'Freedom or the Fire' Chapter Twelve- Confrontation

Shoryu and Ellen were woken by Tandaba, the black furred Cuyotai Chieftain.  The sun had just poked up over the horizon, a single shaft of light beaming down through the window on Ellen's slender form beneath the sheets.  "I know it's early, yah, but I tink we should get everyone ready to head out.  We sent a runner to the other villages nearby about two hours ago," said the Chieftain, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Shoryu, who remained lying peacefully under the covers.  "He's just about back by now, I wager.  We have arranged breakfast in the village circle, as we did last night for our meeting.  When you're ready," he said, looking over at Ellen, who was rubbing her eyes.  "We'll be dere."  The Chieftain brought his snout in close to Shoryu's ear.  "And if yah are goin' ta be havin' relations, boy, make sure she keeps the sheets all da way up to her neck," he said with a smile.  Shoryu looked over at Ellen, noticing that her shoulders were bare and exposed.  That, of course, was to say nothing about her dress being heaped on the floor with his own clothes.  He flushed instantly, trying to force a smile at the big Chieftain, who ruffled his hair as he stood up, giggling to himself mirthfully. 

            The pair from Byron's company woke and dressed after washing in a water basin, sharing occasional kisses and light touches, each making Shoryu feel giddy with fresh feelings of adoration.  He had been thinking about a family of his own the night before, when Ellen had rolled atop him, saying nothing, but staring deep into his eyes.  The two had made love then, wrapped in each other's arms, time seeming to stop altogether.  Shoryu chided himself for not at least tucking their clothes under the bed, so that Tandaba wouldn't be immediately aware.  He felt a little bad about doing what they had done in the Chieftain's home, though the big man seemed more amused than anything.  They shared a wordless embrace for a long moment before leaving the house hand-in-hand.  Ellen leaned close against him, and whispered in his ear, "I love you." 

            "And I love you," he said, grinning like an idiot.  He knew in his heart that there were hard times ahead for the two of them, battles with forces they could only wonder about.  Richard Vandross was a dangerous beast, and their own lives would be in great danger when they rejoined the company from Whitewood.  But he swore that he would protect this wonderful girl from the Elven Kingdom.  He would protect and cherish her for the whole of his life, he promised himself.  They came upon the villagers who would go with them at the village center, breakfast already being served on large porcelain plates.  They were each handed a plate from the pup Straig, who smiled knowingly up at them.  Ellen thanked him, but noticed a strange sadness in his eyes.  She would ask him about it before they left. 

            A cheer suddenly went up from the group, and both Shoryu and Ellen looked in the direction they all faced, seeing the village runner return with a group of Cuyotai that was at least two hundred strong.  They all appeared to be from separate tribes, but had their arms raised in the symbol of victory, each fur covered limb fisted at the end.  From different homes, from separate walks of life, they had come to the aid of Tandaba and his village.  They had all agreed to aid the Elves in their time of need.  One older warrior shouted that the Elven Kingdom was their home as well, and no man would take their homes from them without a fight.  "I am sorry dat dere isn't enough food for you all," shouted the big Chieftain to the assembled warriors, but many simply brushed the matter aside.  Five other headdressed Cuyotai, Chieftains all, approached the circle.  Tandaba moved out to meet them, and together they talked quietly, conferring on the matter of strategy.  Tandaba motioned Shoryu and Ellen over to the group, and they stood before the towering Chieftains.

            "Greetings, oh wise and noble Chieftains," he said, bowing in the manner of his home.  Each of the aged leaders bowed in return, smiling at him and the Elf girl with him.  "What is it that you wish of this meager Hunter and talented Gaiamancer," he asked, keeping his tone formal and his eyes slightly lowered.  His home was gone, but his ways were still ingrained in him; he would not meet their eyes as long as they were engaged in their duties.  As he looked at the ground, he noticed Straig clinging to Tandaba's leg.  The Chieftain said nothing to his son, however, but instead let him cling. 

            "The boy is modest," said one of the Chieftains, a white furred man.  White Cuyotai, Shoryu knew, were the rarest of his kind, masters of magic like few other Cuyotai could ever be.  "Your name is Shoryu, right?"  The young Hunter nodded wordlessly.  "Why do you not look us in the eye, boy?"

            "Because such was custom where I come from, wise one," Shoryu replied after a moment's hesitation. 

            "Well," said the white fur, placing a hand gently on Shoryu's shoulder.  "It is a silly custom.  Look at me, boy," he said, his deep, gravely voice scraping like nails on a chalkboard.  Shoryu looked up into the Chieftain's red eyes.  He started, flinching back instinctively.  "Never seen a white fur Cuyotai before, eh?"  Shoryu nodded. 

            "I have," said Ellen, taking Shoryu's hand in her own.  She curtsied to the Chieftains.  "I am Ellen Daires, of Whitewood. We two are separated from our company for the purpose of gaining your aid against the devil Richard Vandross.  You have a plan," she said, making it a statement of fact, not a question.  The Chieftains all nodded.  "What is it?"

            "Well, dis Vandross fellah, he doesn't know us from Sam, right," asked Tandaba, patting his son on the head.  Shoryu and Ellen nodded.  "But he surely knows enough to know dat we're here, and aren't allowed in da cities, yah?  Well," he said, folding his massive arms across his chest.  "We gonna make it look like we attackin' da city ourselves.  Him and his men, dey'll let us alone.  Well, we'll have you tell the city officials to let us scale the walls, and we'll make noise, like we battlin' inside.  One half will go inside, while da other half stay outside.  When Vandross's own men make a move, da half outside will attack him from da flank.  He won't know what's coming!"  The plan seemed logical enough to Shoryu and Ellen, though neither thought that Tandaba knew just what the risks were.  Vandross had more than a thousand men coming; the Cuyotai numbered just over three hundred men and women.  If only half of that number attacked Vandross, surprised or not, the one-eyed devil would crush them with little effort.  "You seem hesitant, boy.  What's wrong?"

            "Vandross has many times more men than we," Shoryu said, his voice a harsh whisper.  He was angry with himself suddenly, thinking it foolish to bring so many of his own kind to such risk.  He and Ellen should never have asked them for their help; they would surely all be killed.  "We should all go inside the city walls, every last one of us.  Less lives will be lost that way."

            "Lives are lost in war," said the white fur Chieftain.  "It is the nature of war.  But we are warriors, all of us.  We know the risks we take.  If the whole of the Elven Kingdom is at risk, we gladly lay down our lives to defend the thousands who live within it!  A couple hundred is a small sacrifice in the face of losing a whole nation!"  A war cry went up from the Cuyotai nearby, a wild and jubilant cheer.  Indeed, it seemed they knew and accepted what was expected of them.  How many of those veterans and young fighters would live beyond the struggle, Shoryu wondered.  He felt Ellen's hand tighten on his, and she smiled at him as he looked at her.  He smiled in return, his hope suddenly rekindled.  There would always be survivors, and from those survivors, a new generation.  He quickly embraced her, and he felt the shocked gazes of the Chieftains apart from Tandaba.  Shoryu opened his eyes, and saw Straig smiling up at them widely. 

            "Please excuse dese young lovers," poked Tandaba as they pulled away from each other.

            "Not a problem," said the shorter tan furred Chieftain, a crooked smile on his face as he met eyes with Shoryu.  "My wife is also an Elven girl."

            "Oh, we're not married," Shoryu blurted, waving his hands as the Chieftains laughed at him.  Ellen put her arm around his slender waist, and he across her shoulders.  "We're just, you know, together.  Seeing where things will take us," he said, feeling Ellen jab him in the ribs playfully.  "Right, let's be serious, wise ones.  When do we leave?"  The white fur Chieftain barked an order to the assembled fighters, and they rapidly formed marching ranks. 

            "Right now," he said with a wicked smile.  The Chieftains moved away, except for Tandaba, who knelt before his son.  He gave him a fierce hug, stroking the boy's head in a fatherly fashion.  The boy would not let him go, and suddenly started to beat Tandaba on the arm.

            "Don't go, father," he said, sobbing.  "Don't go!"  Shoryu and Ellen stood glued to their spot.  Tandaba stood up, pushing the boy away from him gently.  "You can't!  You can't," the boy raged at his father. 

            "Straig, me boy, what has gotten into you?!  I must go, you know dis!  It is my duty to my people!  To my family," he said, waving his hand pointedly to encompass the whole village.  "To you, my boy," he said softly.  He patted the boy's head and walked away, calling to his own men.  Shoryu and Ellen knelt next to the crying boy, concern mirrored in their faces. 

            "Straig," said Ellen softly, rubbing his back.  "What's wrong?  Why can't your father go with us?"  Shoryu patted the boy's shoulder, trying to be supportive. 

            "Because," Straig said, looking them both in the eyes separately.  He seemed to choke on his words, coughing violently.  "Because I have seen it."

            "Seen what," asked Shoryu.

            "I have seen what is to be," Straig said, facing Shoryu square on.  "I have seen a one-eyed monster in my dream last night!  He is going to kill my father!"  The boy buried his face in Shoryu's shoulder, the wetness from his flowing tears matting Shoryu's fur.  He held the boy a moment, then released him.

            "We will protect your father," Shoryu said with an awkward smile.  "Don't worry.  He'll be fine."  The boy nodded, and waved goodbye to them as they left.  Shoryu couldn't shake his feeling that no matter what they did, the boy's vision would come to pass.

            Richard Vandross opened his eye and gazed up, seeing the domed ceiling of some sort of cavern.  He felt the heat of earthen flames under him.  He sat up, holding his head as it throbbed, looking up into the face of Power.  For just a moment, he thought she looked too much like his mother for comfort, but he shook his head and banished the thought.  She had died like the weak cow she was.  None such fate awaited Power.

He was within his soul again.  "What am I doing here?  I have work to do outside, in the real world," he grumbled, getting slowly to his feet and dusting himself off.  He realized he was nude save a pair of tunic pants, just as he had been in the waking world.  Straightening, he stalked forward toward the altar that stood before the pitch black coffin containing the Glorious Mother of Destruction.  "There must be a reason for your bringing me here."  Vengeance crept out from wherever he had been hiding until that moment, along with Spite. 

            "Indeed, there is, a, reason," shlooped Vengeance.  "Personally, I, wanted to, congratulate, you, on, your remarkable, use, of the, magic.  But, that, is not, the main, reason, behind your, summons.  Power, has, something, to show you."  Vandross stalked over to Power, gazing over his shoulder at the snake-man creature called Spite.  He hadn't offered much in the times Vandross had been in this odd place that was supposed to be his soul.  Did the little beast hide something from him, waiting for the right opportunity?  Or did he simply have little to offer him?  Vandross decided he would find out later, in the waking world.  For now, he was interested in what Power had to show him.

            "What is it you wish me to see," he asked, a placating smile on his lips.  Power withdrew part of her robes, pulling a small crystal from one of her inner pockets.  She held it up to the rock light of the cavern, letting the crimson light spill through the object in her hand onto her exposed wrist.  The orb shimmered, and revealed the image of a Shadowbeast slipping through the ground somewhere deep in the forest.  It tunneled through the earth without a trace, moving itself through the Shadowrealm into a room far beneath the earth's surface.  Finally, it crept up upon an Elven man who laid prone on a bed within the chamber.  In a flash, the demon merged with the Elf, possessing him, but the Elf appeared resilient.  Time passed, and Vandross watched the man become a raving lunatic, smearing his own feces and blood across the walls in arcane symbols, unable to get free of the room.  Then, the crystal flashed, and Byron of Sidius stood in the room.  He swiftly and effortlessly put an end to the man's life.  It was then that Vandross realized the importance of what he was seeing; the Orb of Eden’s Serpent lay somewhere near that room.  What was one of his Shadowbeasts doing there, however?  He had not ordered any reconnaissance.  As if reading his thoughts, which she probably could do anyway, Power answered his question.

