'Freedom or the Fire' Chapter Twenty-One- The Long and Winding Road

For several days after the destruction of the fifth Orb of Eden’s Serpent, Byron and his company did little more than trudge along toward the closest town and sleep.  Eating took little of their time, as they consumed almost everything they had the first time they stopped for a meal.  As a result, they slept little, and spoke less, trying to reserve what energy and strength they had for marching.  It was noon of the fourth day when they finally spotted a village ahead of them, perhaps an hour away due to the pouring rain.  Shoryu shook his fur coat once again, groaning with the effort and trying to keep a smile plastered to his face.  Only Morek Rockmight seemed entirely unaffected by the downpour, his Dwarven upbringing keeping him basically immune to poor weather.  Selena Bradford, however, was feeling miserable.  Her powers were being severely hampered by the constant drenching she was taking, and her attitude was as foul as the skies above her. 

            Finally, they stood a stone's throw from the outermost abode, and saw that the residents were not all commoners.  A small group of militiamen were forming ranks, and a single Minotaur stood at the front of their formation, barking orders of rank and file.  As Byron and James Hayes ranged ahead to see what was going on, the Minotaur turned and saw them, staring wide-eyed in disbelief.  The hulking Dread Knight slowly moved his hand toward the hilt of the Morning Glory, but came up short as the Minotaur came to full attention and snapped off a smart salute.  "Sirs," he shouted above the thunder and splash of the rain.  "You honor us with your presence," exclaimed the Minotaur.  Upon closer inspection, Byron saw a black armband around the Minotaur's forearm.  On it was the insignia of a single skull, the same as the Elven bordermen had been wearing.  Byron looked around at the others of the company, and saw that for the first time in many days, they were all smiling.  He quickly remembered the Minotaur, who hadn't moved his hand away from his forehead.  Byron returned the salute, and the Minotaur lowered his arm. 

            "You would honor us, my good man, by offering some shelter, food, and a few changes of clothes.  Also, an explanation would be good to have," Byron offered in return, and the Minotaur laughed roughly.  He turned to the assembled men and shouted at them to get what 'mighty Byron' had requested of him. 

            "My apologies in advance, your lordship, for their lack of discipline.  Most have never served in any sort of army," the Minotaur said, leading them into what appeared to be the village library.  Over the course of the last few months, Byron and James Hayes had both become uncomfortable with libraries, as well as Selena Bradford.  They seemed to be the only type of building in the cities they had defended that offered sanctuary.  Yet, all had nearly fallen.  "And to tell the truth, I am only assigned as Sergeant-at-Arms because of my post as head guardian of my tribe in the mountains.  Our peoples' guardians do not have a typical rank and file as armies do, but it was lord Viper's recommendation that I take this post."  Byron felt something like a thunderclap in his ear at the mention of the name Viper. 

            "One moment," said Morek Rockmight before the Dread Knight could catch up.  "You mean the leader of the Black Vipers?  The mercenaries?!  Just how has he come into the title of lordship," fumed the little Boxer.  The Minotaur put his hands up in resignation and sighed. 

            "After the Final Push, in which our people fought beside you, Lord Byron, the Black Vipers escaped to the Port of Arcade," said the Minotaur, telling them the tale as they each took a seat around a long, rectangular table in one of the library's reading rooms.  Tea was poured for each of them, except for Morek, who requested hearty ale.

            "An' make sure it's good, strong stuff," he muttered to the attending Private at his side. 

            "As I am sure you are aware, for many's the year, the Port of Arcade had been nothing more than a lawless refuge for rogues and bandits and the like.  Murderers, even, and it was a seashore city without law.  However, on the long trek from Mount Toane to the city, lord Viper realized something; he could not go on living his life as an outlaw.  The defeat of his people and the armies at the hands of Tanarak that day made him realize that true power does not reside in the raiding and banditry that he had lived by for so many years," exclaimed the Minotaur with a flourish of his hands.  His grand sweeping gesture nearly struck Ellen Daires in the face as she sipped her tea, but Shoryu simply dipped her chair back with his free hand, returning her to an upright position after the Minotaur calmed down to continue. 

"'What I want,' lord Viper said to his remaining men, 'is to establish the city as a true city-state, complete with law and order, and codes of honor and conduct.  It is nations that rule and remain, not vagrants and vagabonds such as we'.  And so, Byron, the Port of Arcade has been under the lordship of Thaddeus Viper since the year after the Final Push.  He gained his post by rallying the people, and telling that the slate would be wiped clean, that by establishing a sovereign city-state, all of the initial citizens would be forgiven their past trespasses.  Most were eager to join the cause.  That, little man," he said, his eyes swooping down to meet Morek's.  The attempt failed, as the taciturn Dwarf was taking a long pull of his ale.   "That is why he has earned the title of lordship.  And, as a lord, his word carries much weight in the formation of the armies."

            "But, Sergeant," interrupted Selena Bradford, her head propped up by her hand, looking tired and bored of talk.  "We are nowhere near the Port of Arcade.  Surely some other lord governs this region?"  The Minotaur gave her a kind smile. 

            "You are correct.  However, my father thought it best for me to serve under a lord other than the one he serves under.  The largest influence in this area is Desanadron, to the south and west, and that is only if Traithrock is not considered.  Prime Minister Ashton Wilts of Desanadron is my father's keeper and commander of most of the units here," said the Minotaur. 

            "Guess again, me bucko," rumbled Morek as he wiped his beard of the ale that had spilled into it. 

            "Ah, yes, of course," said James Hayes, already interpreting the Dwarven Boxer's response to all of this.  Morek stood up, cleared his throat, and opened a window to let air in and his bellowing voice out.

            "Now hear this, and hear it well!  I am Morek Rockmight, born to the Western Mountains, Dwarf of Traithrock, and Head Councilman of that wondrous capital to the Dwarven Race!  If there be Dwarves, Minotaurs, or Gnomes from that region, or any other Race from that region for that matter, come to the front of the library now," he bellowed, more out the window than at the young Sergeant-at-Arms, who had gone slightly pale and weak-looking.

            "My father will not be pleased," he muttered, almost to himself.  Ellen Daires placed her hand consolingly on the young Minotaur's forearm, and he thanked her with a nod. 

            "And why not," grumbled Morek, taking another tankard from the Private who had been serving them.  "I'm as good a man to lead the folks of this area as any!  We are talking about people of the mountains, aren't we?" 

            "Oh, it isn't that," said the Minotaur Sergeant.  "It's just that, well, he just got off of guard duty a couple of hours ago.  When he is roused, someone will wind up with a bruise or three," he said, and Byron and Shoryu both shared a laugh.  The company stood as one, and went to the front entryway to the library, where many had already gathered, including a large, oafish-looking Minotaur who bore an uncanny resemblance to the Sergeant.  Daddy dearest, Byron thought to himself.  The son had been right about the father, though; he was half-carrying a young Jaft soldier, who had two black eyes and what appeared to be a broken jaw that would need a few hours to mend itself, even with the Jafts' gift of regeneration.  From among the soldiers gathered, a single Dwarf, outfitted like a small war engine, lifted the visor on his spiked helmet, pointing a finger up at Morek.

