him, but knew that its nature and purpose would prevent it from ever directly raising a hand against him. 

            Vandross left the chamber and his thoughts behind, focusing at the task at hand once more.  He summoned Vilec Roak to his side, and ordered him to send a small unit to the nearest village and decimate it.  He was to leave ten alive to relate the tale to another town, and Roak was to then send another, larger unit, to whatever village or town that was.  After the process had been repeated three more times, Vandross himself would lead a charge at the city of Ja-Wen.  Surely news should reach the larger metropolitan city by then.  He would bring his new pet along, too.  His new one, he thought.  Forsaking resting again so soon, though he desperately needed it after Locke’s departure, Vandross moved in and out of tunnels and passageways until he was standing in the light of the midday sun outside of the entrance to Mount Toane. 

Vandross thrust his hands to the earth, unleashing a wave of magic into the ground, summoning three more monstrous demons from the Pit.  Each one looked like the other, all three of them standing well over twenty feet in height.  Vandross knew what they were, for he had read a few passages about them in one of his many tomes on the subject of demons.  These were Renkas, towering, bear-like creatures with the power of Aquamancy.  They were intelligent beasts, more articulate than the creature he had named Brink, the demon summoned at Whitewood.  One of the Renkas turned its massive head and body to square himself with Vandross.  "Are you the one who has summoned us from our duties, mortal?"  Its voice was thunderous and deep, causing minor tremors in the ground, visibly rippling the air about the one-eyed warlock.

            "Indeed, I am, great and mighty Renka!  I am Richard Vandross, a warlock in possession of four of the Orbs of Eden’s Serpent, former apprentice to Tanarak of Sidius!  Heed my words and commands, for I am your summoner, and by the laws of magic and power that bind, I am your new master!"  The Renkas turned, all three of them growling and drooling, their huge paws poised as if to strike.  But none did; instead, they each in turn bowed to him, lowering their chins to the ground before him.  "You who has spoken, what is your name?"

            "My name," rumbled the one who spoke, "is Tamriel, a torture master of the sixth ring of Hell!  These men are but my lowly apprentices, Moran and Doran," he said, rising up once more.  As the other two made to stand, Tamriel bashed them each back to the ground, to keep their chins on the ground.  "My apologies for their lack of manners, for they know not when superiors are finished talking."  Vandross took an instant liking to Tamriel.  He was obviously a physical menace, and he could sense the great magical power of the demon as he spoke.  He had found his new Major.  He rummaged through his pouches for a Major's cluster pin, and, finding it, flicked it up at the Renka. 

            "Pin that to your cloak, Tamriel," Vandross said, conjuring three huge great cloaks, one for each of them.  Sergeant's stripes shone on the cloaks of Moran and Doran, and Tamriel pinned the Major cluster to his collar.  "No, slightly down further," Vandross suggested, and Tamriel adjusted it so that the pin was now not hidden by his fur.  "You are familiar with military ranks," he asked.

            "For the most part, yes," Tamriel replied, bidding his men to rise and put on their cloaks.  "You have made my apprentices Sergeants.  That is well enough, though it may be beyond them.  What is your first order, lord Vandross," the huge bear-demon asked.  Vandross rubbed his hands in anticipation; he hadn't expected such eagerness from his new charges, but liked their initiative. 

            "Go west, into the Allenian Hills.  Give the free Khan and the Simpa, the were-lions, a stern lesson in what it means to defy Richard Vandross.  I will send fifty Shadowbeasts with you."

            "No," said Tamriel, holding a hand up to cut Vandross off.  "We have no need for their pathetic kind, lest they be Primes all," he boomed, turning away sharply.  "We can handle this ourselves.  Moran, Doran, come!"  Vandross sent a streamer of magic to summon Brink from his lair nearby, and called to Tamriel to stop.

            "Take Brink for a walk, too, if you would," he said, and the huge Renka nodded.  He produced a wicked iron whip of chain, and lashed it at Brink, who walked ahead of the three Renkas like a puppy at play.  What an odd bunch, Vandross thought, grinning like a fool.  And how useful they shall be.  Satisfied with the present arrangements, Vandross moved off into Mount Toane, to prepare his men for their attacks.  The whole region would suffer at his hands, and he would have a feast of fear to feed upon.  The loss of the enigmatic Keeper no longer bothered him. 