            "The Shadowbeasts are naturally drawn to the artifacts.  This one was weak-willed enough to go after it himself.  However, this offers us some insight into the location of the Orb of Eden’s Serpent.  We know it is underground.  And that it is defended."  Vandross cursed under his breath; Byron of Sidius.  He knew already, from Vengeance, of the Orb’s underground location, but the sight of Byron infuriated him.  How long would the Dread Knight be a thorn in his side?  He had to figure out a way to get rid of the undead warrior somehow.  Byron posed the greatest direct threat to him and his cause, and could easily destroy hundreds of his men on his own.  He had to confront the Dread Knight himself.  But would he be enough?  He felt a viper of doubt slither up his spine.  No, not yet.  He needed only one more Orb of Eden’s Serpent, and then he would be powerful enough.  And with the fifth, well, no one would stand a chance against him.  But ah, a head-on battle was not what he was working toward, was it?  No, he thought, grinning sheepishly, it isn't.  He began pacing back and forth on the stone floor of the chamber, his bare feet warm on the volcanic rock as he shuffled back and forth.  The smell of sulfur rose through the air, clouding his vision slightly.  No, this is a siege on the Elven Kingdom capital, he thought.  Thousands of lives were at stake on Byron's side of this particular conflict.  He would defend the city, his primary concern of course being the lives of the people within the city walls.  He was a Paladin in life, and such edicts were the laws that governed all Paladins.  Vandross decided he would use that against the hulking Dread Knight.  His grin turned slowly into a manic, toothy smile.  The sound of voices could be heard, whispering in his ears.  He stopped pacing and looked at Power.

            "They are trying to wake me.  Thank you for this information, Power," he said, his image shimmering out of existence.  Richard Vandross awoke, Vilec Roak looming over him, shaking him roughly by the shoulders.  Without thinking, Vandross brought a swift left hook crashing into the Shadowbeast's face, sending him sprawling against a wall of the small bedchamber they had laid Vandross down in.  The one-eyed Human stood to his feet and immediately began donning his clothes and armor, strapping his belts and buckles in place, securing his shoulder plates.  "Sorry about that, Roak," he said, chuckling under his breath as he offered the Shadowbeast Prime a hand.  Vilec Roak accepted the hand and pulled himself erect, holding his jaw area. 

            "Quite a mean left hook you've got there, sire," he said awkwardly.  "The bodies have been lined up in the courtyard.  Are you ready to raise them?"  Vandross stalked to the doorway, looking back at his new General.  He flashed a wicked smile, his brows bunching together. 

            "General, I'm ready for anything," he said, spreading his arms wide and cackling like a madman as he stormed from his room to the courtyard.  This is what it is to be a Vandross, he thought, calling forth the arcane power required to raise the dead.  This is the destiny of my bloodline, father!  Not to be some teetotaling dirt farmer, but a conqueror!

            In Whitewood, the denizens of the city were preparing for war.  The Prince had declared a state of emergency, making public knowledge the fact that Richard Vandross and his army marched on the city.  Those who remained to defend the city stood with Morek Rockmight, his crack team of specialists as he called them.  The Monk David Spore had been made Morek's right hand man, and together they had convinced nearly a hundred men and women, most of whom had only been passing through the city to other regions, to stand beside the Elves in their time of need.  No word had been received from the King, and many of the city's residents panicked in the privacy of their homes.  Had their great leader already fallen in combat?  Was he engaged in negotiations with a neighboring state for aid against this threat?  No one, with the exception of the Prince, knew the truth.  And he was in dire spirits as a result.

            The eldest son of his father, Ahren Helestion, the Prince stood atop a balcony in the Royal Mansion, looking out over the mighty city of Whitewood.  His name was Eldric Helestion, and he was now King of the Elven Kingdom.  His father's personal aid had sent a letter via messenger bird to Eldric three days previous.  Ahren Helestion had been slaughtered by a pack of demons on his return to the city.  The aid had hidden from the battle, barely able to keep from running himself.  But there had been no sign of him at the city gates, and Eldric feared the worst; no one lived who could confirm the death of his father.  Not that he wanted any confirmation.  He did not want to rule in such times as these.  His younger brother, Jaimie, wanted nothing to do with rule and royalty; he was the Commandant of the elite warriors of the kingdom, the Dark Watch.  At the moment, he stood in the city streets with his men, issuing orders and plotting strategies with the High Elder, Masaton, and the enigmatic Byron of Sidius.  Though he knew the old stories of the Dread Knight, Eldric trusted the High Elder's judgement above all others.  He would let things pan out as they did now.  He himself wanted no hand in the planning of the city's defense.  He was no warrior; he was a Prince who had wanted nothing more than to marry and have a family, away from the Royal Mansion, away from the kingdom.  He did not want to rule.

            Indeed, the only child of Ahren Helestion, fallen King of the Elven Kingdom, who had any want for the role of leader, was their youngest sister, Deardry.  She had always voiced her desire to rule, even to her father, who had always smiled and patted her on the head.  Now dear, he would say, the ruling of a people is a man's job.  That, of course, had only made Deardry more determined in her cause.  She had studied the history of the royal family back as far as it could go, trained herself in courtly etiquette, and become well versed in politics.  Eldric thought her the perfect choice for ruler, but so long as he and his brother Jaimie lived, she would not rule.  And he knew in his heart that she would do the best job with the seat of the throne.  A manservant stood next to him on the balcony.  "My lord Prince, would you like a drink of tincture, to calm your nerves?"  Eldric looked over at the short Elven attendant.  This was not the life he wanted, but there seemed to be no escape. 

            "No, Terrance, but thank you.  Bring my sister to me," he said, waving the little man off.  For a short bit, Eldric thought about launching himself over the balcony, letting himself be released of his duties.  But he could not; his people needed him to be strong, and he was anything but.  He was, however, an excellent actor, and would put on the brave face until this whole conflict was settled.  Then, he would tell the people of Whitewood that his father had died bravely on the front, in the guise of a soldier.  Of course, he had heard of the terrors that this Richard Vandross brought with him.  Many of the bodies would not be identifiable when all was said and done.  It would be the perfect way to preserve his father's honor.  A small, soft hand brushed his cheek, bringing him out of his reverie.  His sister, a beautiful Elven woman now, stood beside him.  "Deardry," he whispered, embracing her as tightly as he could without breaking her.

            "My brother, what is wrong," she asked, concern in her voice.  She held him at arm's length and released him.  Eldric reached into a pocket of his tunic, and without a word, handed her the parchment that the aid had written his letter upon.  Deardry read the words in silence, and finally looked at Eldric in shock.  "Eldric, this means that you are King," she said in a hushed whisper.

            "Indeed," he said, putting his back to the balcony railing.  "And I don't want to be.  Sister," he said, dropping to his rear end against the railing.  "I am not fit to be King.  I have never wanted it, and neither has Jaimie.  You are best suited to rule, and you know it," he said in a harsh rasp.  Eldric buried his face in his hands, sobbing softly.  Deardry lowered to his side, cradling his head against her shoulder.  "What can I do to escape this fate, sister," he asked between sobs.

            "There is a way, you know," she whispered.  "You can use the tunnels, as father did, to leave the city without anyone being the wiser.  I can tell the High Elder that you left in search of aid against the oncoming forces of darkness.  And with Jaimie in command of the Dark Watch, I will be left in charge in your absence.  And then, when you are free of the city, you can live your life as you have always wanted, dear brother," she said, stroking his cheek.  Though she was a cold and calculating woman at times, Eldric could sense the sincerity and sadness in her voice.  She turned his face to hers, their foreheads touching.  "Is this what you want," she asked, clearly distraught.  But he could not deny the truth of it, and he nodded.  Tears sprang from Deardry's eyes now as well.  "Very well, then.  You know where the tunnels are hidden, brother.  Go well, and be safe.  And for the gods' sakes," she said, kissing him on the forehead.  "Do not suffer our father's fate."  Within an hour's time, the Prince of the Elven Kingdom was gone, leaving his younger sister to rule the Elven people.  A better Queen, though no one knew it, could not be found.

            "What do you mean the Prince has left," growled Byron as he stood at the entrance to the Royal Mansion, his hands on his hips.  He no longer bothered with the Shadow magic to conceal himself, as the citizens of the city had gone to ground for the most part.  Now he stood before one of the Dark Watch who guarded the seat of power. 

            "He has gone in search of aid for the battle, and to locate his father, the King," said the impassive voice of the Elven warrior.  These Dark Watch reminded Byron of the stoic Rock Warriors of the Dwarven Nation.  No sign of expression ever passed their lips, or could be read on their faces, except in battle.  And then one didn't want to see their faces, for they became almost demonic in their battle lust.  "The King's daughter, Deardry, is now in control of the city.  Do you wish to speak with her?"  Byron threw his hands in the air and harrumphed.

            "Of course you fool," he screamed, his pinpoint lights flaring red in his eye sockets.  The Dark Watchman stalked inside, and Byron stood outside, feeling like an idiot.  Too much red tape, he thought to himself.  If he could have spoken with the leader of the Dark Watch, the one they said was the younger Prince, he would have, but the man had busied himself with planning for the city's defense.  That was fine by Byron; a military man had to have his time, he knew.  But he had been forced to make an appointment to speak to the Prince two days ago, and now the boy wasn't here?!  Preposterous!  Finally, the Watchman returned, with a radiant and quick-smiling Elven woman in tow.  So this was Princess Deardry, he thought.  She was breathtakingly beautiful, he thought to himself. 

            "I apologize, good sir Byron, for my brother's sudden departure.  How he got out of the city without my being aware of it is beyond me.  Please, come with me," she said, inviting him to follow.  Byron passed by the Watchman, stopping for a moment to snap his fingers in front of the man's eyes.  Not even a flinch.  He followed the Elf Princess through the Royal Mansion to a great sitting room, where he positioned himself on a comfortable couch.  Instead of sitting across from him, Deardry placed herself on the other end of the couch, making Byron shift uncomfortably away, putting as much distance between them as he could.  "Whatever you sought to speak with my brother about, you may also speak to me about.  I am well versed in the matters of war and politics, and will give whatever advice or assistance I can render.  Tell me, what is it you require of me," she asked, her tone and words sounding as though they had been plucked from some tree of etiquette.  Byron was pleasantly surprised; not only had she not seemed bothered by his appearance or reputation, but she bore herself as a respectable leader. 

            "My lady," he responded, trying not to rush his words.  He had come to tell her of the plans of Shoryu and the Cuyotai who waited outside of the city, and quickly related the plan to her as best he could.  She nodded and listened, waiting until he was finished before she spoke. 

            "And the High Elder, and the militia?  Have they been informed?" 

            "Yes, my lady, they wait only for your approval, as acting head of state."  Deardry stood and summoned her notary, a squat Gnome fellow with a set of glasses so thick they made his eyes appear bug like.  It was all Byron could do to keep from chuckling.  The Princess whispered something to the Gnome, who quickly jotted what she was saying onto an official parchment.  She signed it, and the notary stamped it, speeding off out of the Mansion at top speed, stumbling here and there. 

            "This plan is a good one," she said, a smile tracing slightly across her lips.  "I have waited many years to see the Cuyotai allowed within the cities.  My father was not a bad man, merely isolationistic.  It was a foolish law to keep them out, for the Cuyotai are an honorable and noble people.  One of your companions is a Cuyotai, is he not," she asked, arching an eyebrow.