            "It is indeed Morek Rockmight of Traithrock," he cried, a loud but cheerful and welcoming tone to his voice.  "Hail, rockbrother!  Hail, Head Councilman of beautiful Traithrock!  Do you know me," the Dwarf asked.  Morek squinted his eyes deeply, appearing to be closing them altogether.  Then, he smiled widely and approached the Dwarf who stood in the drizzle that the rain had weakened into. 

            "Hail, spellwarrior Hamin Crow," he said with a salute and a grin.  "Head of the city's night watch!  Have you no criminals back home to apprehend?"

            "There is but one criminal whom we must take the blood from," growled the armored Dwarf.   "And his name is Richard Vandross!"  Several dozen loud cheers went up from behind him, and Byron felt his mind reel with memories.  It was almost exactly how things had been shortly before the Final Push, all those years ago.  It had all began with a gathering together of smaller, independent armies, until all were joined together before the ominous Mount Toane.  Now, almost twenty years later to the date, Byron was faced with the same exact situation, save three major differences.  Firstly, the enemy of the land was Richard Vandross, not Tanarak of Sidius.  Secondly, Byron was now a Dread Knight, a creature of the undead, instead of the Human Paladin of fame.  And then, he thought with a smile, there was the third, and perhaps, most important difference.

            Tanarak of Sidius had possessed great power and guile, due to his possession of all five of the Orbs of Eden’s Serpent.  Richard Vandross did not.  One of those few instances, he thought, where less was more.  He shook his head to bring himself back to the moment, and looked at the young Sergeant-at-Arms.  "There shall be time for a pissing contest later, Morek," he snapped at the Dwarf, who shrugged his shoulders in deference to the company's undisputed leader.  "Sergeant, go and fetch lord Viper.  We have important matters to discuss, among them the march of these units toward Mount Toane."  The Minotaur saluted stiffly, his father joining him as he jogged away, slapping the younger man upside his horned head with such effort that the Sergeant nearly fell.  Morek continued to speak swiftly with those who had gathered before the library, while Byron slipped away from the bulk of the group, out into the open road.  The rain had ceased completely, the slightest hints of sunlight streaming through the clouds above.  He heard Shoryu approaching before he saw the Cuyotai Hunter, having spent more time with him than most of the other members of the company.  He could tell at almost all times where the young were-coyote was. 

            It was a small comfort to him, he realized.  He looked to the young Shoryu almost as if he were his own son, little Jacob.  After all, had he lived, he too would be around twenty years of age, relative to Shoryu's own.  But rather than dwell on any comparison he might make between the two, he greeted Shoryu with the best facsimile of a smile he could manage.  "Shoryu," he said, nodding.

            "Good Byron," the Cuyotai responded in kind, taking a seat on a storefront's steps.  "I must thank you once again for doing Ellen and I the honor of being the witness to our wedlock," he said after a moment of awkward silence. 

            "It was nothing, lad," said Byron, putting a heavy hand on Shoryu's right shoulder.  "I was more than happy to do it."  Something still bothered Shoryu, he could see.  Perhaps not bothered him, per se, but something surely sat on his mind.  "What troubles your thoughts," he asked gently, taking a seat a step below Shoryu, so they were eye level. 

            "I have been thinking long about our travels together, good Byron.  You have protected me many times since first I joined you, or rather, since you first rescued me.  To tell the truth, I still can't understand what made you take me away from there.  I don't regret that you did, mind you," he said, waving his hands and trying not to be too defensive.  "It's just that, well, I feel that I may have sometimes slowed you down, held you back.  Made you hesitate when you would not otherwise do so," he finished, muttering the last words almost to himself.  Byron, looking sidelong at him with his head cocked at an angle, felt a flush of warmth spread through him.  He threw his arm around Shoryu's shoulders and pulled him into a headlock, rubbing his coarse, tan fur as he might a child's hair.  The young Hunter struggled briefly as he laughed at the Dread Knight's antics, who finally released Shoryu and stood from his seat on the steps.

            "You have been an invaluable ally, Shoryu Tearfang," he proclaimed aloud, his voice carrying a hint of pride in it.  "Moreover, you have been a companion to me that I would not replace if even given the choice!  As for why I took you with me to begin with," he said, leaning in close and whispering in a serious and conspiratorial voice.  "I saw great things in store for you.  If I had left you there, you would have been lost for the whole of your life, perhaps.  Or, you would have joined another tribe, only to be treated like a burden and outcast.  Trust me," he said, turning away to see the Sergeant-at-Arms returning with a Human garbed in black and yellow robes.  "Nobody deserves that."  Byron offered the stranger in the hooded robes a moderate bow, keeping his eyes raised to watch for any sign of treachery from this man.  If it was indeed Thaddeus Viper beneath those robes, he would want to see exactly how the man would react to his presence.  A moment later, he received a pleasant surprise.

            It should be said first that among the many Races that reside in the lands of Tamalaria, Humans are among the shortest lived.  If they do not destroy one another or die in wars and petty squabbles with members of the other, more powerful Races, then time itself unravels the fabric of their mortality, and at a much swifter pace than it does with most other Races.  Small hands, laced with scars and veins so varicose Byron thought the man might be a walking corpse, reached up to pull back the hood that concealed the wizened face within.  Thaddeus Viper, a man whose years now numbered somewhere in their late fifties, looked much different than he had only twenty years before. 

The leader of the mercenary band, the Black Vipers, had been a strapping, well-built man of middle age when last Byron had laid eyes upon him.  His eye had gleamed with the promise of battles to be won and prizes to be earned or taken away; his laughter had been maddened and bloodthirsty; his body had been a tightly coiled collection of toned muscles and animalistic instincts.  But no more of that could be seen here, in this humbly adorned elder.  Thaddeus Viper, ruthless thug and mercenary, had become Thaddeus Viper, Prime Minister of the Port of Arcade.

            His hair, always tied straight back and as black as the night, now hung about his head in gray wisps barely attached to his head.  His eyes no longer held the steely glare of greed, but rather a soft sort of warmth, a glow of a sort that an elder or responsible politician might take on after years spent finding out just how difficult it could really be to maintain peace in one's own region.  "Greetings, Byron," rasped the old bandit.  "It has been a rather long time, and much has happened for each of us.  Perhaps we shall have some time later to discuss those things, catch up on these last twenty years?"  Viper's smile sent creases across his face, lines of age and worry set deep in the flesh. 

            "That would be most welcomed, old friend," Byron replied in a gentle tone.  "But first, we must discuss our marching strategy.  I do not wish to force your men into a sudden sojourn, but we should try to get going south by tomorrow.  It is my intention that we join the regiments here, under yours and Morek's command," he said, and the old man offered a slight bow to the master Boxer.  "We shall head to the borderlands of the Elven Kingdom, and see if they are preparing an army to stand with us at Mount Toane.  From there we can calculate our first move."  Thaddeus Viper laughed gently, the kind laugh of an old wise man, patting Byron on the shoulder by reaching almost a full foot over his own head.

