Once Undone

By Barry Paul Glennon

Prologue

        When all darkness met, it was the distant feeling of warmth that finally reached her.  It started somewhere below her; her feet perhaps?  She concentrated on that warmth, grabbed a hold of it and let it guide her out of she knew not where; someplace terrifying, full of pain and sorrow and insanity, someplace she had been cast into never meant to return.  

        Slowly, oh so slowly, she struggled to follow that warmth. Each instant was like a clutching hand threatening to pull her back down into the madness, into the pain, into the abyss. Somehow she found the will to follow it, her only hope out, her only salvation.  She knew nothing else but that warmth:  everything about her was forgotten in the abyss, stripped from her mercilessly, her psyche raped and brutalized, her very essence torn asunder in a violent maelstrom. That warmth was all that mattered to her now, was her total existence.  

        An odd sensation made itself known to her. Hope perhaps?  She didn’t know what hope was, she only recognized it as one of those things that didn’t exist anymore.  She refused to acknowledge it, lest it distract her from following the warmth.

        It was growing stronger now, and definitely coming from somewhere below her.  She poured what was left of herself into it, wielding a surprisingly stubborn tenacity that refused to submit to the final darkness, refused to let her be dragged back into that oblivion, refused to surrender.  She felt herself approaching some sort of barrier, impossibly large, dwarfing her soul and filling her with despair.  She screamed.  Not with fright, for she had lost any knowledge of that.  Not with anger, for she had been stripped of that as well.  It was a scream of Life, a scream of something so primal and integral and pure that it burst out of her and pierced through the barrier shattering it into innumerable shards that tried to pierce her as she passed through them, none finding its mark.  

        Darkness pure and absolute returned.  Yet somehow this time it was different.  It took her a moment to realize what was missing.  There was no pain, no insanity, no sorrow or despair. Only the warmth remained.

        She opened her eyes.

        The warmth did indeed come from below her, she realized.  That saving warmth was coming from the worn stone upon which she stood bare footed; returning the energy it had borrowed during the day, slowly releasing it back into the returning night. She blinked, tears that must have been hers slowly falling down to splash upon the stone.

        Dazedly she gradually took in the scene around her.  She found herself standing rather precariously on the edge of an ornate stone bridge, at the apex, above a robust moving river of water below her.  She looked beyond the river and at that same instant there was a second sensation, one she could now confirm: the smell of the ocean.  She could see it at the mouth of the river now, spreading away forever before her, that sight and that smell doing wonders to restore her sanity, to restore herself.  She looked back along the bridge, from side to side, seeing it span away from her on either side for quite an impressive distance, briefly admiring the workmanship it must have taken to make something so functional and so beautiful all at once.  

        She looked back down at her feet, wondering why they were bare, wondering why she should care that they were bare.  That was when she first noticed the dress she was wearing, the hem of which brushed the tops of her feet.  The dress itself was a deep purple in color, made of some rich material she could not name anymore, but as she ran her hands up and down her sides, it felt wonderfully smooth and firm at the same time.  She guessed it must have been some kind of formal garment, for while it was amazingly comfortable to wear, she knew it was more austere in appearance than she was accustomed to wearing.  A hemline down to her feet and a high neck were definitely not her usual style though she wasn’t sure why exactly.  She ran her hands again up the sides of her dress, looking out upon the ocean before her, hearing the gulls call out as they hunted, tasting the salt spray on her lips, the comforting smell of wet, warm stone reaching out to her.  

        She had no idea who she was, nor how she had come to be where she was.  Amazingly enough that did not worry her, she was glad just to be anywhere.  She reached up a smoothly pale yet capable hand and felt her head, finding her jet black hair all disheveled, like she had been running or had stood in the midst of a strong wind.  She felt of her face, oval shaped with soft cheekbones yet a firm chin and small yet not thin lips.  

        As she moved her hand down across her face, she saw it.  She froze.  Her eyes widening as they instantly locked onto the ring on her left hand ring finger.  She couldn’t move. She stopped breathing.  She stopped hoping.  

        She remembered.

        It all came crashing back to her, like a tidal wave washing her off that bridge and back into the darkness.  She remembered who she was certainly, what she had devoted her whole life to, and what she had just done tonight.  