            "Yes, Shoryu my lady.  He is a proud Hunter, and the last of his village.  Vandross destroyed his village to attain an Orb of Eden’s Serpent like the one kept here."

            "And I am told he has the heart of one of our own, Miss Daires," said the Princess with a grin.  Byron smiled despite himself, his jaw shifting and contorting.  Deardry's eyes widened, and she shifted closer to him.  "How do you do that," she asked, her eyes full not of horror, but of wonder.  "You are able to mimic expression, despite having no flesh on your head or throat.  What other secrets do you harbor, Byron of Sidius," she asked in awe.  Byron stood to his feet, and without a second thought, removed his left gauntlet to reveal a whole hand underneath.  The Elven Princess stared in amazement at it as Byron snapped his fingers.  "But I was told you are a Dread Knight.  This is incredible," she said, clearly elated. 

            "I learn something new about myself every day," Byron said with a chuckle as he replaced the glove.  "I was a Paladin in life," he said, moving to leave the Mansion.  "My name was Byron Aixler."  He felt something in the air around him change; he looked back to see the Princess staring at him in shock. 

            "You, were Byron Aixler?  The man who led the battle of the Final Push?"  Byron said nothing, but nodded slightly.  The Princess walked up to him, pressing herself against him, and he felt a strange warmth spread through his body.  "I have heard the tales of what happened to you inside of Mount Toane.  I know of the atrocity committed against you by the warlock Tanarak.  And there is something you must know in turn," she said, turning away from him.  "My father was under the command of Christopher Gray in the Final Push.  He survived only because of your orders to keep the young Paladin at the entrance of the mountain.  So too, did my brother Jaimie.  It was after that loss to Tanarak that Jaimie formed the Dark Watch and devoted his life to the warrior's path."

            "Why are you telling me this," Byron asked in a hushed whisper.  But Deardry held a hand up to still him.

            "I must, good Byron Aixler," she said, using his former name.  "My father trusted in you, and so shall I.  My brother Eldric has fled the city," she said, and Byron's jaw dropped a fraction in shock.  He had abandoned his duties?  Why?  "He does not wish to rule."

            "But he does not," Byron said, trying to choose his words carefully.  He sensed that something was terribly amiss with this situation.  Something ill was about to be revealed, he knew.  "The King rules upon his return."

            "No," she said, shaking her head as tears sprang anew to her eyes.  "He will not return.  He is dead, Byron, and my brother has abandoned his seat!  I am to be the Queen of the Elven people!  And they do not even know it!"  She rushed forth, and cried against Byron's broad chest plate.  He gently held her for a time, swaying slightly back and forth to comfort her.  The Elven Kingdom had been deprived of its noble leader, and the next in line did not want the throne!  The other Prince had revoked his title in exchange for military leadership, leaving only this small, frail bodied girl, barely a woman, to lead an entire nation.  And it was all because of Richard Vandross.  Byron held the Queen at arm's length, and attempted a smile.  It came out a grimace, and he quickly erased the expression. 

            "Your highness," he said, dropping to one knee and releasing her.  He bowed his head, as was custom.  "I swear to you that your people shall be protected.  And may I be the first to say," he said, looking up at her with his pinprick lights gleaming white.  "Long live the Queen."  He rose then, soundlessly, and stalked out of the Mansion and into the streets of Whitewood.  He would stand against Vandross here, and defend the noble Elven people.  His main concern no longer fixed around the Orb of Eden’s Serpent.  He would protect the people first, for Orbs of Eden’s Serpent or no, Richard Vandross could not be allowed to crush the hopes and dreams of an entire nation.  Byron of Sidius would not allow it.  No, he corrected himself.  "Byron Aixler," he whispered, walking towards the home of Ellen Daires.

            Three nights later, Richard Vandross lead his army of Shadowbeasts, Greenskins, undead and assorted other creatures of darkness.  He felt exceptionally good about the upcoming siege.  As he had broken the Paladin fort, so too would he crush the capital of the Elven Kingdom.  However, there were a few wild cards he hadn't bargained for.  The first had come to his attention two night earlier, when Vilec Roak informed him that Bael was alive and well, that the Lizardman had been spotted leading a platoon of his warriors into the city of Whitewood to aid in their defense.  Roak had apologized for his failure, but Vandross had reminded him that he hadn't personally seen to the former General's destruction.  The Shadowbeasts that had left the man alive had been summoned to Vandross and summarily blasted into oblivion. 

            The second bump in the road had been the report from a scout that Major Svelk had not been located, and thus, not exterminated.  A minor problem, Vandross thought, and one that he had been personally responsible for.  He should have known that the Elf wouldn't really tell him where he was headed.  But Svelk would not be a bother.  So Vandross let the matter go, mentally kicking himself for not having Vengeance kill the man.  But the third development, which he had learned of only a few hours earlier, had really cheered him up.  Vilec Roak had scouted ahead once more, and found that there were several tribes of Cuyotai camped outside the city, and arrows had been launched back and forth from the city and the camps.  It seemed that there was a policy in the Kingdom that prohibited the Cuyotai from entering the cities for any real length of time.  Vandross felt confident that he could turn that to his advantage.  Imagine, he thought, using the very people he had eradicated an entire village of for his own purposes.  The irony of it made him laugh aloud cruelly. 

            Only two more days of marching remained before the army that Vandross had brought with him from Mount Toane arrived at Whitewood's walls.  He could hardly wait for it, his anticipation growing ever stronger as he thought of the carnage that lay waiting for him.  Blood would stain the earth red, magic would render the forest dead, and his nemesis would kneel before him in defeat.  He fully intended to challenge Byron to an outright duel, and would keep the Dread Knight busy while his own minions reduced the city to so much rubble and debris.  The day passed without event, and much of the next day as well.  That was when he thought something was amiss.

            Perhaps an hour away from his destination, Richard Vandross brought his forces to a halt.  An alley had been cut in the woods, forming a sort of perimeter around the city.  Vandross tested the air with his magic; another magic, also powerful, had been used to clear this patch of earth of the trees that surely had once grown here.  But for what purpose, he wondered to himself.  Surely it was a trap, and he had warnings sent through the ranks to stay clear of the pathway.   They would have to march around it.  Disgruntled at this obvious line of defense, he led his forces east, hoping to find a clearing in the perimeter, but he found instead that another alley had been cleared going south.  Once again he changed direction, counting the minutes as the time slipped past.  He was losing time and ground because of this nonsense, and yet he didn't dare lose any men prematurely.  If a trap indeed laid in wait for them in those alleys of treeless ground, he would find a way around them.  However, three hours later, he was right back where he had started.  The alleys were all connected, forming a perfect square around the city's perimeter.  He would have to risk crossing. 

            He sent a Troll into the alley, a huge, lumbering beast of a creature, whose superstitious nature made him afraid of the command he had been given.  However, he faced the threat of immediate death if he refused; he only faced the possibility of death if he walked into the alley.  Gingerly, his thick metal armor clanking as he stepped onto the cleared ground, the Troll passed to the other side.  There was a brief flash of magic, and then nothing.  The Troll yelled triumphantly, and Vandross signaled his forces to cross.  With each set of feet, he noticed, a small spark of magic went up.  A warning system, he thought.  Clever.  And that explained why they had seen no scouts in the woods.  The city of Whitewood thought themselves well prepared. 

            "Nothing will prepare them for me," Vandross hissed into the rapidly fading daylight.  "Nothing."

            Byron's company lay resting in Ellen's home when Selena Bradford heard Alex screaming in her ear.  "They're coming!  They've crossed the barrier!"  Immediately she sat up, splashing water from her half-emptied cup on her face.  Alex fluttered about the cottage, awakening the company one by one.  Without a word to one another, the members of Byron's company set about their appointed tasks, leaving the cottage at a break-neck run.  James rushed to meet with Jaimie Helestion, leader of the Dark Watch, to relay the news.  Selena bolted for a set of steps that would take her to the battlements atop the city walls, shouting the news to the defenders, most of whom had already seen the movements off in the distance.  The charade with the Cuyotai outside of the city commenced anew, each arrow fired way off target, and with little effort or strength.  Morek and David Spore, whom he had taken a liking to, prepared their motley crew of defenders for the oncoming battle.  Byron sent word to the High Elder, who shortly joined him with the other members of the Council.  Brief words were exchanged, and the entirety of the Council disappeared into the library.  They would personally defend the Orb of Eden’s Serpent from Vandross's men, for Byron did not believe that the one-eyed devil would go after it personally this time.  Already a Shadowbeast had been sent for it, and it was obvious that Vandross would be commanding the attack on the city personally.

            Ellen began helping the city's healers prepare poltices and healing salves for the wounded, using her magic to infuse the power of mother earth into the medicines and antidotes.  The company was split up, but each member was doing their part.  Alex darted out into the woods to check on Vandross's progress and immediately flew back to Byron, who stood in the city square, which sat smack dab in the center of the city.  He would be ready to charge to wherever he was needed if he was beckoned.  "They're twenty minutes away, my lord," the Ki Fairy squeaked into Byron's 'ear'.  "It doesn't look good!"

            "How so," Byron asked, his voice booming through the din of the city's army preparing itself for battle. 

            "The men and women of the fort to the north have turned into members of his army, as undead!  And Vandross himself looks rather bloodthirsty, sire!  His numbers have swelled, and already he prepares some ill magic for use against us!  If you ask me, you should let me do something a bit more useful than reconnaissance," Alex fumed, thrashing about in the air, anxious to do something useful. 

            "Not yet, my tiny friend.  In due time.  For now, go to Selena.  She needs all the support she can get, for her task shall be grim if she is forced to take it up."  Byron was referring to a desperation defense he and the Pyromancer had devised the night before.  If the Cuyotai outside the city fell, Selena was to set the forest ablaze around Whitewood.   The trees were all far enough away from the city walls that no harm would come to the stone barriers of the city themselves.  But many miles of woodland would be destroyed in exchange for the time and casualties the tactic would give the city.  The Queen had been reluctant, but had agreed.  Only Byron had referred to her as Queen, he realized.  No one else in the city knew of the King's death and the Prince's abandonment of his duties.  He would not disillusion the Elves now, not when they needed to be strong.          Outside the city, in the Cuyotai camp, Chieftain Tandaba thought over his son's words before he had left on this trip.  Straig had begged him not to go.  Perhaps he was afraid for him, and that was to be expected.  Few sons relished the idea of their fathers going off to war.  Especially when the plan for that war was so risky.  But Tandaba knew that he had to be here.  It was his duty to his people, and he felt he owed the Elves his alliance and help.  But his thoughts turned to the matter immediately at hand.  He could hear Vandross's forces approaching from the north, and knew the time would be soon.  The Chieftains all gathered together one last time before the battle.  They exchanged blessings and tidings of a good battle, the white fur Chieftain even saying that today he may die, but he would die with honor.  Vandross's forces could now be seen, and they had slowed to a halt, watching the exchange between the city's defenders and the Cuyotai. 

            Vandross himself stood back behind a tall elm, watching with delight as Cuyotai and defenders fell away, dropping like flies.  This might prove easier than he had previously anticipated.  Still, something bothered him, a scratching at the back of his mind.  Something was amiss.  The tree line had clearly been a warning system for the defenders of the city.  Yet they had not been tripped by these Cuyotai, or the magic would have been spent.  Vandross looked with his good eye closely at the Cuyotai as they fell.  The arrows indeed were coming close, but they were not striking the fallen warriors.  Too late, he realized the danger his forces were in.  It was a trap!  And he had been caught up in it.   "Look out," he shouted, the Cuyotai warriors already tearing into his left flank of soldiers.  "Ambush!  We have been tricked!"  As he barked orders roughly to the lieutenants around him, Cuyotai warriors raged through the side of his army, and soon were joined by hailstorms of arrows and short spears being tossed from the high city walls.  "Fall back!  Fall back out of range," he screamed, his officers relaying orders in their harsh, guttural tongues to the ranks.  Chaos surged at Richard Vandross from all directions.  His thoughts became a scrambled mess, and the only emotion aside from confusion he could understand was the pure rage that coursed through him like molten lava, laying waste to his fears and doubts, to his caution. 