            "Good and mighty Byron Aixler," Viper said, coughing for a moment.  "Word had reached us yesterday that you were coming.  A strange, conflicted creature, much as you are I imagine, suddenly appeared at the Feather's Drop Inn, where I have been staying while the regiments prepare for the long march to Mount Toane.  He gave me no name, but I sensed demon's blood in him," Viper said, his eyes becoming slightly milky and unfocused as he recalled the memory.  "He was clad in great, silver armor, and he bore a military uniform of some sort.  He had a marking on his collar, an officer for certain, but of whose army, I do not know," Viper said, refocusing his eyes on Byron, who had already guessed the identity of the creature.  Colonel Molis, the half-demon.  Or, as he would always know him, Edgar Cesar, second-in-command of the Final Push battle.  "We are ready to march out of this village at the drop of a hat," Viper said, signaling to a runner.  The young half-Elf man listened closely as Viper whispered something in his ear, then saluted and sprinted off down the street at top speed. 

            As Byron and his company were led to an inn to bathe, eat and rest, a loud horn sounded out over the village.  Dozens of small platoons marched down the streets past the company as they walked up on the front porch of the quaint little inn, opening the twin oak doors and stepping into the lobby.  There a Gnome with the thickest glasses they'd ever seen smiled at them and handed each a room key without a question.  Byron thought he recognized the little man.  "You are familiar to me, good master Gnome," he said.  The Gnome innkeeper smiled at him broadly.

            "I should think so, master Byron," the little man replied, tearing his attention away from his book.  "I was once the innkeeper in Koreindar, before Richard Vandross attacked the church of Oun.  You were staying there, though I didn't know who or what you were at the time you checked in."  Byron shrugged his shoulders and produced coins to pay for the rooms, which the Gnome pushed back at him, shaking his head.  "Please, it's on the house, my lordship!  You need only repay me by getting rid of that warlock once and for all.  I've given you each your own room."  Shoryu handed his room key back to the Gnome.

            "We're together," he said, indicating his wife, Ellen Daires.  The Gnome gave him a shit-eating grin and winked.  The young Cuyotai Hunter flushed slightly, then turned and went down the hall with Ellen to their room, promptly locking the door behind them with a loud snick.  As they each headed towards their own chambers, Alex hovered in front of Byron for a moment.

            "So, if those two, you know, have kids, what will they be?  Will she have puppies, or what," he said, smacking hard into the wall as Byron flicked him with his index finger.

            "I don't know, but that's a rather rude way of wording it, my diminutive friend," Byron growled, laughing afterwards.  The Dread Knight entered his humble little room, removed his upper plate armor, and was unconscious before his skull even hit the pillow.

            Flames all around him, burning him, eating his very body alive, the only sound he could hear were his own terrified, strangled wails of agony.  A trap!  It had been a trap, and he had been foolish enough to lead several hundred men headlong into it!  How could he have not known?  And then, a single vision, something dark and foreboding, approaching through the haze of smoke and flames, straight at him.  A strange, harsh voice, like claws scraping marble, speaking to him through the haze, its words as clear as thoughts.  -Thy time is nigh at hand, and that is a shame, for I have need for one such as you.  But thou dost not seek to embrace the sweet release of death, and I sense a greater strength in you than in many others.  Doth thou seek to live?-  Yes, great Oun in heaven yes, he thought, his agony slightly dissipating in the odd creature's presence.  -Then so be it.  You and I shall join as one, for I cannot achieve my purpose alone, as I am.  Even summoned, freed into the mortal realm, I require a host.  Do you accept that you shall be forever changed?-  Anything, he thought, the pain resurfacing, taking away all rational thought.  -So be it.- 

            An arctic blast of power rushed all through his body, numbing every inch of his being, stunting his thought process.  A different sort of pain came then, his bones snapping inside, his muscles and blood boiling and stretching, taking on a new shape.  His mind reeled with the pain of it, but he felt almost at peace with it, as though it was what was always meant to be.  There came a small point of light in his field of vision, the darkness receding around his eyes, turning into a recognizable tunnel of earthen rock and granite.  His point of view was from the ground, on his stomach, and as he rose, he could feel himself gaining strength, confidence.  He was ready to fight once again.

            -No,- the voice spoke to him in his mind.  -We need rest, and badly.  We are not ready yet for any confrontation.  We must take refuge.  There is a chamber in which we can rest, where none shall find us.  Move forward, host,- it said to him, and he immediately knew why the voice had suggested rest.  He felt like a dozen Orcs or Ogres had hammered on him with cudgels for a day or so, and his new body was awkward, clunky.  It seemed to have come fully armored, and larger than his previous body, more muscular and angular.

 He half dragged himself down the twisting tunnels, noting how shadows seemed to pool around his feet, and how every little noise was discernable to his new ears.  He heard a strange, rapid clicking noise, spun himself around to see if something was coming in pursuit of him.  What he saw was a medium sized spider making its way down the wall behind him, towards the floor of the tunnel.  Its movements sounded crystal clear to him, and when he scrutinized the arachnid, he could hear its heartbeat and the rush of fluids through its bodily systems.  He shook his head and moved off down the tunnel once more.

            "It's going to be an interesting day," he said, and marveled at how strange his own voice sounded to him.  After an hour of punishing movement, the voice in his mind spoke to him once more. 

            -There, in that cavern,- it said to him.  The man that had become something more saw a chamber entrance ahead of him, but noted how no light seemed to enter it.  As he stepped inside, he heard a whirl of air behind him, in the entryway, and saw a strange, light blue barrier.  There was a small set of candles on what appeared to be an altar of some sort, perhaps twenty or so feet away from him.  Upon this altar was a single symbol, one he didn’t recognize, that neither he or the creature inhabiting knew.  It was a set of hooked claws with a single blue line connecting their tops.  There were no other entrances or exits to or from the chamber he now stood in, but there was a mirror next to the altar.  The man approached slowly, wary of what he would see.  -Look upon yourself, once-mortal,- the voice said to him from within.  -See what we have become together.  You are no longer the same as you were, but then, neither am I.-

            "What is your name," the man asked, once again surprised to hear the mottled sound of his own voice.  It was warped, dark and twisted.  Finally, he stood before the mirror, and his breath whistled through his teeth as he gazed upon his new countenance. 

            -My name is not important, but I shall tell you.  It was Ezdareus, and I was one of Hell's rebels.  My post was that of Tarum torturer.  Those whom the god Tarum judged to be sinners, and who would not be vouched for by any other god, were sent to me and my men, in the third ring of Hell.  But I could no longer stand to be the conductor of their eternal suffering.  Thus, I removed myself from the Hells, but I could not be of any consequence here.  My essence was trapped, until a warlock inside this mountain released my energies, though he gave me no host.   I required a host, and a way into the mortal realm.  I found you, sensed your potential over all of those others.  I also sensed that you are a good and noble man, a man of a god.  Is that, correct?-

            "Yes," said the once-mortal, adjusting now to his new voice.  But as he looked into the mirror, he felt a mounting dread that he was stuck in his new body, instead of inhabiting it.  He didn't feel entirely whole, a sensation that confused and frightened him.  He didn't appear to have a face, but rather, a collection of shadows with two yellow, gimlet eyes set in it.  "I was a follower of the great god Oun, though I must admit, I don't think he'll take me as I am.