        Her still fragile psyche snapped like a dry twig.  She screamed.  Not the life affirming primal scream of earlier, but a scream of absolute fear, desperation, a scream of damnation.  She remembered it all.  There was no escaping it.  She remembered the flames, the blood, the screams, the bodies, the knife, the hearts cut out of still living bodies.  Then finally, she remembered Him, and she was undone.  

        She then knew why she was here, on this bridge, at this time.  With a sob she stepped off the side of the bridge, her eyes upon the ocean, the wind of her passing roaring in her ears.  She had one final coherent thought before that darkness reclaimed her for itself, one final cry echoing through her mind.

 “Oh Life…what have I done?”

Chapter One

        It was the deepest, darkest time of the night. The time when even the bravest of souls had retreated to their homes, even the hardiest denizens of the street had found some sort of shelter, all seeking to hide from the things that emerged to claim the streets and alleys and hidden corners of the city in its darkest hours.  Of course there were always those few who could not, or would not, seek some sanctuary from the night.  Some brave or foolish types that thought there was nothing to fear, or who thought they themselves were to be feared more, who defied common sense and dared to walk the streets while the real rulers of the night held sway.  Many were the mornings when Man reclaimed the city that several lifeless, mutilated, horribly gruesome corpses were found throughout the city, a testament to the foolishness of wandering the streets during the nightmare hours.  Over the years those who braved the night dwindled, as more heard the hushed and fearful tales whispered in taverns and inns, in the marketplace, spreading like a slow fog to cover the city in hopelessness and dread.  Now only the desperate or the condemned roamed the streets during the deepest hours of the night, when dreams twisted into nightmares, and the soul of Mankind was found lacking.

It was during this forbidden time that the sound of a horse steadily proceeding down the city streets broke the gloomy silence.  If there had been anyone foolish enough to be watching, they would have seen that the horse was spotlessly white in color, so white in contrast to the night that it almost hurt the eyes to gaze upon it for too long.  Fiery red eyes this horse had, and strong brave features. Tall of shoulder and wide of chest, it was a horse straight out of the tales of old heroes come to life.   Its gait was that of supreme and utter confidence in itself and its rider.  

The rider was as unremarkable as the horse was remarkable.  A dark, elegant cloak covered most of the rider, the hood drawn over the face, but the moonlight briefly invading the darkness of the cowl to reveal the features of a man set in a grim look of determination.  Wide set eyes on a handsome face, straight of nose and firm of jaw, he was a man on a mission, and not even the dead of night was going to deter him.

Slowly but steadily the man and his mount made their way through the city streets.  Homes and shops so busy and cheerful during the day were now locked up and seemingly lifeless, a form of self defense from lessons learned so harshly over the years.  The street itself was cobblestone, a sign of a wealthy city; as well it should be since this was the capitol city of a large and powerful kingdom.  Prosperous and successful were the city’s people, kingdom wide the fruits of success were enjoyed by its citizens.  Disease and famine in the kingdom were things of the past, talked about by scholars and the learned as if they spoke about extinct species, never to be seen again.  There were still some homeless of course; they were one of the little blights that could never be wiped out, along with poverty.  The truly heartless found comfort in the fact that the homeless would sooner or later fall prey to that which stalked the night and poverty itself could be useful in many ways.  

The man studied the streets as he made his way, but no fear or anxiety showed in his gaze.  A sound to his left caught his attention; he slightly turned his head without pausing and saw an alley with two shadowy figures just inside it.  The first figure lay prone on the ground, features indistinguishable, dark fluid slowly spreading out from underneath it.  The other figure crouched over it, making the soft mewling sounds which had caught his attention.  The creature looked up at him as he passed by.  It could possibly be confused for a man, but the rider knew better.  It would be shorter than a man if it stood erect, its spine horribly bent.  It had a huge head with bulbous dark eyes, slits for a nose and fangs jutting out of bone crunching jaws, large ears for detecting even the softest sounds.  This was a carnivore, a predator, no doubt. Those who knew about them called them Havocs.  Abnormally long strong arms for grabbing and tearing and lean strong legs for pursuing. In the dim light the rider concluded this particular creature had a light greenish hue, marking it as a younger one, this particular kind of...creature...grew darker as it aged, if it lived that long.  