            Byron and company marched on through the evening, silent all and hopeful.  They would need another two days to make their way clear of the kingdom, but were satisfied that they would be safe within the forest.  At sunset, Byron called the company to a halt, each one of them still worn from the ordeal of Whitewood, Byron more than the others.  They cleared a small patch of ground and gathered firewood, Selena starting the blaze and continuing to feed it deadwood.  The company made a meal of the provisions they had purchased, assembling their ingredients into a pot Ellen had brought from her home.  "These are the better times," Shoryu commented, all eyes fixing on him now.  "A warm fire, open, clear sky above, and none of us fighting for our lives, you know," he finished awkwardly.

            "True enough," said David Spore, taking his white bandana off of his head.  He rubbed his left shoulder, where it had once been attached to an arm.  "Makes me think about the day I lost this.  I was in the mountains way up north, training, when I was heard by a rather hungry pack of wolves.  I fought for dear life, but they got on top of me.  Tore my arm apart, but I managed to break their necks and a few ribs with my legs about their torsos.  I managed to get up, hobble back towards the monastery.  But I didn't get far when one of them caught up, one I thought I'd taken care of.  He got me face down in the snow, tore into my shoulder, and just ripped the bones apart.  I was bleeding like a stuck pig, I'll tell you that."

            "How'd you survive," Selena asked, ladling stew into her earthenware bowl. 

            "Well, I used a sutra card to cast a spell on the wolf, kill its sense of smell and sight.  On a humanoid, it's only temporary, but on an animal, it's permanent.  I figured it was enough payback for my arm.  I bound a tourniquet about my shoulder, to stop the bleeding, then used another sutra to seal the wound.  I've been this way since then, four years now.  I've adapted my fighting style to suit the change, well enough to still matter in a fight.  My sutras are my secret weapons now," he finished, serving himself some of the stew.  "What about you, Morek?  Any stories?"  The taciturn Dwarf finished his first serving of stew and remained silent a moment, letting himself think it over a minute. 

            "I've got a few, but Dwarven tales are long in the telling.  Some stories take days to tell, and only our shortest stories would be suitable.  Besides, I've few of my own tales that would compare to all of yours," he said, getting more food.

            "Come now, humble Morek," chided Byron, giving the Dwarf a small shove.  "You've got to have something for us.  This is a good evening for stories, and we've little else to tide us over until it is time to sleep!  Think of anything, tell us a story, even if it isn't one of your own."  Morek chewed his food slowly, purposefully, before he set his bowl down at last. 

            "All right," he said, putting his hands on his knees, leaning close to the fire so as to illuminate his face.  "This is a story I've told to my wife and sons many times."

            "You're married," Byron asked in shock.  "And have children?"

            "Of course," Morek said, looking up at the large Dread Knight.  "Why, you didn't know?"

            "I'm just surprised anyone but your mother could love such a face," Byron said, pinching and stretching Morek's cheeks.  The Boxer swung at Byron, who held him at bay like an older brother would a child.  Morek calmed down, laughing along with everyone else.

            "Good one, bonehead, but anyway, let me tell the tale.  It was a bitter winter's night, the wind gusting and blowing like a blizzard set in motion.  It was in the mountains near Traithrock, seven years ago.  I walked through the passes and paths north of the city, heading toward Moonmight, a town my brother Cole lives in.  I wanted to have a sit down with him for some time, and he had just written saying he'd very much like that.  The snow blew at me from everywhere, and I couldn't see more than five yards in front of my face.  Bout an hour after sunset, I had to look for shelter, as my hands were turning blue beneath my wool gloves.  I found a little cave to poke into before too long, and hunkered down for the night.  It wasn't long before I heard something like growling behind me, in the shadows of the cave.  Then, these three black bear cubs come walking forward.  Now mind you, I'm no Hunter, or Gaiamancer," he said, nodding at Shoryu and Ellen in turn.  "But I'm smart enough to know that where there's cubs, momma isn't far behind.

            "Cept, momma never showed.  There they were, three bear cubs, growling at me, but they stopped soon's I lit a torch.  The fire likely scared 'em.  Well, I followed a bit, but at the back of the cave there was nothing to be found, save for some fish from a nearby riverbed.  I figured they'd been there for a day or so, and momma bear was likely out getting more food, but she was out in a blizzard.  Black bear or no, it didn't sit well with me.  So I picked up my things, and set out into the storm again.  I trudged through the wind and snow, nearly freezing my arse off.  Well, I march till about midnight, when I see a set of tracks in the snow, and not animal tracks, but Khan tracks.  They like bear meat, hunt 'em wherever they can, even where they shouldn't be.  I follow them tracks, and afore long, I see one of the tiger men, up in a tree.  Momma bear's down by the riverbed, her leg caught in a nasty trap.  This Khan, he must not have seen it, but in that wind, it was hard to see much of anything.  Well, this bear's growling and snarling like the damned at him, and he's taking arrow shots, missing by only a little, mostly because of the wind.  I snuck up to the tree, climbed up, and wailed on that rat bastard for a good while.  Finally knocked him out of the tree to the snow below, figured he was at least staying down for a while. 