            -That is foolishness, once-man,- the creature said.  -You are the same, your soul is intact.  We are simply joined now, two souls and bodies making one.  Now, you shall give us a new name, one that we shall identify ourselves as to the world around us.  It cannot be your old name; that name has no meaning now, as mine does not.  Who are we now, once-man?-  The half-breed thought long and hard on this, and finally came up with a name that sounded fitting.  It was a word in the ancient tongue of the Mystics, a word that meant 'sinner'. 

            "Our name, is Molis," the once-mortal said.  The half-demon Colonel sat upright from his dream-memory, feeling soaked in sweat beneath his armor.  He was back in that chamber, resting himself for the task that lay ahead of him.  But even awake, the last bit of his memory played itself over in his mind.  The demon had then asked him a question from within himself, before he had taken his first rest in his new body.

            -By the way, once-mortal,- it had said.  -What was your mortal name?-

            "My name," Molis said aloud in his waking world, in sync with his memory.  "Was Edgar Cesar."

            It is said that there is no rest for the wicked.  How appropriate, thought Vilec Roak as he had just been reported to by a Khan Sergeant that he was to search for Colonel Molis's place of rest.  The Khan, a clever man in Roak's estimation, had asked the General to aid in the effort, as Roak’s servant had been there to see Molis emerge from that chamber.  The Shadowbeast General had agreed to accompany the tiger-man, though he sensed a fair amount of dislike and discomfort from the Sergeant.  Markus Triclaw, his name was, Roak had learned.  A Khan who had began in the post of Sergeant, and who had refused promotions offered by Lieutenant Amon and Major Tamriel both, Triclaw seemed comfortable in the position of First Sergeant.  After all, Roak thought glumly, Sergeants are very hands-on, whereas officers tended to only seem to be assigned managerial tasks.  Roak had, of course, been very hands-on; he was a Shadowbeast, and regardless of post or position, he refused to simply stand by and issue orders.  That much, it seemed, he had in common with the Khan. 

            There was that, and the fact that he didn't trust Triclaw as far as he could probably throw the solid ruffian.  Why had Vandross given such a task to the Khan, when the one-eyed warlock himself and Vilec Roak had both already scoured the length and breadth of the entire catacomb system under the mountain?  Possibly Vandross needed rest and time to further plot against the peoples of Tamalaria, and this Sergeant was the only available body willing to undertake the task.  Yes, Roak thought, that made sense.  After all, Khan had keen noses, and a sense for anything that appeared to be out of place.  Perhaps he would have better luck finding Colonel Molis's hiding hole with Triclaw at his side. 

"I grow tired of these tunnels," the Sergeant finally said, breaking the ever-thickening silence between them.  "We have searched this area already.  We must go deeper down, into the very bowels of this place," he proclaimed, a statement of fact more than a request for permission.  Roak felt himself twitch; such insolence!  The tiger-man was already heading down a tunnel that would lead them even further underground, not hesitating for even a moment.  The Shadowbeast General called out to the Khan to stop, making it a militant order; and Triclaw, like a good little toy soldier, did as he was told. 

            "Do not forget your place, First Sergeant," Roak hissed at him from the deepening shadows.  "I am the General of this army, and you will go no place and do nothing unless I say otherwise.  Understood," he rasped, glaring at Triclaw with all the menace he could muster.  The Khan, however, didn't so much as flinch, like all the others would have done.

            "Understood, sir," Triclaw said, his voice slow and timorous, as though he were having a great deal of trouble controlling his reaction to Vilec Roak's reprisal.  "Permission to speak freely, sir," he asked, raising an eyebrow at the Shadowbeast General.

            "Hmm.  Granted, but only for a minute."

            "You attempted to intimidate me a moment ago, didn't you?"  The question was so abrupt and unexpected that Roak floundered for a response.  Had he been so obvious?  He had felt the deception and cunning of his kind trickle slowly out of him the more time he spent above the surface of the Seven Hells, developing emotions that would not even have a clear term to describe them where he hailed from.  If the Khan could see through him, how far gone was he from the essential nature of a true Shadowbeast?  Sure, he had been Prime in his realm, in Hell, and now he stood as the General of Tamalaria's greatest power; but suddenly, he felt as weak and pathetic as the mortal creatures he had been summoned to crush under his heel!

            "So what if I did," he retorted, trying to regain his composure.

            "I am a Khan Chieftain, before all other things, demon," Triclaw said, spitting on Roak's foot as if the word were a curse.  "I do not know fear from the likes of you.  The moment this war is over, and lord Vandross controls all things in the lands, he shall disband the need for ranks and regulations.  When that time comes, bottom feeder, I shall have a headstone prepared for you!  And I," he said, pressing his feline snout up against Roak's forehead, stooping slightly to do so.  "I shall be the one to put you in the grave," he whispered, growling deep in his belly.  "Sir," he added, returning to a strict, upright military stance.  He had been good to his word; he spoke quite freely, but only for the minute that Roak had given him.  Disciplined, powerful, and most likely deadlier than even Lieutenant Amon, this Markus Triclaw was, Roak thought.  He would be keeping a keen eye on the Khan for the remainder of the evening.  When they came up empty once again on the search for Molis, he would slit the Khan's throat for being so presuming, and he would have his skull fashioned into an ornamental goblet.  That would keep any more of the tiger-men from getting lippy with him, he mused.

            As they descended to a new level of Mount Toane, Vilec Roak could sense the slightest smell of rot and decay lingering in the air.  He could hear Triclaw snuffling, using his fine sense of smell to guide him as he sparked a torch to light the way.  Bones and burnt out armor littered the tunnel they now stood in, for hundreds of feet in each direction.  Apparently, there were a few ways to get to each level of the mountain, and they had come down one that had been used before, to a rather negative end.  Wait a minute, Roak thought.  I recognize this tunnel, I have heard of it.  One of the detachments of the armies at the Final Push, twenty years earlier, had come down one such tunnel and had all been burned alive by a set of spells that had been locked as traps for the unsuspecting regiment.  As he realized where he stood, knowing that lord Vandross had  been the one to set the spells himself, he looked up and found that Triclaw was moving off ahead without him.  Roak sprinted for a moment to catch up, and both men took their time looking at the bodies in their individual states of decay and rot.  One or two of them had weapons and armor that were apparently magical in nature, for time had done nothing to them.  One body in particular interested Roak, not because of any equipment it bore, but because of a familiarity in it.  It was the body and bones of a large Cuyotai, a series of smears and demonic residue clinging to his fangs, claws, and the tunnel around him.  He had slain many of the Shadowbeasts under Tanarak's control.