The Havoc turned its head and stared at the man as he rode by.  Its eyes got even bigger if that was possible upon seeing the rider.  The bloodied meal lying on the ground beneath him was momentarily forgotten as it sized up its next victim.  Its body turned and crouched even lower, its powerful legs bunched up underneath it, ready for a strong leap that could easily span the 30 feet between it and the rider.  Suddenly a flash of moonlight once again illuminated the riders face, saving the Havocs life.  It recognized him.  A new look quickly passed over the Havocs face, replacing the blood lust: Fear.  With inhuman speed it turned away, snatched its meal off of the street and scurried deeper into the alleyway, whining pitifully.  The rider turned his head away, focusing once again on the road before him.

Soon enough, the rider’s journey brought him to a certain building, and there he stopped.  It was an older building, not quite yet falling into disrepair, barely being held back from the brink.  It was three stories tall, with many windows on the top two, but none on the ground floor.  The front double doors were of an old wood not commonly found in this part of the world, brought here for some forgotten reason probably.  They were carved very intricately, with themes of the old gods and those who worshipped them; a quaint notion in this modern kingdom, the rider thought.  

He dismounted and left his steed on the street, not worried about securing him against theft or of the horse wandering away.  He approached the door quickly and quietly, not bothering to knock, he simply turned the latch pushed the door open, soundlessly breaking the lock that secured the door from the inside.  He entered the front room, and immediately felt the warmth of the hearth embers banish the stark cold of the world outside.  The inside contrasted with its outside appearance.  Warm and cozy and well kept and well built, this place he could tell was built with a purpose and design, and done well.  He passed through the front room which seemed to serve as a meeting room or office area, and found the stairs leading upwards.  He ignored the other rooms on the first floor, a kitchen and eating area, and what looked like some washing rooms and storage areas.  

Soundlessly he went up, the stairs refusing to even squeak beneath his steps.  He passed the second story without hesitating and proceeded up to the top floor.  There he found a long hallway with several rooms on either side.  Dim lamps shed just enough light to keep one from tripping as they walked down the hall, yet not disturbing those who slept in the rooms.  The rider frowned slightly as he looked at the doors, then his attention focused on one in particular and he moved towards it.  The door itself was not locked; he quietly pushed it open and stepped inside.  

The room was dark, yet he moved as if he had no need of light.  He saw everything in the room, and knew exactly where to go.  He stopped in front of a crib.  It was one of many in the room, for this was an orphanage, and this was the room where the newborns were kept until they were old enough to be either adopted or moved to another part of the orphanage.  Confusion briefly crossed his face, for there were not one, but two babes in this crib.  There should have only been one: a male.  But lying there beside the boy was a baby girl, smiling in her sleep, at peace with the world.  The rider reached out his arms and picked up the boy babe and its swaddling wraps and looked at him more closely.  Yes, this was the one.  He would do quite well.  He pulled the babe closer to him and turned to walk away, but then he stopped.  He turned slowly back towards the girl in the crib and reached his arm out once again.  This time though his hand moved to her face, and he gently put his hand over her mouth and nose, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.  A few moments passed by and the babe was about to go gently into a permanent sleep, when suddenly a voice spoke out, startling the rider.

“That one is not for you to meddle with”, said a deep voice, both ancient and ageless.

The rider spun around to face the other intruder, his hand leaving the girls face to clench into a fist and a bright white light burst forth surrounding it, both as a light source and a weapon.  Standing across the room from the rider was a seemingly old man, but the rider knew that was not the case.  

“What business is this of yours, fool?” the rider retorted.  “I am here doing my Master’s will and you are not to interfere!” He lowered his hand slightly but the glow of energy around his fist remained.  

The old man nodded at the boy in the riders grasp.

“That one, surely, is your master’s, although he will be the death of you both. The other babe, the girl, is not yours to touch.”  The old man took a step towards the rider, his face set in stone.  “I know you rider, and I know your Master, and I know you will not touch this other child even though you bring your full power to bear upon her. I know her time to face you has not yet come, and I know that when that day arrives you will curse the day you turned your back on the light!”