            "I went down to the bear, and sure enough, she was bleedin' pretty bad," Morek said, his eyes glazing over with memories.  "She swings at me a few times, but I back off, put my hands up to show I'm no threat.  Now, I'm not an Elf, or a Beastmaster, I've little experience with wild animals, but she seems to get it, stops swinging.  She looks down at her leg, which is pretty messed up, and I pry the trap open, break the trigger.  She tried walking, but didn't get more than a few yards before she dropped.  Now mind you, this is well more than I normally would've done, I shouldn't have gotten involved.  But those cubs need someone to take care of them.  So I encouraged her to get back up, and used some spare bandaging and splinted the leg.  Then I helped her walk, holding her up under that front leg while she walked.  Damn near killed me from the effort, and the cold, but we got back to that cave just before sun up.  I collapsed when we got back, and fell asleep.  But I felt warm while I slept, and it was noon before I woke up to find they'd all curled up to me, kept me warm.  I wrote a letter that day to my brother, and gave it to a hunting party passing by the cave to take to Moonmight.  I wrote telling Cole I had to stick around to help out a while longer.  For two more weeks I helped gather food for them, keep momma's strength up, until she mended.  Finally, one morning, momma wakes me up, tearing at her bandages.  She was good enough, she was telling me in her way.

            "Well, I help her off with it, and then suddenly, there's an arrow in my shoulder.  That bastard Khan, he'd found us!  Well, while I fell and he tried notching another arrow, all four bears, momma and cubs, bull rushed him, bore him down and tore him apart!  I got up, drew the arrow out, and wrapped it up.  That bear, I think she smiled at me then, as I made my way out and started home.  I looked back once, and she was sitting there with her cubs, all of them grinning.  Not like people, mind you, but I could tell."    The company sat in silence, smiling to themselves. 

            "Imagine you being such a warm-hearted man under all that gruff exterior," jested David Spore.   "A much better tale than mine.  How about you, young Shoryu," he asked, rolling out his bedroll and climbing inside to settle in for the night.  "Any stories of great hunts for us?"  Shoryu looked up at the moon, thinking back on his relatively short lifetime.  Cuyotai were among the longest living Races, their lifespans reaching over six hundred years before age claimed them.  And he was barely a man, still almost a boy it seemed.  But he had experience, he had no doubts of that, and one thing that none among the group did; his lycanthrope rage.  He had only experienced it once, and that had been plenty for him.

            "As a matter of fact, I have a story to tell, though the hunt involved was not one I am proud of," he began, looking into the eyes of everyone of the company.  He hesitated a moment after looking into Ellen's eyes, her deep emerald orbs gazing lovingly at him.  Would his recounting of this particular tale make her see him in a different light?  He hoped not, but he should tell the story to be certain she cared for him despite his flaws.  Love without acceptance of someone's differences was not true love, and this would be the perfect way to test it.  "I remember the night perfectly, back in my home village in the east, the rain pouring down like the tears of the gods above.  It hammered into the ground and into the roofs of our homes, the wind howling at us with its banshee wail.  The hunting parties returned from the woods empty handed, their sense of smell betrayed by the washing downpour.  This was twenty years ago, and I was still just an adolescent, so I was not allowed to hunt with the others.  I had been playing with some friends, in the fields between the village and the forest on the south.  It was a game we called Shin jik aba, which in our tongue means 'no blood, no foul'.  It is a game of fighting; you call it sparring.  We do it as youths in packs, to better prepare ourselves for the lives of true warriors. 