            After what felt like an eternity, he heard a sharp intake of breath from the Khan, up the tunnel and slightly around a bend.  Roak moved up next to him, through the dripping tunnel to look at what could have drawn such a reaction from Sergeant Triclaw.  "What is it," he rasped, trying to be quiet. 

            "This cave entrance," Triclaw said, pointing a few feet away from him where a perfectly circular portal had been cut into the gut rock of the mountain.  "It allows no light through.  When I tried to put my hand in, it was burned by a strange blue barrier," he said, showing his burned right hand to the Shadowbeast General.  "This is a magic that is not familiar to me.  I have never smelled such power."  Roak looked at the barrier, and felt his muscles constrict in panic.  He recognized it immediately for what it was, for he had seen such barriers.  They were the sort that torture masters of great respect in the Seven Hells used to secure their personal quarters!  His pride, in that moment, fell apart, abandoned and useless.  Let someone else be proud, let someone else be fearless, for at that precise moment, he knew without a doubt in the world that he would never be a match for the half-demon Colonel.  The only one in all of Mount Toane at that moment who stood a chance against such a foe would be Richard Vandross, and even then the whole of the mountain would be brought down around their ears if a battle ensued!  Roak grabbed at Triclaw, who must have seen something in the Shadowbeast's eyes that made him suddenly very alert and on edge.

            "Come, you fool," Roak screamed nearly at the top of his lungs, panic flooding every last inch of his being.  He took hold of Triclaw by the wrist and began dragging the Khan away from the barrier.  "We must flee!"  But as he turned, the light from Triclaw's torch sputtered and fanned enough to reveal the silhouette of a heavily armored figure before them, back up the way they had come.  Two red, gimlet eyes flared in the darkness, and Colonel Molis, sword in hand, began to slowly descend toward them.  Triclaw thrust Roak behind him with a grunt of disgust. 

            "Coward of a demon," he growled at Roak, turning with a vicious grin to face his opponent.  "This half-breed shall be torn asunder in a few moments, and you can run sniveling to lord Vandross to explain why you had to have a Sergeant fight for your life!"  Triclaw blinked, and as his eyes fluttered open, in that brief moment, the figure before him became a silver blur of movement.  Molis was suddenly, in an instant's time, standing directly before him, and horrible, stinging pain throbbed through the various appendages and inner organs of the Khan known as Triclaw.  "What happened," he asked, his head twitching. 

            "I have cut through your arms and legs, Sergeant," Molis said quietly, calm as a Monk in meditation.  "They shall fall off shortly," he continued, his tone very plaintive and matter-of-fact.  "But not before the seeds of dark magic I planted in your pressure points erupt.  Actually," he said as blood began to spurt from various points of impact on the Khan's body, eliciting a shriek of such abominable suffering that mortal men would have gone mad to hear it.  "They'll hit at about the same time."  Crimson life fluids burst like geysers from Triclaw's elbows and knees, as he fell apart into a mass of bleeding stumps and gushing holes.  The life had been completely drained from his body before its various parts hit the floor of the tunnel.  Vilec Roak watched in mortified terror as Molis walked through the last bits of fountaining blood, his boots splashing in the already inch-deep pool of blood around the large Khan's body.

He tried to scurry away, but the half-demon Colonel made a dismissive wave with his free hand, and several dozen yards away from Roak, the tunnel collapsed in a massive and sudden cave-in.  As Roak sprinted ahead to the dead-end, he fell to his knees and began attempting to tear the very stones apart, anything to elude this mysterious yet now somewhat knowable figure.  He stopped, pressing his back flat against the cave-in as Molis approached to within a few yards' distance.  The half-demon leveled his sword at Roak, who saw that almost no blood stained the blade's edge, just a few specks of crimson down its length. 

            "Please, I have learned my lesson," Roak pleaded, sounding like a weeping child.  "Please, do not harm me!"

            "Harm you, sir," said Molis in an inquisitive tone.  He sheathed his sword and snapped a quick salute at the Shadowbeast.  "I wouldn't think of it, sir," he said, his military presence returned in full.  He reached down, offering Roak a hand up, but the Shadowbeast General would have none of it.  He stood up on his own, slowly, keeping a close eye on Molis as he rose. 

            "Keep your distance, if you please, Colonel," Roak rasped, trying to forget that he had just whimpered for his life like a dog.  "I know of your kind, half-breed.  I know what you once were!  I watched how you slaughtered that Sergeant, and I intend to let lord Vandross know that you are too much of a threat to keep around!"  Molis shrugged non-committally, but took another step forward, uncomfortably close to Roak, who pressed himself back against the caved in rock ever so slightly.

            "That you may, Vilec Roak," Molis rumbled, his voice trembling with a movement of the mountain.  Or perhaps, Roak considered, it was the mountain that shook with him?  "I do not care what you do with regards to reports.  You didn't touch my barrier," he said, pressing his own shadowy, formless face nose-to-helmet with the Shadowbeast General.  "That's all that matters.  In fact," he said, jabbing Roak's upper left arm area once, very quickly.  A moment later, Roak felt fire blaze through his entire arm, and it exploded in a shower of black blood across the tunnel walls and Molis's armor.  He dropped to the ground, cradling his now decrepit arm, trying to gauge how long it would take to regenerate the damage, and realizing that it wouldn't take long.  But also, he realized that it had been a mere fraction of power that Molis had channeled into that single blow; the half-demon could easily have destroyed him.  "That is the only reason I choose not to kill you," he said, once more in that cool, murderous tone.  "At least, not here and now.  I do not seek your position, nor that of Richard Vandross, my summoner and master," Molis hissed, turning his back on the Shadowbeast General and stalking away.  He had spat that name like a curse word, Roak noted, a hint of absolute loathing wafting daintily in with the overlapping menace. 

            Colonel Molis disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels above him, and Vilec Roak, Shadowbeast Prime, General of Richard Vandross's armies, didn't dare to move until the trembling stopped.

            The members of Byron's company hadn't realized, not one of them, just how badly they needed the rest they took.  It was late morning the next day when they all had awoken and gone into the small dining hall of the inn, Selena Bradford's hair once again shimmering crimson, instead of the dark, blotchy, blackish-red it had become from their travels.  Byron felt good enough to try eating some more 'normal' food, though it should be said that Gnome cuisine is more an art form than a matter of culinary skill; there was nothing normal about it. 

James Hayes had a fierce, determined set to his jaw as he silently gorged himself on platter after platter of exotic breakfast foods.  Morek Rockmight, his body odor much improved after a long bath the previous afternoon, actually had a smile on his face once again, perhaps the first real smile he had cracked since leading the company into the Western Mountains.  Shoryu and Ellen kept each other quiet company as they attempted to eat at a civilized pace, both of them shaking their legs with newfound energy and impatience, both making it very clear that they wanted to get moving again, while they were fresh.  Even Alex, the Ki Fairy, was humming some little ditty to himself as he plundered bits and pieces of everyone's meals for himself.  No one much minded; Fairyfolk didn't tend to eat a whole lot in comparison to the lands' other Races.