            Frenzied and with reckless abandon, Vandross threw himself into the fray against the Cuyotai assault.  His long scimitar flashed as he ripped it free of its scabbard, spraying the battlefield with blood as he tore into the first of his enemies.  First one, then three, and before he knew it, he lost count.  He could hear a banshee wail, terrifying and forceful.  For a moment, he thought it was the Berserkers he had brought with his army, but realized that the sound had its origin in his throat.  He felt magic pour from his throat, and saw that a thin blue wave of energy was paralyzing his foes a moment before he got to them.  Incensed and encouraged by this newfound power of the Orbs, he struck warrior after warrior to the ground, only pausing once to stab a fallen tribal Cuyotai in the throat as he attempted to crawl away.  Shadows smoked out from the corners of his eyes, giving him the feral look of a warlock madman.  His teeth shone in the fading light as he grinned wickedly, his face covered in speckles of bright red blood.  His men rallied behind and around him, and the collective effort and concentration of the army of Richard Vandross turned on the Cuyotai. 

            Rapt with the power at his command, Vandross leaped forward through the trees and brush, sending bolts of thunder from his outstretched left hand, turning Cuyotai men and women into smoldering piles of bloody debris.  But behind him, Vandross heard the huge gates of Whitewood creak open, and a hundred or so men, ragtag wanderers from the look of them, charged out of the city.  Before he could return his attention to the battle before him, he felt a powerful set of claws tear at his armor, making a small incision in his chest.  The armor held, saving him from a nasty wound.  He spun and found himself looking into the enraged red eyes of a tall, black furred Cuyotai Chieftain, soaked and matted in the blood of Vandross's men.  He instantly searched for wounds, a weakness of some sort, and found none.  This Chieftain had plowed through a line of Orcs and Trolls to get to the one-eyed Human, and Chieftain Tandaba threw his head back and howled.  A responding howl rose up from the throats of the fifty or so Cuyotai who still stood.  Their bodies seemed to undergo some important change, their muscles bunching and expanding, their already tattered clothes tearing and shredding to pieces as they seemed to grow.  Lycanthrope rage, Vandross thought, his heart skipping a beat.  Cuyotai were the least aggressive of the lycanthrope Races aside from Werebears, but also were known to be highly deadly in their enraged state.  Vandross had to act quickly if he was to salvage his advantage of numbers.

            As Tandaba came near the end of his transformation, Vandross sheathed his scimitar and lunged at the hulking Cuyotai.  The two toppled end over end, each trying to remain on top.  In the end, due to his sheer size, Tandaba landed atop Richard Vandross.  The one-eyed warlock was prepared for him, however, and before Tandaba could move to crush him, Vandross grabbed him by the sides of the skull, calling forth arcane power into his hands.  A surge of power erupted into his arms, coursing from his chest down into his fingertips, and with a single thrust of power, Richard Vandross sent lightning magic blaring through the Cuyotai Chieftain's skull.  Tandaba's entire upper torso exploded into a thousand gory bits, showering the nearest combatants with his bone fragments and innards.  Vandross roughly shoved the remaining lower body off of him, and the entire Cuyotai assault abruptly halted.  In the pause that remained, Vandross gave a single signal, thrusting his iron gauntlet into the sky.  In a swarm, Vandross's forces converged on the Cuyotai, slaughtering them where they stood, motionless at the loss of Chieftain Tandaba. 

            High atop the walls of the city, Shoryu fell to his knees.  He had sent his kinsmen into a madness from which they would have had little chance of escape.  One half of Morek's motley crew of defenders already had left the city to join the battle, only to be summarily pounded into dust.  Vandross had suffered what the archers guessed was somewhere around two hundred and fifty men.  Shoryu took little comfort in statistics, however.  Furious at his inability to help, Shoryu drew his bow and an arrow, notching it and taking aim at the form of Richard Vandross.  He knew in his own mind that despite his accuracy, he would never hit the one-eyed devil.  Something would warn him, some perverse luck.  Instead, he took aim at a small knot of Shadowbeasts, letting his arrow fly.  The arrow buried itself deep in the head of one of the demons, exploding in a mushroom of smoke and magic, destroying the fifteen other Shadowbeasts who were near.  "Well done, my friend," said a familiar voice from behind him.  Byron of Sidius stood directly behind him, his arms folded across his chest, his pinprick lights small and distant.  Byron's mind was focused elsewhere, but he had come to comfort Shoryu in this time of need.  He had known that the ruse would end in the utter destruction of all of the Cuyotai outside of the city.  Shortly, those that remained inside the walls would climb the stairs to stand atop the walls.  They would keep watch throughout the night, staving Vandross off with arrows and short spears.

            Vandross's army began to settle in, some three hundred yards off in the woods.  Camp was made with tents and watch fires prepared.  Vandross had settled in for a siege.  Byron looked out over their huge encampment; Vandross's forces still numbered nearly two thousand men strong, some of beasts that needed no camp, some of them undead, who needed no rest or food, save the flesh of the fallen.  Alex fluttered past, a nearly invisible speck against the night time darkness.  He was gone only a short while, flying back to Byron on the wall.  "My lord, there is a problem."

            "Tell me something I don't know," Byron grumbled, leaning forward on the wall's lip. 

            "Byron, the undead have only been fed the bodies of Morek's men who went out.  Vandross and several Shadowbeasts raise the dead Cuyotai as undead servants as we speak!"  Byron stood bolt upright.  Such tactics had been employed by Tanarak of Sidius in the time before.  He would crush a small city-state, take the dead for his own servants, and loose them to feed on the remaining living who resisted Tanarak's rule.  Vandross was now using the same tactic, only with Cuyotai.  They were freshly dead, and would retain much of their battle skill and prowess.  Worse, if any of them became Lordly, or High, Zombies, they would retain intelligence and memories.  Their nature would be twisted and vile, but their knowledge would be fully intact, and that meant that they would have a base knowledge of the city's defenses.  He could not allow that to happen.  Immediately he dashed down from the wall, leaping and strafing past lines of defenders and concerned citizens. 

            Byron made a bee-line for the Royal Mansion, where the Queen would meet with the High Elder and Jaimie Helestion to discuss the progress of the battle each night.  Byron ran toward the Dark Watch guard, who stood in his way with a hand upturned to halt him.  Byron ducked low, ramming the heavily armored man in the stomach while at the same time carrying him through the open doorway on his shoulder.  Byron stopped abruptly in the sitting room, where Deardry sat in a high-backed rocking chair across from High Elder Masaton and her brother, who alone stood in the middle of the room.  All eyes fixed on the lumbering Dread Knight, who set the Dark Watchman down on his feet.  The Elf rubbed his sore ribs gingerly, then fixed his gaze on Deardry.  "Princess," he said, addressing only her.  "I tried to stop him, but he, well," he said, fumbling with the words.  Such things likely didn't happen to the Elven elite warriors, and this man was clearly embarrassed. 

            "It is all right," said the Elven girl gracefully, bidding the guard return to his duties.  Jaimie Helestion gave Byron a small grin.

            "There's few men can say they've ever done such a thing to one of my Watchmen," he said, sauntering over to Byron.  The man walked on cat's feet, his movements slight and reserved.  He could be dangerous, Byron knew.  "Jaimie Helestion, Head Commander of the Dark Watch," he said, extending his hand to Byron.  Byron took it and shook the man's hand hard.  "Deardry has confided in us two, and yourself, what has happened regarding the throne.  I must say, I am amazed that you are fighting alongside the Elves once again, Byron of Sidius," said the broad-shouldered Elf. 

            "You should not be, Commander.  Vandross and I have some history together, little of it pleasant.  I have something that all of you should know.  Richard Vandross raises the fallen Cuyotai from their battlefield graves.  He turns them into undead soldiers as we speak."

            "Impossible," cried High Elder Masaton from his seat, his body stiffening.  "The best Necromancers in the land cannot raise the bodies of the Cuyotai!  They are a spiritually mighty people, and as such, few have succeeded in raising their bodies from the dead!  How can this Vandross fellow do what almost no one else can?!"  The High Elder's face was taut with fear and shock, his leg shaking nervously, sending small tremors through the wooden floor.  The smell of incense filled the air, obviously for the High Elder's benefit, for his nerves appeared on the brink of shattering.  He had become nervous since Byron had informed him and the Council of what had happened with the Shadowbeast and the guards of the Orb of Eden’s Serpent.  This revelation, Byron knew, would come close to breaking the old Elven man.

            "He has the benefit of three Orbs of Eden’s Serpent in his possession," Byron said, his voice low and his tone even.  "But he can be stopped.  There is a way.  If a small group, perhaps three or four men, went out into the night, they could infiltrate Vandross's camp, find the undead Cuyotai, and banish them."

            "We would need a Cleric to do that," said Jaimie Helestion.  He rubbed his chin for a moment, collecting his thoughts.  "I think it can be done.  One Cleric, of the High Elder's choosing, to be accompanied by three of my men, to protect the father.  I will choose them myself.  It is a gamble, of course, Byron," he said, looking dead into the pinprick lights of the Dread Knight.  The two men glared at each other a moment, until finally Helestion looked away at his sister the Queen.  "I shall go now to the barracks.  Elder Masaton," he said, helping the old man up.  "We shall speak again later, my lady," he said, bowing gracefully to his sister.  Odd, Byron thought.  The man speaks not as though to a family member, but to a superior.  Cold, formal, calculated.  Byron would keep an eye on the man; something didn't feel right about him.  Even military men allowed their feelings to be known in closed chambers, especially around family.  It was as though the Elven Commander didn't want to think of Deardry as his sister, but rather, as a member of royalty he had sworn fealty to.

            But he could not spare anymore time lingering in the Royal Mansion, thinking of such things.  Bowing slightly to the Elven Queen, he made haste out of the Mansion, past the guard he had carried earlier, and out into the streets of Whitewood.  Torches had been lit in the street lamps, giving the entire city an odd, almost ghost-like cast.  Only the soldiers and militia men could be seen walking the streets, the lights blazing in the homes of the citizenry.  The wooden structures of homes, taverns, and shops all appeared to be shelters against some unknown darkness, every lamp and lantern in every building lit, save for those that were unoccupied.  The Elves were not normally a superstitious bunch, but they took comfort from light and warmth.  Byron could not blame them; these were dark times.  But another, more practical application came to Byron's mind.  Shadowbeasts were said to be able to travel through the Shadowplane, disappearing into the shade of a tree on one half of the continent, and then appearing only hours later clear across the land.  Had Vandross thought about that at all?  Or was the one-eyed warlock still unaware of the huge strategic advantage at his disposal?  Byron supposed not; Vandross's army was said to consist mostly of beasts of unknown origin and the more wickedly disposed Races of the lands of Tamalaria. 