            "The rain did not dismay us, for it only added an extra measure of challenge.  We continued, the four of us punching, kicking and grappling in the slick grasses, the game become more about skill and agility than sheer strength.  Being the most lithe and nimble of the four, I gained an advantage on my friends, and had each other boy flat on his back in minutes.  It was quite a good time," he said, smiling at the memory of it.  He had most enjoyed those days.  There had been no worries for him, and he had begun to notice his level of skill with the different weapons he and the other older boys practiced with.  Mostly, he knew he had a natural skill for the bow.  "And then, during the rain, with the Chieftain yelling to us to get inside, an arrow flew out of the woods, and struck down one of the others.  It was a simple shaft of wood, with no feathers, and we all knew immediately that it was Lizardmen.  They had struck down a child, one of my friends.  He would have survived if the arrow had been a little to the left or right, but it had pierced him in the heart.  Silver or not, that sort of shot is fatal to we Cuyotai.

            "The others scattered, but I could not move.  Something burned deep inside, some all-consuming flame, and as I turned my head to look west, behind and to one side of me, I saw a group of ten or eleven of the reptiles.  One of them used a crossbow to fire on me, a single silver tipped bolt through my left arm.  Though it seared my flesh, I barely felt it.  Something inside of me broke apart, and I began to feel, different.  Stronger, faster, out of control.  I began to slaver and growl, hunching down like a common animal, then rearing my head back and howling at the sky.  My claws came out, longer and sharper in the fading light than I had ever seen them.  My single thought was simple; kill them all.  I sprinted at them through the rain and mud, coming on the first of them in a flash.  I remember the look of confusion turn to horror on his face as I buried my claws into his chest, wrenching my arms and splitting his upper body in two.  The snap of his bones, the wet slapping noise of his bloodied body striking the saturated ground, these were sounds that would have normally made me afraid.  But I reveled in it, frenzied and wild.  The next three fell as I pounced on them, bearing them each to the ground and ripping out their throats with my jaws.  Blood flew, spattering my simple clothes and face, and I let their scaled flesh slither down my gullet. 

            "As I sat on one of these victims, another Lizardman swung his sword at me.  I rolled away from him, then spun back and launched a kick into his chest that sent him flying back among his remaining comrades, who had all halted their charge.  They fled back for the woods, leaving him to congeal on the ground.  As he stood up, I slammed into him, my shoulder barreling into his shattering ribs.  I snatched up his sword and ran it through his stomach, pinning him to the ground and taking the last of his life.  But, it didn't seem that it was enough.  Something inside of me, something primal, had come to life, and it needed more.  It needed to kill, to feed."  Shoryu's voice had grown hushed, his eyes glazing over with the shame and terror he felt at the rush of sensations his memory brought to him.  "I pulled the sword out and hurled it at the fleeing reptiles, spiking one of them in the head.  The others had escaped into the woods, but I had to find them, get them all.  I gave chase, and slaughtered the remaining three of them swiftly.  The worst of them, I remember tearing his arm off as he swung at me, and beating him with his own arm before I gripped his head and buried by thumbs into his eyes.  It was, as though I had been possessed.  I collapsed then, reawakening in my bed some many hours later.  I couldn't fully remember what had happened, but I was reassured that I had done nothing wrong.  Still, my heart was heavy, and over the course of the next week or so, I remembered every last detail I have related to you.  I felt like nothing more than an animal, ready to destroy everything I came in contact with. 

            "Those of my friends who had survived had grown distant after that.  They were afraid of me then, and I could sense their discomfort.  After a while, I stopped playing with them," he said, letting out a long sigh.  "As time passed, the villagers came to talk to me again, and I was treated normally once more.  But that feeling of being alone and isolated among my peers never went away, not completely.  Even after they talked to me again, those who had been my friends, I realized it had been four or five years until they felt brave enough to be near me again.  I couldn't blame them.  And that's my story," he said, finishing his tale.  The others of the company sat in silence, thinking over all he had told them.  Ellen's hand tightened on his, and she stroked his cheek with the back of her free hand.  He held her close, wrapping one large arm around her waist and feeling the warmth of her body.  She more than the others seemed to understand, and Byron seemed the only one totally unaffected by his story.  Then again, the Dread Knight's past, he realized, was darker than anyone else's could possibly be.  He felt foolish for a moment, then realized that everyone in the company had their own secrets and pasts to deal with.  But he felt better too, for having told his story, and he was enjoying the bonding he felt with the others of the company from Whitewood. 

            "I've a story," said Selena Bradford then, staring into the fire, a grin playing across her lips.  "It is not as good as Shoryu's or Morek's, but it's my story, and I'm going to tell it anyway," she said, sipping on her wineskin.  "It dates back eight years, when I was a teenager, and first learning to use my powers.  I was living in Desanadron, as I have for most of my life.  My mother had sent me to the market to fetch some butter and bread for dinner, me and my brothers and sisters, along with mom and dad going through a lot of both.  There were nine of us in the house, after all."