            Thaddeus Viper entered the dining hall, trying not to announce his presence, but as Humans get older, they become less able to hide their actions and movements.  James Hayes rose and offered his seat to the leader of the Port of Arcade, which the older gentleman happily accepted.  The fierce pride and stubbornness that Byron remembered him once being possessed of had, over the course of his years as a diplomat, faded almost into nothing.  He was willing to admit that he was no longer young, and would accept the kindness of youth, if they so chose to offer it. 

"Lord Byron," Viper said in a way that indicated they enjoyed a close familiarity, despite the simple truth that they did not.  "As I said yesterday, we are ready to march at the drop of a hat.  What is your final decision on our destination?"  Byron sensed a smattering of the old impatience in the Prime Minister, the urge to take immediate and hostile action.  Such tactics worked fine for raiding bands of hoodlums and thugs, but for an en masse battle royal with Vandross's forces at the heart of their domain, they needed all the aid that could be mustered.

            "As I suggested, we shall march south.  Due to the number of men at our disposal, and the carrying of equipment and supplies, a small handful of men shall detach themselves when we are one quarter of the distance away from the Elven Kingdom's borderlands.  The rest shall redirect their march directly east, and begin the rather lengthy trip to Mount Toane.  I highly doubt the Elves will have trouble catching up.  They shall most likely send every horse at their disposal with the main force.  They shall act as mounted cavalry or unmounted cavalry, while those assembled here shall be broken down into infantry units and caster units, if you have any magic users.  Does that sound about right to you, lord Viper?"  The older Human smiled and nodded, and waved his hand to indicate that a nearby runner come over to him.  He whispered something in the young half-Elf's ear, and the youth saluted and sprinted out of the room at full tilt. 

            "Your suggestions have been ordered, lord Byron.  The runner is going to the head officers and updating them of the situation and our plans.  We shall begin our march at noon, if that is acceptable," he said, making it more a question than a statement.  Byron nodded his approval, but not before looking at the other members of the company for any objections.  Of course, he was given none.  "Very well, then.  I have some other preparations of my own to make, in that case," Viper said, moving his chair back from the table and standing.  "I shall see you at noon."  Viper left the inn's dining hall, and a deep silence fell over the room like a pall. 

The members of the company finished their meal and each left, one by one, with the exception of Shoryu and Ellen, until only Byron sat at the table.  He glanced out the window near his seat, leaning back slightly so that he could get a better view.  The common goings-on of daily life in the village seemed rushed, almost expectant; the children were watched closely by their parents, regardless of Race, but even they had nothing but smiles for the children.  A celebration of life, it seemed, was taking place no further than a stone's throw away.  He had been a part of that celebration, once, a long time ago.  Twenty years, he thought.  My son would be a fully-grown man by now.  If things could have been different.  But wishful thinking wouldn't get anything done this day, he thought, chiding himself as he backed roughly away from the window sill and began heading out of the inn. 

            He hadn't gone five feet out of the inn when James Hayes approached him from across the street, his armor glinting in the early morning sunlight.  His face held a grave look, as though he had been deep in thought about something troubling all morning, which, Byron suspected, he had been.  Hayes stopped a few feet away from Byron, looking up into his eyeless sockets, searching for an answer there, it seemed.  "Something troubles you, my friend," Byron asked.  Hayes nodded gruffly, and motioned Byron to follow him as he walked off down an eastbound street. 

            "Indeed, there is.  Byron, I need to ask you some rather, well, personal questions," he said, passing by local families and running soldiers, trying to keep clear of both groups of people. 
            "Go ahead, James.  If you feel they bear any relevance to our current situation, I welcome any questions."

            "Thank you," Hayes said, nodding slightly in deference to the Dread Knight.  "Byron, when you were, made what you are, what happened?  Did you feel any pain?"

            "Well, that's difficult to say," Byron said, trying to remember the sensation of being torn apart and shoved into a small space for his soul.  He wanted to be able to answer Hayes's questions, but he didn't want to have to recall that agony in its truest form.  "I would liken it to being forced into a very small, very dark room, so pitch black that you cannot see anything.  You cannot hear anything, or feel anything, as if your were suspended in a pocket of numbing water.  Then, a very small window is opened, and you can see yourself, in a mangled, twisted body.  You know it’s your own body, but it is doing things of such unspeakable evil that you cannot accept that it is such.  I," he said, stumbling to find the right words, his feet slowing with his mind.  "I remember, too, having a small voice tell me that I was indeed trapped.  Some small part of myself, you might say, was trying to call out to the rest of my being.  But I could do nothing, I could affect no change from where I was.  That is what it was like, for me.  Why do you ask, James?"

            "Well, it's just that, if something like that happens to me, at Mount Toane, I want you to be the one to do away with me, Byron," Hayes half-whispered as they passed a small group of Jaft children, wrestling in their front yard.  Byron made a disapproving noise in his throat, but kept silent.  "Anyway, my next question.  Are you bitter about it?  I mean, with Oun?"  Byron stopped entirely, and after a moment, Hayes did as well, realizing that Byron was not with him. 

            "At first, I was incredibly enraged that great Oun would let something like that happen to me, one of his most devout followers.  I recall shouting in my mind, 'How have I failed you?!  What have I done wrong?'  But when I received no answer, I realized that I had not brought anything on myself, I had not wronged Oun.  Even the gods themselves are powerless to aid us sometimes, James.  That's just how things are.  After a while, once I was freed from Tanarak's control, I came to appreciate the mere fact that I was alive."

            "If it can be called living," Hayes commented, moving again.  "No offense."

            "None taken," said Byron, matching the Human Paladin's pace.  "Most would have killed themselves at the first opportunity, I'm sure.  But I knew there were things that had to be done, first.  I could not simply give up on living just yet."  After that, the two walked around in stunted silence for a while, returning to the front of the inn to await the remainder of the company.  Morek Rockmight showed up after only ten minutes or so, scowling and shaking his head.  "A problem?"

            "No," he grunted sourly.  "But the prices around here are highway robbery!  It cost me twenty gold just to get some grappling equipment!  And I don't want to tell you how much it would have cost me to purchase a horse from the stables.  Three hundred gold!  You show me a horse worth that much money, I'll sing and dance," he growled.  Hayes laughed aloud at the Dwarven Boxer's chagrin, unable to suppress his amusement.  Morek shot him a lethal glance, but said nothing more, content to sit on the inn's porch and growl at nothing in particular.  Shortly thereafter, the rest of the company returned in increments of five or so minutes apart, until even lord Viper had shown up.  The entire main roadway was filled with soldiers, members of many Races and trades all assembled in organized rows and ranks. 