            The undead warrior made his way slowly, ponderously, to Ellen Daires' home.  Walking through the door, he saw Selena Bradford engaged in some whispered conversation with Alex.  The two had become close since Alex's efforts in creating the perimeter around Whitewood.  The Ki Fairy had expended a vast amount of magical energy in the effort, nearly falling ill in the end.  But Ellen and Selena had nursed him quickly back to health.  And now that he was better, Alex spent much of his time with the Pyromancer.  Byron nodded to each of them in turn, offering no words.  That was when he heard a shout in the street.  Spinning about and charging back outside, Byron saw a pack of Shadowbeasts emerge from the darkness of an alley near a healer's shack.  They came in the form of huge wolves, yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight.  Vandross would offer no rest for the defenders of Whitewood, it seemed.  But he had just committed his first error in this siege; he had only sent six of his demons in, and they would not be enough.  Elven soldiers swarmed from all directions, converging on the demons, and Byron nearly went back inside, until a blast of concussion force knocked all of the Elves clear.  The wave of energy even knocked Byron flat to the ground, and one of the wolf-like demons was atop him instantly.  Byron reached up with his hands and in a single twist, broke the Shadowbeast's neck cleanly.  Byron tried to stand, but found that the body had not reduced to ash and dust.  He took a second look at the creature as he rolled it off of him.  It was not just a Shadowbeast; it had possessed the body of a timber wolf before attacking the city.  Why, thought Byron.  Why has Vandross done this?  His answer came a moment later.

            "They are wolves," someone screamed.  "Do not kill them!  They must be subdued!"  The shout came from one of the Elven magic-users in the militia guarding the east wall.  Of course, Byron thought.  The Elves held all life sacred, especially animals of the forest.  Vandross had known enough to let the Shadowbeasts inhabit such creatures, so long as they were dangerous.  And they appeared to possess the magic of the demons still, despite their bodily hosts. 

            "Kill them," shouted another, much more recently familiar voice.  Commander Helestion had one of the creatures impaled on a long spear, pinned against the ground.  The wolf-demon thrashed about wildly in death throes, cavorting and snapping and growling as the last of its life ebbed away.  Byron looked hard at the miserable beast; its body had been scarred and broken, shaped to fit the soul of the Shadowbeast room to exist within the confines of its flesh.  But he also saw something he had missed in the wolf he had slain.  A sliver of darkness, like black blood, flowed between the cracks of the cobblestone street.  Byron rushed forward and thrust his sword into the ground ahead of the draining fluid-like substance.  It came up short in front of his sword, suddenly whirling and taking the natural, man-like appearance of a Shadowbeast.  Byron cleaved the demon in half, and it turned instantly into ash and smoke.  The Commander raised an eyebrow at Byron, who stood crouched in a fighter's stance, facing down the remaining three Shadowbeast-driven wolves.

            "Magic or enchanted weapons are the only way to kill the demons and the hosts in one fell stroke," Byron growled at the Commander.  "Have two of your mages prepare to strike on my command," he said, stepping close to the Elven Commander of the Dark Watch.  Helestion said nothing, but nodded his acknowledgement.  He sprinted to the nearest militia mages, issuing orders as Byron instructed.  The Shadowbeasts had been penned in once more by Elven standard soldiers, but this time the men did not move to strike.  Jaimie's mages moved into position, and Byron shouted to the armed regulars to get out of the way.  As they rushed aside, Byron signaled to the mages to release their magic, and Byron sent a streak of lightning slamming into one, as both mages, Aeromancers, sent lashing winds into them, shredding both wolf and demon apart.  The air stank of expended magic, and the threat was gone.  Or was it?  What had become of the Shadowbeast that had been in the wolf Byron had killed in the first place?  He had not realized the problem of demon-host separation until he had seen the one escaping from Helestion's spear.  He had to find it and kill it before it possessed someone else.  Byron used his Paladin senses, powers of observation from another life.  Senses he was certain wouldn't function anymore.  But he quickly found he was wrong.  He could smell the evil of the creature as it fled from him, only a little way away.  He darted after it, his sword flashing in the moonlight, pushing soldiers out of his way, coming up short in front of a weapons shop.  The front door was shattered into splinters of wood and steel, and in the entryway stood the last Shadowbeast, weapons sticking from its black surface like they had been permanently attached.  The Shadowbeast began spinning its body, long knives, axe heads, and sword blades flashing in a glittering spiral of imminent disaster.  The end of a long mace flail struck Bryon hard in the chest, sending him sprawling into a crowd of soldiers, each brandishing his weapon and attacking the whirling demon. 

            Like so much kindling, the soldiers were hacked apart and scattered across the cobblestone street.  Bloody chunks of Elven flesh struck Byron as he regained his footing, watching in horror as with each victim, the whirling mass of demon flesh added more weapons and bits of armor to its body.  He had never known a Shadowbeast to behave in such a fashion, no doubt something else conjured up by Richard Vandross.  Fury rose into Byron's heart, erupting in his throat as he screamed uncontrollably.  Something burned in his chest, a flaming pain that seared his insides.  He could not identify its source; the Shadowbeast had not cast any spell upon him, and he did not feel as though he was harmed by the heat in his body.  But the power had a familiar feeling to it.  It was something he knew, or had once known, in another life.  In a flash of thought, Byron understood and knew what it was he felt.  He knew the power he held ready in his heart.  Sheathing the Morning Glory, Byron removed himself twenty paces from the demon, his eyes locked on it as it slowly, menacingly approached, slowing only enough to let Byron see its yellow, glowing eyes.  Byron thrust his palms before him, weaving symbols in the air.  Each symbol took shape and glimmered there, and the Shadowbeast came to a complete halt.  It advanced only a step further, and as it did so, its eyes went wide with recognition.  It knew what Byron was about to unleash upon it, and was terrified.

            "By the power of the Great God Oun," Byron shouted, raising his hands once more, palms flat, facing toward the Shadowbeast.  "I cast thee from the mortal coil!  Holy Cross," he shouted, and the light of the symbols took the shape of the holy symbol of Oun, the deity served by the Order of Oun.  The white, blaring holy power rushed forth in a column shaped like the symbol, crashing into the Shadowbeast.  As the power flowed through it, the demon's skin began to froth and bubble, and an ear-splitting shriek of pain and horror escaped it as it quickly crumbled into dust.  The weapons clattered to the ground, bloodied and chipped.  Silence hung over the city.  Byron made the holy symbol of Oun in the air before himself, dropping to his knees from the sudden expenditure of Paladin magic.  His chest heaved, and he felt nauseated.  The world around him began to blur, and he looked up, seeing the face of James Hayes.  The Human Paladin was trying to say something to Byron, but the Dread Knight only heard muffled blurbs of sound as he passed out.  He did not hear the cries of praise shouted about him by the Elven people, or the soldiers.  He did not feel Shoryu's hand on his as he was carried to Ellen's home.  He did not hear the angry scream of Richard Vandross from the other side of the city walls as he was told his night strike had failed.  He did not see the tears in the eyes of his Cuyotai friend, or the soft smile of Morek Rockmight as they covered him, fully armored, with a blanket in Ellen's home.

            He did not hear the people outside, proclaiming him a hero.

            What Byron of Sidius did hear was the ragged sound of his own screaming as he fell through the black void of his mind, landing with a hard thump upon a hardened burial plot.  Here again, he thought.  The cemetery.  Byron rose, dusting himself off gingerly, probing with his nerves to see if anything was broken.  Satisfied that he was still in one piece, he turned and looked down at the headstone of the grave he had landed on.  It was worn, and he could not make out the inscription.  -It does not matter,- said the Voice from the darkness.  Byron's shoulders sagged slightly as he turned around.  As the first times he had come here, no one stood about. 

            "It does to me," he whispered hoarsely, hardly able to speak.  "But that is not the point.  Why am I here again?  Is it the spell I unleashed?  I remembered the incantation and movements."

            -You remembered something more.  Rather, you recovered something more.-

            "What's that supposed to mean," Byron asked wearily, sitting atop the headstone. 

            -It means you have recovered some of your humanity,- said the Voice.  Byron mulled over this information for a while, choosing to remain silent, to wait for something more from the Voice.  -Understand that the curse on your body can never be fully broken, Byron.  But your soul can be fully awakened.-

            "Really," Byron asked, his hand moving to his bony chin.  "Why is it that my body must remain in this state?  Is it the curse tied to Vandross?"

            -Indeed,- said the Voice out of the stillness.  -The one known as Tanarak of Sidius had locked away your spirit.  Vandross locks away your body.  But you must understand, that if you defeat him, you may well lose your life.-

            "There is no other choice," said Byron, standing straighter.  "All things done in the name of the greater good require certain sacrifices.  This matter is no different."  There was silence for a minute or so, during which Byron searched the cemetery in the vain hope of seeing the Voice. 

            -Very well,- echoed the Voice.  -You have noticed that as you continue to struggle against this Richard Vandross, you regain small pieces of yourself.  Not just your hands, as you have seen, but powers of your former being.  You must be confident in your abilities, Byron.  You must trust in the faith you once had, you once lived by.-  All around him, the darkness of the void outside of the cemetery began to encroach upon the ground.  -You shall soon awaken.  Take heart in this, Byron.  Those who have sworn to aid you, shall not leave your side.  They shall fight to the bitter end with you.  You have friends, Byron.  You must protect them as best you can.-

            "I will," Byron whispered as he came awake.

            Richard Vandross was seething with rage.  Somehow, a small group of warriors and a Cleric had stolen into his camp and cast down the undead Cuyotai he had worked so hard to raise from the dead.  The effort that had gone into making them his servants had been enormous, and left him drained and weak.  But Vilec Roak had woke him to report that the damage had been done, and the intruders had furthermore managed to evade pursuit.  Not even a full day had gone by, and Vandross's tactics had been thwarted.  He took some small satisfaction from blasting the fools who had been lax in their monitoring of the Cuyotai undead into tiny chunks of blood and gore.  But now, covered in blood and sweat, all he could think of was the one man who could possibly have arranged the destruction of his new minions and destroyed the Shadowbeast infected wolves; Byron of Sidius.

            The Dread Knight haunted him at every turn.  No matter where Vandross concentrated his efforts, Byron was either only a step behind, or already ahead of him.  How, he wondered.  "Tell me something, Roak," he growled from deep in his throat, his voice hoarse from screaming at his own men.  "How is it that we have already received such high damages, and yet have done virtually NOTHING to this damned city?!  How," he screamed, springing to his feet and pulling the Shadowbeast to him, their noses touching.  Vilec Roak's yellow eyes widened with fear; he had not expected Vandross to become so openly hostile.  "I tire of these cretins who defy me!  The Dread Knight and his Cuyotai charge," he shouted, thrusting Vilec Roak from him.  Vandross began pacing rapidly back and forth in front of his tent.  He stopped before the Shadowbeast, sweeping his lanky, unwashed hair back from his face.  He seemed to calm a little, closing his eyes and breathing deeply for a moment.  "Tell me what you can about the Dread Knight's personal company."  Vandross took a seat on a nearby log, close to one of his officer's fires, as Vilec Roak told him about the members of Byron's company.  The information he had was mostly second-hand from a letter left behind by Major Svelk, one left near their meeting place in a small satchel.  Roak handed the letter to Vandross afterwards, and Vandross looked it over with careful scrutiny.  A Gaiamancer and a Pyromancer, he read on.  The Elf girl had probably created the perimeter in the forest, he thought to himself.  Simple enough work for a Gaiamancer, if she had the time to move so much of the forest.  But that seemed unlikely, he thought. 

            Richard Vandross suddenly stood bolt upright, his entire body tensing.  Something throbbed in his chest, something that seemed to be calling to him.  The Orb of Eden’s Serpent, he thought in wonder.  It calls to me.  He closed his eyes, and his vision became a whirling tunnel.  Layers of dirt and rock flashed past him, until finally he stopped in a dark, moist chamber somewhere beneath the ground.  He saw it, the artifact he had come for, flashing and pulsing with the familiar purple light of all of the Orbs.  It was as though he were seeing through the eyes of a tunneling creature, and his field of vision changed and flashed upward through the chamber's ceiling.  There was metal plating in the ground, to defend against anyone tunneling through to the Orb, a point that made him nearly growl and break the illusion.  But he held his temper in check, riding this fantastic vision to its conclusion.  Suddenly, his view became that of someone who might be standing in a library.  Books lined the shelves on every wall, and one particular tome caught his attention.  He dashed over to it, reading the title on the spine; Demons with Wings, and Other Terrible Things.  A lever, he decided.  As suddenly as the vision came, it left him, and he opened his eyes to smile wickedly at his second-in-command.  "My lord," Roak asked, his voice light and tense. 