            "Wow," said Morek, sipping at his own cup of ale.  "Lots of kids in that family.  Not sure I could handle it."

            "Neither could my parents," Selena said, chuckling.  "More often than not my dad had to yell at us as a group, just to make sure everyone was accounted for," she said, laughing aloud again.  "Well, I was running through the crowds, just minding my own business, when these three local bullies pushed me into an alley.  They were big boys, Jaft youths, the stench of their blue skin making my eyes water.  One of them, he says to me, 'fork over yer money and we'll pound you'.  Of course, I had to chuckle a little, his grammar being horrible.  I said to him, are you sure you don't mean or?  He says, 'what', gets this dumb look on his face.  He looks at his friends, who just shrug their shoulders.  I said to him, well, I think what you mean to say is, hand over your money or we'll pound you.  He growls at me, says 'are you some kind of smartass?  Yeah, hand it over OR we'll pound you'!  Well, by that point I'd pretty much readied my magic, and I lit a small flame on each of their rear ends.  They stood there, their asses smoking, and they sniffed the air, looked at each other, and one of them asked what was cooking.  I pointed at them and said, you are, stupid.  Well, sure enough, they each turned to look, and started running around yelling at each other!

            "They ran out into the market, and accidentally started a merchant's cart on fire!  Hahaha, the guards snatched them up and slapped their butts to put the fire out, then walked them home to talk to their parents about paying for the damages!  I got my mother what she needed, and walked home with my head held high."

            "Sounds like something I'd have done," said Alex, laughing at the Pyromancer's tale. 

            "It grows late," Byron said, making note of the position of the stars and the moon.  "If tales are to be told, they should be short like Selena's."

            "I have no tales to tell," squeaked Alex from his perch on Selena's shoulder.  "How about you, James?  Or Ellen perhaps?"  But the reserved Paladin had little to say, it seemed, or at least nothing he wanted to share just at the moment.  And Ellen had fallen asleep with her head on Shoryu's shoulder, her hand still over top of his. 

            "I think we should all take the opportunity to get some much needed rest," Byron said, scowling into the night's darkness.  He rose and moved away from the company.  "I'll keep the first watch.  I shall awaken one of you for the second watch, so you should all get some sleep."  As the other members of the company made themselves comfortable, Byron moved out and began to stalk the edges of the fire light like a great cat waiting to spring.  But he did not jump or start when Alex fluttered up beside him an hour later.  "Alex," he said to the Ki Fairy, who set down on his shoulder plate.

            "Lord Byron," Alex started, feeling a bit awkward.  "I have something I need to tell you," he said, slowly, almost embarrassed.

            "No need to say it, my tiny friend," Byron mused, holding up a hand to stop Alex from speaking.  "I have sensed a kinship between you and Miss Bradford since Whitewood.  And even before, for she fascinated you as few have.  Such a young woman, yet so powerful in her chosen field of magic.  Yes, Humans are rarely so young when they gain such mastery as she is.  You would travel with her when all of this is over, yes?"  He asked the question though he already knew the answer.  He felt a slight pang of loss when Alex nodded, yet he knew it was for the better.  He wouldn't be around long if he killed Vandross anyhow; he may drop dead the moment that life escaped the warlock's body.  The magic that bound him to Tanarak's former apprentice was permanent and binding, and there would be no escape from it.  Best that Alex have a friend when the time came.  "Now go and get some rest, troublesome imp," he said, smiling as best he could.  Alex fluttered away, saddened himself that he should have to say to his long time friend, one of the few he'd ever had, that he was essentially leaving him while still in his presence.  But Byron would be fine, he thought as he laid down near Selena.  He was made of sterner stuff than most.

            Byron looked over once more at the slumbering party.  Seeing Shoryu and Ellen curled up together gave him a sense of peace, of happiness that he hadn't felt in some time.  He would miss them all when the time came for fate to take him.  Whether he was destined for the freedom of paradise in the afterlife, or the fire of eternal damnation for his sins, he did not know.  For now, he would watch over his few close friends, and be content with their companionship.  After his watch, he woke Morek to take the watch, who splashed some water on his face to wake himself up.  He did not see the Dread Knight wrap himself in his blankets.  He did not see the gentle tear stream down out of one empty eye socket.