            "Lord Byron, we are prepared to leave," Viper announced.  Byron nodded, and took a position to the side of the battalions present.  Nearly a thousand men and women, Byron thought.  How this village had been able to sustain them was a mystery to him, until he saw the remains of a camp just south of the town, visible between a set of shops across from him.  Morek took up a position next to Viper, the three left-most rows of Dwarves, Minotaurs and Gnomes apparently his to command.  The remainder of the company walked at a brisk pace alongside the battalion, as Viper and Morek barked marching cadences for the heads of each column to bark as they marched, in order to keep the soldiers marching in rhythm.  They had a long march ahead of them, but they were well equipped and well prepared for it.  And so the journey to Mount Toane began in earnest.

            For five days they marched, a straight column of eager soldiers, waiting for the opportunity to do something other than march, eat and sleep.  But they would have a good deal of time before they got the chance for a real battle.  The Elven border patrol became visible in the distance, along with several hundred horsemen, apparently dispatched in preparation of their coming for aid.  Byron sprinted ahead of the rest of his company and the battalion, and was met by an Elven officer who gave him a stiff salute.  "Lord Byron, Prime Minister Viper sent a messenger bird several days ago of your approach.  The cavalry units you've requested have been assembled and divided into squadrons, your lordship," the Elven soldier said, giving another salute before running back toward the border men.  He gave a circular motion of his fist over his head, and the hundreds of assembled cavalry raised their gauntleted fists toward the sky, shouting out a war cry that shook the plains around them for miles in every direction.  The horses stamped and reared, and pennants flew in the wind rising up out of the south, the symbol of the Elven Kingdom, a single arrow crossing a sword with a leaf behind them, hung proudly on almost all of them.  A few were simple black cloth, with a single crimson stripe in the middle of the field, crossing horizontally; Dark Watch, Byron thought.  Perhaps even a handful of them survivors of the assault on Whitewood, the capital of the Kingdom.  They would be most welcomed in the battle ahead.

            The massed battalions now looked more like an army than it had previously, the close proximity of Elven military rank and file to that of Viper and Morek's troops making the facilitation of group shifting and assignments easier.  However, in most 'civilized' armies, the officers did not chat or fraternize with the common rabble, the enlisted man.  Here, however, with a common goal and a foe greater than most of these men and women had ever faced, those rules seemed left behind.

Privates and Colonels alike mixed company, sharing stories of home and why they had chosen to come with lord Byron, Prime Minister Viper, and Morek Rockmight, who had made it clear that he was to have no title.  "Commander works just fine," he commented to several of the men as they slowed their pace to get ready for the evening's camp down.  When the sun was perhaps a half an hour from setting, Byron, Viper, Morek, and the highest Elven officer present, a Colonel Woodwise, called their forces to a stop for the evening.  Supplies were swiftly moved about the encampment, and fires prepared by Pyromancers for cooking and keeping the troops warm in the bitter mid-plains night.  Byron and his company, along with Viper and Woodwise, made their fire near the center of the camp, so that all of the troops could get to them without delay. 

            "Besides," Viper had commented with a grin as he pulled a silver flask from his robes.  "The heart of any army is its leaders."  A wise, and tactically sound argument, Hayes had commented.  The group sat in studied silence until Selena brought the flames to life under the cooking pots, and Ellen and Shoryu quickly set about preparing the meal for that night.  "Runner," Viper said, motioning a Minotaur soldier to his side.  "Get the unit officers here for a meeting and report, to be held in two hours.  That should give them plenty of time to eat and prepare for their day's summary, though I don't expect there'll be much to discuss.  That's all," he said, waving his hand.  The runner saluted and made off into the encroaching darkness and gloom; a thick fog from the nearby woodlands, which they would pass through on the next day, had drifted and settled in over the encamped army.  Lunar light shone through clearly in spots here and there, giving the entire mass of soldiers and magic users an otherworldly appearance to Byron's ill-adjusted eyes.  What sort of fog was this, he wondered, that even he was having trouble seeing through it? 

            -Parts of your being shall be no more,- he remembered Voice telling him with a half-growl in his throat.  Even if the fog had no magical origin, he might be having trouble seeing through it now, due to the changes to his body.  He tried to assure himself that this meant nothing, but something about the fog continued to nag at him. 

"James, tell me something," he asked quietly across the now red-hot fire among their cords of wood.  "Do you sense anything amiss?"  The Human Paladin looked up from his musings and shook his head no, but said nothing.  His eyes, however, seemed haunted, and Byron could vaguely detect something else in those deep blue orbs; fear.  Hayes might not sense anything, that could be true.  But even so, the man was obviously feeling uncomfortable with his present surroundings.  What was it, Byron wondered.  But his mind went in other directions as the food was distributed, and Shoryu handed him a flask filled with the young Cuyotai's own blood.  Byron poured the crimson liquid over his skull, absorbing the power and vitality of it, feeling renewed yet again.  It was a dark ritual that he would liked to have avoided, but he would need all the strength he could muster for what lie ahead.

In order to ensure that he didn’t have another sudden loss of control, Shoryu allowed his new bride to use a unique Gaiamancy spell to calm his nerves and ease his temper.  This Ellen used at its utmost potential, but still it barely kept the Cuyotai in check.  He would need to fight and kill something soon, or he might attack an ally.  For the duration of the quest, Byron decided, he would take no more of Shoryu’s blood.

            The meal was shared in near silence, the company members each speaking to each other in hushed tones, and only in pairs.  Byron and James, however, said nothing to anyone until the other officers arrived for the meeting that Viper had arranged.  After he had finished his meal, the old Prime Minister had gone off to find one of his allies and play a quick game of chess.  When he returned to the circle, he had the officers with him.

Byron stood up straight, as did Morek Rockmight, and both saluted the lower officers.  They all remained standing, and Byron could tell that this was customary for most of them; none even made a move to take a seat or relax.  The Dread Knight waited for Viper to say something, but when he didn't, he took the initiative.  "All right," Byron said, clearing his throat, taking a militant tone.  "Let's start from the lowest man on the totem pole."  He fixed his eyes on the gathered men and women, and saw that one Elven woman, barely older than a girl, had a set of four stripes on her uniform sleeve, with a star above them; Sergeant-at-Arms.  "Sergeant," he said, attempting to raise his eyebrow bone.  The faint reaction of confusion from the girl left him realizing he was probably quite strange to her, and so he let his 'face' go slack.

            "My lord, Sergeant-at-Arms Cassandra Payne, sir," she pronounced brusquely.  The military presence of mind had apparently sunk into this young woman at a very young age, her bearing that of a perfect, born-to-be-one soldier.  "Mine is the Fifteenth Mounted Cavalry Division, sir.  We have had no accidents to report, or pertinent discoveries, sir.  However, three of our horsemen abandoned early on, sir.  I believe they returned to the Kingdom.  Shall I send a message to have them arrested, sir?"  Byron shook his head vehemently; after all, this was his war, not these people's.  If they didn't have the nerve, let them go.  He couldn't entirely blame them.  "Very good sir.  Nothing else to report, sir!"  She saluted once again, and took a step away from the firelight, back into the shadows and fog; the visual effect of her movement made her ethereal in appearance, like a specter on the verge of crossing into this reality.  Another Elf, a darker-skinned male with long, black hair down to his waist, tied in a ponytail, stepped forward. 