The rider narrowed his eyes at the old man, not quite worried, but not willing to chance it either.  “You know my Master, old one, then you also know that he holds over half of this pitiful world in his grasp!  It is his for the plunder and that includes anyone in his domain!” He turned again towards the girl, who had seemed to recover from his attempt to send her through death’s door.  “If I choose to end her life now old one you cannot stop me!” He moved his hand once again towards her face.

The old man spoke a word.  The rider seized up and froze mid-movement.  He tried to bring his own considerable power to bear to break the old man’s grip, but he could not even call it forth.  He seemed trapped inside his own body, a spark of consciousness encased inside a frozen shell.  

“There are many things I am not allowed to do here,” said the old man, quietly but firmly.  “And there are many things I AM allowed to do.”  He walked up between the babe and the rider, inches from the rider himself, facing him squarely.  “She is not yours.”  His voice now took on an almost gentle tone as he looked the rider straight in the eye, “You poor, sad, proud creature, one day you will know the truth, and it will either destroy you forever or set you free. Until then you will not be able to touch this girl, no matter how hard you try, for try you will in the future.  All your plans, all your Master’s plans will come down to these two babes, despite all you have gained so far over the centuries.” The old man’s’ face took on a sterner look, a fire in his eyes. “Know this, dark one: the time of your Master’s reign is coming to an end, one way or the other you will be undone, all that is left to decide is how it shall come about. Tell your master that or not, I do not care, but YOU shall know!”  With each word the old man’s voice grew louder and stronger, his final words almost physically abusing the rider.

“Take your spoils and be gone from this place!” he thundered, even though not a single child sleeping awoke.  

The rider suddenly had control of his body and functions again and he staggered back from the presence before him.  He gained some of his composure back and headed towards the door.  As he reached it he turned back to the old man one final time.

“You greatly underestimate the depths to which the human soul can fall old one.  Time and again I am told we will fail, all the while we gain more and more, all because you refuse to see the truth yourself: that mankind is at base a cruel and evil race, yearning to give in to its desires, I am certain proof of that!”  The rider spun back around to the door, in doing so the hood of his cloak fell half way off his head, exposing for a brief moment a long and elegantly pointed ear.  He yanked the door open and strode outside, not bothering to shut it behind him, taking with him the babe in his arms.  

The old man sighed, sadness filling his eyes as he turned slowly to the girl babe in the crib.  He gently reached down and picked her up in his arms.  He bent his head down and kissed her forehead.

“Come child, it is time we left this place, for you have a long and terrible journey before you.”

Chapter Two

Arlen stumbled out of the whorehouse, his shoulder bouncing off the doorjamb.  He regained his footing just before he would have stumbled into a huge mud puddle just to the side of the entrance, his mind hazy from all the wine he had been drinking, his body not quite under his full control.  He reached out to the side of the building to steady himself, squinting and covering his eyes with his other hand to block the blinding daggers of sunlight being driven into his skull.  As he closed his eyes he had a brief moment of nausea, quickly overcome but it reminded him that he had broken his latest vow to never drink that much again: or to gamble that much again; or to pay for a whore once again.  So much for vows, he mused.  

After a few moments of inner reflection disguised as a drunken stupor, Arlen started to slowly make his way down the once dirt packed but now mud filled lane.  He painstakingly put one foot in front of the other, careful to keep his arms out to the side to avoid tipping, letting his instinct carry him to his destination.  He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew how to get there.  

He started complaining to himself how hot he was in his uniform.  It was a black uniform, rather plain actually, except for certain markings around his collar, and despite his recent activities, it was still spotless, not even a drop of wine had found its way onto it.  It was a tight fitting uniform as well, not exactly showing off his fit body, but leaving no doubt that he was still in good shape for his age and level of responsibility, unlike most of his peers.  The legs of his uniform tucked neatly into his black boots: riding boots, polished to perfection so he was careful not to look at them lest the reflected sunlight resume its assault on him.  

He was making his way better now, his body and will combining to force him back into something resembling an officer in The Kings Royal Guard, commonly called the Kings Own.  Even in a town as far away from the capitol as he was here in Ragea, peasants would recognize his uniform so he must present himself accordingly.  He had been hoping that would also mean a free pass in the whorehouse, but no such luck.  Really he should have been at the camp established just outside of this backwater town, but rank does have some privileges, and he was exercising one of them now.  