            "I know where it is, Roak," he said in a hushed tone.  "It lies under a library in the city.  It is guarded from above by metal plates, so that none can dig to it.  But we need only get inside the city, and get to that library.  Prepare the ladders," he said, stalking slowly off towards the city walls.  "We strike at dawn."  Roak saluted and sprinted off to inform the officers of each battalion of their lord's orders.  "You cannot resist me forever, Byron of Sidius," he whispered to himself, grinning.  "The Orb shall be mine, as shall your life."

            Byron and his company were standing in the courtyard just before the sun came over the horizon.  He had exchanged few words with the others since awakening a few short hours ago, only telling them that they must all be ready for an attack.  They had all been relatively well rested, with the exception of Shoryu and Ellen, who seemed to have been in the privacy of her bedchambers for most of the evening.  Byron smiled knowingly to himself.  The boy was all right.  As the sun spread its first shafts of light over the land, shouts went up from the sentries on the walls.  "Full assault!  Full assault!  The enemy is planting ladders!"  Byron and Shoryu rushed to the north wall, Selena and Ellen to the east and west respectively.  Iron-wrought ladders were being propped up against the walls on three sides of the city, and blasts of dark magic were sending the defenders flying to the city streets below.  Byron and Shoryu peppered the Orcs and Trolls who were setting the ladders and climbing them with hails of arrows and magic.  Shoryu let one Greenskin begin his ascent, ducking low behind an abutment to avoid taking enemy arrows or magic.  As he saw the face of the Troll hover over the wall, he smiled impishly and wrapped a strap of leather to the man's wrist, tying him to the ladder.  The Troll, confused, looked down at his hand, as Shoryu launched a swift, hard kick into his face.   The Troll flailed atop the ladder, and his weight threw the ladder back, sending him falling fifty or so feet on the ladder to his death.

            On the east wall, Selena Bradford summoned forth tiny flames at the base of the ladders' tops, where the enemy would first set foot when they came off of the ladders.  As the first of Vandross's men reached the top of the ladders, they each in turn looked at the tiny flames and then at the red robed woman who smiled knowingly at them.  With a flicker of her magic and a weaving of her hands in the air, Selena turned the tiny flames into scorching pillars of flaming death.  The city's defenders used long, steel spears and bo staffs to push the burning creatures off of the walls, kicking the ladders down to the ground below.  Several of the ladders fell apart, and dozens of Greenskins, Shadowbeasts and Khan moved forward to make quick repairs, hauling the ladders back up against the walls.  On the west wall, Ellen had called up several stone guardians, made from the materials of the city wall itself.  The huge, disfigured creatures of magic gripped the ladders, lifting them parallel to themselves, enemies clutching the iron rungs as they lay prostrate and level with the stone guardians.  With a turn and shake, several dozen foes dropped to their deaths fifty feet below, and the ladders were then hurled with great force into the forest, hundreds of yards away.  Vandross's attempts to scale the walls were being beaten back.

            Byron, meanwhile, sped to the center of the city once more to take a report from several officers.  The walls were holding, and none of the creatures who managed to gain the top stayed alive long enough to do any damage.  Morek Rockmight ran up to Byron then, sweat pouring down his weather worn face.  "Byron, something fierce scales the south wall!  These other attacks have been a distraction!"  Byron followed Morek, who ran as fast as he could on his short, stubby Dwarven legs.  Fueled by adrenaline, the trip to the south wall took only a handful of minutes.  The two ascended the stairs that led to the top of the south wall, and Byron looked down the side.  A creature that appeared to be a mix of giant crab and mountain lion, its fur short over thick red plating, made its way slowly up the south wall.  Arrows ricocheted off of its shell, short spears snapped in its enormous claws, and its eyes seethed with hatred.  It was a monster unlike any of the others that Vandross had brought with him.  And it was gaining speed.  The creature was monstrous, the size of a small dragon easily, but its approach was slowed by the constant barrage of attacks it came under.  But Byron knew it would make its way to the top of the wall and into the city soon. 

            As Byron looked left and right down the length of the wall, he saw that the archers atop the south side were running low on arrows and spears.  There were no mages of any sort here, and for a moment, Byron wondered why this could be so.  Mages had been assigned to each wall, as well as Hunters, Knights, and a single Cuyotai Shaman had been placed at each.  Where then were the mages and the Shaman, he wondered.  Before he could ponder the question further, a cry sounded from below the beast, on the ground outside the city.  Byron focused his sight past the monstrosity, down at the tiny figures below.  Two mages and a Cuyotai stood directly below the creature, and began lancing magic into its backside, streaks of light blue power shining out from the mages and several dozen golden, gleaming magical arrows launching from the Shaman's palm.  The creature thrashed about wildly, screaming in pain, until it lost its grip on the wall.  "Get out from underneath it," he screamed, but his warning had been unnecessary.  As soon as the magic had struck, the mages and the Shaman had reentered the walls through a secret door.  The beast thrashed as it landed on its back, its soft underbelly exposed.  Wasting no time, the defenders swiftly shot the last of their arrows, blood shooting out of the wounds they opened in the creature's belly.  It lay dead within moments.

            "Morek," said a strangely garbed man with one arm, who had appeared out of nowhere next to Byron.  David Spore, Byron remembered.  The one-armed Monk.  "Vandross's assault draws back to its camp.  The sun is out in full, and his armies are apparently less effective now.  He rests them, I believe."  Morek nodded curtly, and the Monk sprinted off, leaving a trail of dust kicked up in his passing.  Byron took an instant liking to the man.  He was humble, but had a sense of humor along the lines of the Dwarven Boxer, and he was capable and competent. 

            "Well," said Byron, clapping the little warrior on his broad back.  "I'd say this calls for a drink.  I'll meet you at the tavern in twenty minutes," Byron said, walking away.

            "You're not heading straight over," asked Morek, raising an eyebrow. 

            "No," Byron said, looking about at the weary defenders.  "I have to check on morale and casualties with Jaimie Helestion.  I'll be there shortly."  Morek and Byron went their separate ways, the Dwarf to the tavern, and the Dread Knight to the eastern residential district.  Commander Helestion reported that only twelve of their own had been stricken during the attack, all of them regular army.  None of the Dark Watch had fallen.  "Good.  But keep your men on their toes," Byron said, turning to go join Morek at the tavern.  "I expect Vandross has a slew of tricks up his sleeve.  I want to know right away if it looks like he's getting ready to use one." 

            Richard Vandross smiled gleefully to himself, his trap sprung.  While the city had concentrated on the ladders and the Belehest, the beast he had formed to attack the south wall, he had sent Vilec Roak and a handful of Khan to weaken the north gates, tearing wood away and employing a magic that would buckle the wood at its reinforcements.  When their work was sufficiently done that they felt comfortable returning to Vandross, he had ordered the rest of his men back, under the guise of a retreat.  The sunlight had, however, played a small factor.  His demons walked about like wraiths or zombies, their movements sluggish and their temporary solid forms sliding and oozing at the edges.  They retreated to the shade of the forest itself, taking the opportunity to rest and wait until dusk. 

            He could have heeded the advice of Vengeance in his mind, and used the same magic that had taken the Paladin fort by surprise, but Vandross did not think that such a tactic would work here.  These were Elves, a spiritually strong people.  On top of that, there was the bothersome Council of Elders, who would likely be able to counter the magic.  He would bide his time, however.  The tactics he had chosen to use were his own, and he was pleased when Roak reported that only one more session against the gates would leave them as fragile as glass.  Vandross would continue his feints, regardless of the casualties it caused to his forces.  Only a few score died in any case; the bulk of his army was still intact.  And if they could keep this up, in two days time, he would rush into the city of Whitewood with that bulk.  The defenders and the city's precious Dark Watch would be overrun.  He would make his way to the library, which, thanks to the wolves, he knew the location of.  And he would make his way beneath the ground to the Orb, kill whoever might guard it, and absorb it.  He would be one step closer to perfection.

            The afternoon passed by slowly, with little or no activity from either side.  Vandross kept men posted near the trapdoors that allowed small knots of defenders out of the city.  The dinner hour came, and Vandross had his personal aides prepare him a grand meal, served on a quickly assembled dining table.  He invited his head officers, Vilec Roak, a Major Tong, who was a black fur Werewolf, Captain Florin, a Khan Hunter, and lastly, Colonel Pentz, a corrupt Human Knight, who seemed to possess some Psychic powers.  All sat in silence for a few minutes as the meal was brought to them on large earthenware plates and bowls.  Vandross took a deep whiff of the stew and the roasted meat.  It had a slightly sweet scent, and he tried to think of what sort of animal it had come from.  He looked up with suspicion in his eyes at the Orcs and Goblins who had prepared the meal.  One in particular looked rather amused and proud of himself.  "Excuse me, corporal," Vandross said, calling the big man over.  The Orc still wore his uniform under his chef's apron, two yellow stripes on his left arm to identify his rank, and nothing more.  Vandross beckoned him to lean in close, whispering in his ear.  "What is this meat from, corporal," he asked hesitantly.  The Orc smiled and cocked an eyebrow at the one-eyed devil.

            "Elf, sir," he whispered back.  "I've been eatin' dat stuff fer years.  Mighty tasty stuff."  Vandross felt a slight pang of disgust, but shrugged his shoulders.  A meal was a meal, and he needed food.  He motioned for everyone to dig in, and took a small, tentative nibble from a hunk of the cooked Elven meat.  He stopped midway through chewing, savoring the tenderness and taste of the meat.  It really was good.  He devoured his meal without further hesitation, enjoying the unique spices used in the stew and bread that had been made to accompany the main course.  He would have to have the good corporal made his personal chef. 

            "Gentlemen," he said, wiping his mouth at last with a napkin of cloth, and pushing his plate and bowl away.  He had had his fill, and felt good and nourished.  "Tell me what you're thinking," he said to the officers gathered.  "Starting with you, Captain Florin.  What's going through your mind."

            "Sire," said the massive Khan Hunter, standing straight and saluting.  He took a parade rest stance, his hands behind his back in perfect position.  "I believe we're wasting our time out here.  We should still be engaged in our attack, I feel, sire.  If you would just let the Berserkers get a crack at scaling the walls-"

            "Out of the question, Captain," said the Colonel from his seat.  He had his boots up on the table, leaning back in his chair.  "They can't be sent alone, as you've requested twice now.  I've foreseen the outcome.  That Cuyotai with the magical bow would pick most of them off, and the bag of bones, Byron, would use his formidable magic to destroy the rest.  The Berserkers must be held in check until we have a sure way in."

            "Agreed," hissed Vilec Roak from his seat on Vandross's left.  "We'll need them and our Ninjas to deal with the Dark Watch when we gain access to the city at whole."

            "Perhaps then what we need is a single concentrated thrust at one wall," chimed in Major Tong, the Werewolf.  "We could assign one half of our mages to the eastern wall, and attack the wall itself.  The Pyromancer defending that wall seems to be more concerned with keeping them off the walls with the ladders than the wall itself."  The Major produced a crudely drawn outline of the city and the army's positions.  Several markings had been made in charcoal pencil, each explained in a key at the bottom of the map.  He pointed to the eastern wall.  "The Pyromancer and defenders have made no attempt to stop the men while they are on the ground.  The majority of their archers are on the north wall facing us, and the west and south walls.  Without safe access to more trees for fodder, the archers will not be able to make more arrows.  They will soon run out, in another day or two."