            "My lord, Lieutenant of the Second Grade Wilhelm Von Rook, sir," the man said, snapping a smart salute.  "First Unmounted Cavalry Division, sir.  We misjudged the heat of the day, sir, and several men passed out from heat exhaustion.  They were carried in litters until we made camp, sir.  They shall have their heavy leathers removed, that they might not suffer the same ill effects tomorrow, sir.  No pertinent discoveries, sir.  However, if we continue directly on our course, east and slightly north, we shall pass very close to Fort Flag, sir," the Elf said, and Byron realized with a shock what was bothering Hayes so much.  They would pass only an hour or so south of the ruins of his former post, where so many of his allies had fallen, where he couldn't do anything to help them defend themselves.  "We understand that little remains of the fort, but several of lord Viper's men formerly served under Fort Flag, and would just as soon avoid it, sir."

            "Understood," Byron said softly, putting an easy hand on Hayes's shoulder.  The Human Paladin gave him a small, brief smile of appreciation, then returned his face to that cold, steely glare of a soldier thinking through his priorities.  How like Edgar Cesar, he thought for a moment.  The trace feelings of that thought left him feeling queer, uneasy.  "Let us continue."  Down the ranks they went, each reporting only a few minor injuries and issues, then accepting the advice offered by the other officers, Byron, Viper and Morek, and the meeting adjourned.  Each company set guards at watch over the encamped army, and everyone, save a few worried souls, found rest under the stars.

            "My rest, what little I get, is very dear to me," growled Richard Vandross as he opened his chamber door to find a quivering Vilec Roak standing there.  "Where is Sergeant Triclaw," he asked, irritated at the interruption but inviting Roak into his quarters anyway.  Vandross laid back down on his hard mattress, grateful for the little comfort it gave him.  His dreams had been filled with imagery that made even his own skin crawl, nightmares that foreshadowed a future for the realm of Tamalaria bleaker than any he had ever read about in fairy tales.  But with a shake of his weary head, he cleared his mental vision and simply allowed his enhanced senses to 'see' the room around him.  He kept his eye closed, careful not to doze off; he had never seen the Shadowbeast Prime so thoroughly shaken before, and he already had a sneaking suspicion as to what had occured to the Khan Triclaw. 

            Roak's head spun on a swivel, snatching peeks up and down the tunnel, before he entered the chamber and closed the door quite securely behind him.  "Triclaw is dead, lord Vandross," he half-whimpered.  Such terror, such fear, Vandross thought, drunk from the delight the waves of emotion were sending him.  "Molis tore him apart!  He used some arcane blow, and severed the Sergeant's limbs with that blade of his before I could even see him draw it from its scabbard!  And what's worse, he used that blow on my arm," he rasped, and Vandross opened his eye long enough to see that Vilec Roak's arm had not yet fully regenerated.  He was impressed; common Shadowbeasts fell before the blade easily enough, but Primes possessed a strength of body and mind that rendered them nearly immune to mundane weaponry.  Apparently, he thought with a good deal of inward mirth, the good Colonel hasn't been informed of that.  A heavy, thunderous booming came from the stone door, and Vilec Roak jumped a good six feet away, rolling away from the door as it opened and holding his good hand out, conjuring magical force.  But when the door opened, it was Major Tamriel's ursine face pressed in the frame.

            "My lord, General Roak, there are ill tidings," he rumbled, his voice echoing down the tunnels.  "One of our scouts in the west has spotted a rather large force marching north and east, in a direct line toward Ja-Wen.  It is an army of moderate size, my lords, and continues to grow.  Apparently, the whole militias of every major city-state and kingdom are being mobilized to march on us here, lord Vandross," he said, addressing the one-eyed warlock with this last bit. 

            "What is our state of readiness," Vandross asked with a yawn. 

            "My lord, of the twenty battalions, perhaps two or three can be spared to make a forward defensive.  However, they shall require a measure of time to intercept the main force.  I have been informed that Byron of Sidius leads the main force of their army."  Byron, Vandross thought, the name dripping like poison in his mind.  Fury coursed immediately through his body, and he felt revived, regardless of his lack of sleep.  He rose from his bed and began donning his armor and vestments.  "Lord Vandross, what are your orders?"

            "Take two battalions to the entrance of Mount Toane, have them completely assembled and prepared for the first day's light," he said, securing his arm guards.  "I shall begin preparations shortly for a mass teleportation portal.  We'll send half a battalion through at a time, estimate a distance of five hours' march to intercept Byron's forces."

            "My lord, that might not be enough to stop them," Tamriel protested, banging his heavy, fur-covered fist on the tunnel floor.  "Allow me to take four full battalions through myself!  We can delay the trip by a half a day's time, plenty of distance still between ours and their armies!"  Vandross calmly finished securing his metal leggings, and gave Tamriel a sidelong glance, with a smile.

            "We shall delay nothing, Major," he growled, approaching the large bear demon with his eyes glaring crimson.  "As for you, you have disappointed me at every turn, and this is your final chance to redeem yourself!  If you cannot do what is necessary with two battalions, then you are not worth keeping around!  Take Lieutenant Amon with you, and if neither of you returns, then so much the better!  I shall be rid of this inefficiency," he shouted, his ire incited to the breaking point. 

He took a deep, calming breath.  Why was he behaving like this?  It was irrational, and most of all, impulsive.  Richard Vandross did not like to think of himself as a man given over to his impulses; in his mind's eye, he viewed himself as cool and collected, sinister, surely, but conniving and cunning.  His blood ran cold for a moment, his sense of absolute control slipping rapidly away, a shimmer of gold attached to a string.  At the precise moment he thought he could pluck that gold off the ground, it flew through the air, away from him, just out of reach.  The overall effect left him feeling mentally fatigued, as though he was trapped in his own body.  He enjoyed the power he now had coursing through his body, mind and soul, sure, but what cost had been exacted from him through it all?  At the moment, he could not, or rather, did not want to answer that question. 

            The mighty, bass-voiced Renka seemed to have resigned himself to his fate, however, letting out a heavy sigh into the air.  "Very well, my lord," he said in a half-whisper, standing bolt upright and saluting.  "If that is your will, then it shall be done.  I am confident that after you have quelled the threat to your dominion, you shall re-summon me from the Hells.  I say that, my lord," he said, turning on his heel to face the direction he had come down the tunnel from.  "Because Byron of Sidius and his allies are going to slay me, and send my soul hurtling back into the Pit.  It is not a question of if," he said, moving now away from the open stone doorway.  "But rather, a question of when," his voice echoed back at the one-eyed warlock and the Shadowbeast.  They stood in mutual silence for a long while before Vilec Roak departed.  So this is how it shall begin, Roak thought sullenly as he stalked down the tunnel.  The final test of Richard Vandross's power, and of Byron's righteousness.

            For a moment, a rather brief moment, he secretly hoped that the Dread Knight would bring Mount Toane crashing down around Vandross's ears.