            "By that time," hissed Roak.  "We will have the north gates sufficiently weakened.  We will be able to storm the city in our full force."  He waved a hand dismissively at the Major, whose eyes narrowed in anger. 

            "Perhaps so, but as soon as those gates fail, the entire strength of the city will concentrate all of its efforts there.  We will suffer an extremely high casualty count in that event."  Vandross, chin on hand, nodded in agreement.  The Major had a good point.

            "How long will you need, Major," he asked abruptly, putting an end to the debate at the table.  The black Werewolf looked up in surprise, cycling through his thoughts.

            "Two, perhaps three days.  Long enough to weaken the stone as you have weakened the gates."  Vandross mulled the matter over in his mind, trying to think about strategy for a moment.  It did seem the better course of action; the defenses of the city would have to divide, weaken its positioning at the last moment.  He liked the idea. 

            "You have your time Major.  Take those you need with you, but none from the General's personal squads.  When you're ready to make the final blow, wait for my signal.  Understood?"  The Major nodded and saluted smartly, moving away from the table already.  As the table was cleared and the officers moved off, Vandross called Vilec Roak back to his side.  "Roak," he said, standing from the table.  "If the Major's plan helps us in this, and he survives, make certain he is promoted to Colonel.  Colonel Clent was felled in the attack on the west wall earlier.  He needs a replacement, and the Major is worthy."  Roak saluted and moved off into the deepening shadows, watching as the sun settled toward the horizon.  Nightfall would be coming soon, and another session of weakening the gates would commence.  The magic employed was delicate, and had to be properly balanced.  The concentration required was exhausting, and Roak had wanted to do all of his work in the night.  But such tactics would be clearly seen through, he knew.  Lord Vandross was wise in these matters, and he trusted the one-eyed warlock's judgement.  He would resume his work when the sun set.  For now, however, he had matters of another nature to attend to.   Though Richard Vandross had been unconcerned about the perimeter they had crossed days ago, Vilec Roak had sensed something almost sinister about the barrier.  Why had so much of the forest been cleared?  What purpose did it serve other than a way to detect their crossing?  He moved off to his personal tent to think it through.  He would not find out on his own, however.  He would have considerable assistance.

            Byron and Selena Bradford stood atop the north wall, looking off at Vandross's camp.  Byron had just left the Queen and the Commander after a meeting to discuss their next move.  They would no longer wait for Vandross to make a move; they would let Selena Bradford unleash fiery hell on the unsuspecting army.  A vanguard of Cuyotai, who would be enchanted by a local Q Mage to be immune to the flames, would exit through the secret doors on the west wall, and attack the front lines of Vandross's forces.  The surprise assault would distract them all from Selena's efforts, and they would all be caught up in the flames before they knew what was going on.  Deardry, the new Queen of the Elves, had approved.  She had regretted that so much forest had to be sacrificed, but the lives of her people were more important.

            Byron now stood with Selena, looking down at the muffled activity of Vandross's camp.  They were preparing to assail the city in the same manner as they had earlier.  They would be in for quite a surprise tonight, Byron thought as he softly chuckled.  "You're enjoying this, aren't you," Selena asked him in an almost flirtatious manner.  Byron smiled broadly at her, stretching his cheekbones and teeth as wide as he could. 

            "Yes, quite a bit.  It's about time we took a little initiative," he said, almost elated.  In a few minutes, the Cuyotai would strike, and Selena would cast one of the most powerful Pyromancy spells in existence, the Meteor Strike.  She began moving her hands, weaving the basis of the spell in the air.  Red, thin flames sparked in the air, forming symbols of the art of Pyromancy, flashing in and out of sight.  A shout rose from below, and Byron looked down to see the first of thirty Cuyotai volunteers charging Vandross's front lines.  Vandross rose from his cot as he heard the battle cry of the lycanthropes, barking orders to his men nearby to engage the ambush.  What were they thinking, he wondered.  They had to know he wouldn't be caught off guard.  Perhaps they had become too confident.  But the huge shadows encroaching upon the camp warned him of something else entirely; as he looked up, he saw the Pyromancer, Selena Bradford, with her hands upturned and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.  Vandross looked skyward, and saw two huge, flaming meteors streaking toward the middle of his enormous siege camp. 

            "The barrier," he whispered, and finally understood.  The perimeter had been created for this, so that the whole forest of the Elven Kingdom wouldn't catch fire and burn to the ground!  It was yet another clever trap, one from which he could not save all of his men.  Immediately he ordered the ladders to the walls, seeing that Roak and his men had already begun their work on the gates unseen.  Vandross dashed toward him, heedless of the fact that he would expose their purpose.  "Roak," he screamed.  He only had a few minutes, at the best.  "Bring these gates down now!  Hurry!"  Vandross didn't bother to explain, but instead pointed to the sky, and Vilec Roak's yellow eyes went wide with horror.  The Meteor Strike would easily wipe out a third of Vandross's present forces.  "Hurry!"  A runner was sent to Major Tong to give him the order to disregard caution and get his men inside the city immediately.  Chaos broke out in the camp as the first of three flaming meteors struck the camp, blasting nearly a hundred of Vandross's men skyward in flaming heaps of flesh.  Soldiers of Vandross's cause scattered in all directions, frightened and confused.  Atop the stone wall, Byron of Sidius could be heard howling with laughter, the sound oddly wraithlike and wrathful. 

            "Byron," Selena whispered, fainting and falling back into his arms.  The effort required of the spell had cost her a great deal of strength, but it was not in vain.  Byron watched as the second and third objects struck, exploding on contact.  The concussion wave from the impact rolled toward the city, and below, Byron heard the north gates shatter.  He looked down, and saw hundreds of Vandross's men pour through the opening.  The gates should have sustained the blow from the wave, he thought, suddenly unsure of what had occurred.  Had something been done to the gates without his knowledge?  He pressed his hands to the stone, and read there the traces of dark magic.  The gates had been weakened previously, and he had not noticed.  Now, still nearly a thousand men strong, Vandross's men charged into the city.  A hole blew apart in the west wall, and more poured into the city, far away from the main force. 

            "The walls are breached," he heard Jaimie Helestion shout from somewhere nearby.  "Defend the city!  Defend the Princess!"  Byron stood paralyzed, still holding Selena, who was being fanned by Alex with an ornamental hand fan.  Byron gently lowered her to the ground, and drew his sword.  He could clearly make out Vandross, stalking through the streets, cutting down Dark Watchmen and regular army with ease.  The one-eyed devil's style was good, his form familiar.  Byron rushed to confront him, but was constantly attacked by Orcs, Ogres, and Trolls, as well as a pair of Shadowbeasts who backed him away, keeping him on the defensive.  They seemed not to be attacking him, but keeping him from reaching Vandross specifically.  They too had some skill, and he received a pair of stab wounds for his troubles, one to his leg, one to his stomach.  He swept the Morning Glory in wide, arcing slashes and hacks, blocked or dodged.  The Shadowbeasts were not making many aggressive movements.  Beyond them, he saw Jaimie Helestion charge at Vandross, long spear in hands. 

            The Commander made several feints, circling Vandross, who had finally taken a defensive stance.  The Commander only had to distract him for a short bit, just until Byron could reach him to take over the fight.  Byron finally caught one demon a stab to the chest, its body dissolving into ashes before him.  But he was knocked to the ground by a Khan Berserker a moment later, the huge, drooling beast advancing as he got to his knees.  A huge set of claws tore at his armor, ripping the deadened flesh beneath the chest plate.  Nothing before had penetrated the armor, and Byron actually felt a slight amount of pain from the wound.  He had been knocked clear of the Berserker's axe from the slash, however, a lucky thing for the Dread Knight.  He was on his feet, and hurled a sheet of ice at the Khan, the magic slamming into the Berserker's axe arm, severing it at the elbow.  But the beast was oblivious to its injury, and charged at him again, slashing and punching at him with the arm that was intact.  Byron ducked and rolled, leading the Khan back toward the Shadowbeast.  Byron leaped over a sideways slash, letting the Khan tear the demon in half.  As he landed atop the Khan's shoulders, he plunged the Morning Glory down through the beast's skull, kicking off and flipping back to the ground in a crouch.  He stood before the wide eyed Berserker, and kicked him over to the ground, dead.  Byron removed the Morning Glory, and moved for Vandross, who was in a deadlock with Jaimie Helestion.

            But Byron was too late.  As he dashed through the melee all about him, Vandross grasped the end of Jaimie's spear, and sent a surge of garish, emerald energy through the metal shaft.  Jaimie Helestion began convulsing, his eyes glowing a strange green light.  Smoke poured out of his ears and mouth, which hung agape.  He was dead before he collapsed.  Byron made to attack Vandross, but the warlock was ready for him.  As Byron leaped up, cat-like and silent, Vandross tossed a bolt of lightning at him, which hurled him several hundred yards away, back near the gates of the city.  He lay prone for a moment, but a strong hand helped him up.  Shoryu stood over him, and the arm that had hauled him up belonged to David Spore.  The one armed Monk forced a smile at him, and Byron thanked him quickly.  "Morek is engaged with a group at the west wall, along with Ellen Daires.  His troop needs help, for many of the Orcs and demons have begun raiding the civilians, killing them in their homes."  Byron looked off after Vandross, but remembered his promise to himself.  Regardless of what happened to the Orb, he had sworn to protect the Elves and the other citizens of Whitewood first.  He nodded, and followed after the Monk and Shoryu. 

            Richard Vandross let several of his sergeants move ahead of him, several traps triggered only to pass harmlessly through the Shadowbeasts.  He had led them directly to the library, and down into the tunnels.  One Goblin had been stupid enough to trigger an obvious trap, his curiosity getting the better of him.  No big loss, Vandross thought.  He would soon have what he had come for.  Ahead, he saw lamp light, and heard low muttering.  Guards, who would soon be dead, he thought.  But as the first three Shadowbeasts made the corner, they were blasted with powerful beams of magic, obliterated to nothing but smoke and dust.  Vandross stared wide eyed at what remained, and his brow furrowed with hatred.  He knew now where the Council had hidden; they were the guards of the Orb now.  This might prove more difficult than he had previously wagered.  He summoned a spark of yellow energy, tossing it with care around the corner, spotting for a moment eight older Elves.  There was an explosion of force, but he could still sense their life force.  They had defended themselves well.  Vilec Roak crept up next to him.  "My lord, I have a suggestion," he said, motioning one of his own men to them.  "This is Selc.  He has volunteered to be our sacrifice."

            "Sacrifice," Vandross asked, raising an eyebrow. 

            "Yes, my lord," growled the one called Selc, a lumbering Shadowbeast.  "When touched by magic, I can absorb some of it.  You should get far back through the tunnels, my lord.  When I self-destruct, the blast will be powerful."  Vandross almost laughed at the genius of such a simple tactic.  Why not?  What was one more dead demon to him?  He and Vilec Roak took the remaining three sergeants, an Orc and two more demons, and scurried off a safe distance.  One of the demons forgot about a trap trigger, died, and left two sergeants with Vandross and Vilec Roak.  They had barely made it behind a barrier when the ground around them shook with a 'ka-boom' from where the Elders had been.  When they returned, the guard chamber was caked in blood and organs.  But Vandross was disturbed; only seven robes were on the ground among the bones.  One had escaped.  No matter, he thought, opening the door to the chamber where the Orb of Eden’s Serpent lay waiting for him.  I have what I came for.

            The Orb of Eden’s Serpent shimmered with dark energies, and he crossed the chamber to the pedestal it stood upon.  He grasped it between his hands, and invoked the power of the other Orbs, pulling the Orb close to his chest, screaming in dark pleasure as the Orb became one with him.  Bursts of power lashed out from his body, and he felt something inside growl, anxious to be awakened.  Vandross looked down to see he was hovering a foot off of the floor.  He smiled anew, and turned to his General.  Vilec Roak backed guardedly away.  Vandross's eye burned crimson, and a faint light shone from behind the patch where his left eye had been.  "Let us be away from here, General," Vandross growled, his voice sounding like a mix of his own voice, and the voice of a demon accompanying his words.  "We are finished here."  Vilec Roak and Richard Vandross made their way back outside, up into the library, and out into the street. Vandross’s feet never touched the floor of the tunnels as they made their way back up and through the library. 

Vandross's forces were being pushed out of the city; they were being defeated, slowly but surely.  Casualties on both sides mounted higher and higher, but Vandross had nearly five thousand followers at Mount Toane; Whitewood had only so many men.  The city would be in ruins when Vandross pulled out.  But not just yet, he thought with a grin.  He wanted to test his new limits.  As he hovered over the streets, he began weaving symbols of ancient demon magic in the air, trails of thick, ashy fog filling the air and pulsing with a sick green light.  The ground all around the city trembled, and up from the ground below him, knocking Vilec Roak to his back, came screeching and growling an enormous, frightening demon.

            The demon he had summoned rose out of the ground, bringing all battle to a halt as every living thing in Whitewood, Byron included, turned to gaze upon it.  It stretched its broad, muscular chest and arms, standing there for a minute, doing little more than breathing the air.  It stood approximately twenty feet in height, with rough, bark-like crimson flesh, man-like in shape and anatomy.  But huge, whipping tentacles extended from its sides, four of them, two under each massive, clawed and spiked arm.  Two huge horns curved up from its forehead, and its eyes were the thin, milky white color of bed sheets.  But as it reared its head back and roared, there could be no mistaking its fury; it had answered a summons, and intended to feed itself.  As it moved, the combat ensued among the defenders of Whitewood and Vandross's army.  The one-eyed warlock hovered over the ground, his arms folded across his chest.  Red, garish light glimmered in his eye, and Byron saw, from under his eye patch.  Byron detached himself from the melee, and charged at Vandross.  "Go," Vandross called up to his newest demon servant.  The demon stepped forward, ignoring the Dread Knight, aiming its attacks for the smaller, less threatening mortals below.  Its first concern would be to feed, and Vandross knew this.  He welcomed Byron's attack.

            Vandross tossed another bolt of lightning at Byron as he had earlier, but this time Byron was prepared.  He had a shield of magical force up and ready, knocking Vandross's magic aside with ease, gaining ground on him.  As he got close, he made a lunging feint, forcing Vandross to the left.  Byron's subtle diagonal movement resulted in a successful slash across Vandross's sternum, knocking him to the ground, bleeding.  The one-eyed warlock looked up with shock on his face.  But Byron was hit with a wave of dark energy from the side by Vilec Roak, sent sprawling.  Vandross launched a volley of magic at Byron, backing him against the only stone structure in the entire city, a church of Oun.  Vandross pressed up to Byron, less than a foot away, magics battering against each other. 

Byron felt ribs give way and crack under the pressure of the warlock’s newly powered spells.  Vandross did not relent in the slightest, carelessly dashing aside every spell and sword swing Byron unleashed at him.  He growled and smiled at Byron.  "This time, Byron of Sidius, you will fall," he hissed, his twin voice starting a fire somewhere in Byron's chest.  The Dread Knight focused his thoughts, keeping just enough magic present to shield himself from Vandross's assault.  He wove a set of symbols in the blood on the ground with his boot, out of Vandross's eyesight, muttering to himself.  His pinpoint lights shone brightly then, and he screamed at Vandross.

            "Holy Cross!"  Vandross stopped his advance, looking down at the white light that burned up at him.  The holy magic spell slammed into him with full force, blasting him skyward and back, twenty or thirty yards, on top of Vilec Roak.  He got to his feet, grabbed his General, and whispered something to him.  Byron felt his anger and hope slide out from under him; Vandross didn’t appear to be harmed in any way!

            "This isn't over, Byron," he growled in irritation.  Then, in a puff of smoke, he disappeared, leaving Roak to shout for retreat.  They had done what they came to do.  Barely two hundred of Vandross's men made it clear of the city and the burning forest, fleeing before the defenders who would chase them to their deaths.  Byron's vision faded once more, his wounds and expenditure of energy getting the best of him.  He was unconscious, leaning against the steps of the church when the other members of his company found him.  His armor was damaged slightly, and his limbs were arranged oddly, the group having to untangle his huge, armored legs before carrying him back to Ellen's home.  A healer came to mend his wounds, going into the back guest room where he lay alone, while the others waited patiently, making small talk.  Among them was David Spore, the one-armed Monk, who had become swift friends with the company, and had agreed to join them in their endeavors.  When the healer came out, his Elven features were both strained and confused.  James Hayes was the first to question him, being next in line for healing services.

            "What is it," he asked of the healer as the Elf used his magic to close and cleanse his wounds.  "What's wrong with Byron?"  The healer shook his head.  Shoryu, his lycanthrope regenerative powers having taken care of him, leaned in close.

            "Is there something wrong," he asked, almost parroting Hayes.  The Elven man shook his head slowly, his eyes focused on nothing.

            "No," the healer said.  "There is nothing wrong.  Just something, odd.  You should see for yourself."  Shoryu gave Ellen a kiss on the forehead, and moved back through the house with Hayes in tow.  They opened the door to the guest room, and lit the candles set about.  What they saw was a shock and a mystery to them both.  The healer had ignored his instructions not to remove Byron's upper armor, and he lay still on the bed, his torso whole and clean, Human.  He appeared to be in peak physical condition, save for the fleshless skull.  When they looked at his armor, hanging on the wall next to the bed, Hayes muttered a prayer under his breath.  The crest of Sidius no long rested on the chest plate.  Instead, the holy symbol of Oun, a fine and artistic cross, stood boldly gleaming in white.

            Richard Vandross had teleported himself directly to Mount Toane, knowing that it would only be a little over two hundred that returned with Vilec Roak and his newest servant, the Render Demon he would name Brink.  He smiled widely as he sat upon his throne of bones and skulls.  The world was his plaything now, even without the final Orb of Eden’s Serpent.  He was now without equal.  Byron had injured him, but most of the damage was to his pride.  And that no longer mattered; the people of Tamalaria would tremble at the mention of his name now.  There was no one outside of his grasp at this time.  Never again would he be like the powerless, helpless little boy who had watched his parents butchered.  Never again would the world ignore him and his sorrows.  But he was feeling fatigued, and floated down off of his throne, off to his bedchamber.  He laid down on the bed, after removing his armor and tunics.  He needed a bath, and resolved to take one after he woke from a well-deserved nap.

            He had barely been asleep five minutes when he slipped into the realm of his soul.  Something had changed, he thought.  He stood in the grand hallway as he had that first time, but everything seemed darker, the color drained from the tapestries and sculptures.  He stalked through the hall, stopping in front of a mirror to look at himself.  He wore only simple trousers and his boots, admiring the way his musculature seemed to have increased.  That was when he noticed the red glimmer behind his eyes, plural.  For a moment he stared in disbelief.  He took a step closer to the mirror, and lifted his eye patch.  A pinprick light, crimson as blood, shone in his empty socket.  He lowered the patch and took a step back.  Without warning, the mirror image of himself began posing like a fool, mocking him.  Vandross took another step back, as blood seeped down the mirror's surface in rivulets, and the mirror-Vandross began cackling with glee.  Vandross hurled a bolt of lightning into the mirror, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

            "I wish you wouldn't do that," boomed a familiar voice.  Vandross looked down the hall, to see Locke, the Keeper, approaching.  The monolithic creature stalked silently, his heavy steps making no sound.  He had changed again, Vandross realized as Locke stopped ten paces from him.  His armor was still all angles and the color of blood, but his manner was bolder, more aggressive.  He carried his huge, wicked sword in his right hand at all times it seemed.  The feral yellow cat's eyes pulsed once, the light shining at Vandross menacingly.  "They are waiting for you, Richard," the Keeper said.  He stepped out of Vandross's way, but the one-eyed devil had a question suddenly pop into his mind.

            "You're leaving, aren't you," he asked, standing still with his head hip-level with the great Keeper.  "That's why you haven't struck me for the mirror.  You're leaving."  He stood stock still, waiting for some response from the enigmatic spirit creature.  Locke swung his head to look down at Vandross, who was looking up at him.

            "I cannot leave entirely, Richard Vandross.  Not until you are dead, or so far from yourself that I am compelled to leave.  No, Richard Vandross, you will obviously not be needing me much longer, for you intend to take the last Orb of Eden’s Serpent.  I am merely preparing for departure, in the Hall of Memories.  The path you follow will take you to either end that will release me, and sooner than you may think.  I regret that I did not do better for you," Locke said with what was clearly disappointment and sympathy.  One huge, armored hand rested lightly on Vandross's shoulder for a moment before Locke moved off, silent as a whisper on the wind.  As he stalked away, Vandross watched after him, seeing as Locke disappeared through the doors at the opposite end of the hall.  He felt a sudden sting of guilt and panic; why should he feel this way?  He was achieving what he had set out to do.  He shrugged the feelings aside, dismissing them as foolish.  Instead, he stalked into the chamber he had become so familiar with, seeing Power, Vengeance, Spite and a new entity, Deceit, talking together. 

            Deceit appeared to be a smoky version of Vandross himself, a mirror image made out of mist.  Vandross crossed the stone bridge, coming right up to them.  They parted before him, lining up in a straight row to greet him with sweeping bows.  He grinned despite himself.  "Greetings, lord Vandross," said Power, her voice still as majestic and arousing as ever.  If she were only a real woman, Vandross thought.  "Meet Deceit.  Deceit, you are now under the command of this new host," she said, and the misty form bowed once more.  Vandross inclined his head slightly, never taking his eye off of the new creature.  "There has been a new development, Richard," she said, drawing his attention once again.  "It is a spot of bad news.  We can no longer sense the final Orb of Eden’s Serpent."

            "How is that possible," Vandross asked, his tone relaxed and slightly nonchalant.  At this juncture, he didn't care.  He had all the time in the world to search for the final Orb.  Who in the lands of Tamalaria would be foolish enough to oppose him? 

            "It has been sealed away in some sort of safe place, its power and trace lost.  It has been moved, we believe, though where to, we cannot be certain.  It may take a great deal of patience in your world to find it."

            "I am not too concerned," he said, walking over to take a seat on a clump of rock outcropping.  He made himself comfortable.  "With the power now at my disposal, none can truly oppose me.  Not even Byron of Sidius and his rag-tag band of friends.  I'm certain at least a couple of them died in Whitewood anyway."  But Power shook her head.  "They're all alive," he asked, and Power nodded.  "Hellfire, hell and blood," he muttered, spitting over the drop into the base of this cavern.  He heard something sizzle below, and smiled.  "I have a network of spies in the lands.  I shall simply have to wait for word from one of them.  In the mean time, I fully intend to relax and launch some attacks across the lands.  I have the manpower, and can now summon even greater demons from the Pit.  Don't worry," he said, seeing the troubled looks on their faces.  "We have time.  I don't intend to stop until I can have the power of the Glorious Mother of Destruction," he said, feeling himself fading as he came awake.  "Until we talk again," he said, waving to them.  He was telling them the truth, he thought as he bathed.  He would have the power, one way or the other.