Finally after an eternity it seemed he was able to straighten to his full height, just less than six feet, and open his eyes a bit more; sharp blue eyes that even in his current state missed little.  His thick, short cropped black hair seemed to collect the warmth from the sun and concentrate it on his skull, determined to cook his brain in its own juices.  His hair framed a face quite average looking, perhaps attractive enough to a woman after a few drinks had been consumed; which was his usual form of socialization anyways so he was content.  

Gradually it occurred to Arlen that he was making his way through Ragea in the opposite direction from the camp the Kings Own had pitched.  It then occurred to him that he was doing that because he was being followed, and apparently some part of him thought this was a good direction to move.  It also occurred to him that he should not have ventured out by himself into town, and that likely these were local thugs hoping to catch a soldier stupid enough to wander around town by himself and teach him the error of his ways.

What his apparent pursuers did not realize was that Arlen was quite familiar with Ragea himself, even though it was so far away from the capitol and any kind of military presence was extremely rare.  He and the men with him, about 50 in all, had been making their way back into the kingdom from outlying lands on an important mission, a secret mission actually, on behalf of the King himself, and they had chosen to rest just outside of Ragea for a day and then resume their return towards the capitol.  Arlen neglected to inform any of the men with him that he had actually been to this sleepy little town several times during his journeys, for he was a private man and did not feel the urge to share much of anything with his fellows.  

Something however seemed odd about the men following him now; that thought finally making its way into his foggy mind.  Catching glimpses of them as he rounded various corners he saw they were dressed as normal peasants of Ragea: loose fitting light garb meant to work out in the sun.  They just didn’t move like peasants, he decided, and that just made things much more interesting.  

He started whistling an old tune he used to play as a child; when his parents still had some hopes and dreams for him, they had had him take music lessons from one of the most renowned violin instructors in the kingdom.  He had taken to it instantly and made great progress, his teacher was even impressed at his passion and instinct for the music.  It had been a way for him to express himself he had never thought existed.  He would spend hours pouring his thoughts and emotions into his music, taking them and changing them and creating something out of them to burst out of his instrument in a deluge to be enjoyed and consumed.  He had reached the point where he thought he might actually make a career out of it; his instructor had told him he was more than good enough.  Then the real world had come crashing in and at the age of 16, after the tragic death of his mother and the disgrace of his father, his family had been forced to enroll him in the Kingdom’s military. His whole life then changed drastically, and his music was only one of the things he would lose along the way.  

Arlen decided it was time to take his new friends down one particular alleyway.  He gradually made his way, staggering, down the street to the alley.  He turned into it, the two story buildings on either side casting it in a cool shade, getting darker further down, almost totally black at the dead end.  The air was refreshingly cooler in the alley, and there was no stench of rot or decay as in most alleys in this town.  He smiled to himself as he reached the dead end.

When his pursuers rounded the corner of the alley, they expected to come upon him quickly in the dead end.  They saw a dark alley, with no way of escape, yet they did not see their quarry. One of the thugs positioned himself just inside the alley, in the shadows, where he could see both the town and the alleyway.  The other four slowly advanced, fanning out in a semi circle across the width of the alley.  A glance from one of the men to the others brought out their weapons.  Swords appeared in their hands, odd for common street thugs.  Also odd was the precision in their steps, their formation, their bearing.  Methodically they made their way down the strangely clear alleyway, their eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, their hearts fully ready for violence.  

They made their way to the end of the alley, the darkness almost complete, yet still they saw well enough. He was nowhere to be found.  The four men looked at each other for a moment.  Finally one of the men, stout with a gruff face said, “Check for a concealed door, even he can’t disappear into thin air.”

“You are correct, dear sir,” came a voice behind them, “but what I can do at least is dispose of your watchman without giving an alarm.”

The men spun around, weapons held at the ready, their formation instantly changing from one of offense to that of defense.  

Arlen looked down at the watchman at his feet, blood slowly seeping from the wound just below and behind his ear.  He squatted down beside the dead body and quickly cleaned his dagger off on its tunic.  He then sheathed his own dagger and reached under the lifeless body into the folds of the dead man’s tunic and pulled out a sword.  A ceremonial dagger was all that was allowed with his current uniform, which was fine for sneaking up on someone and ending their life without a sound, but for the upcoming bloody work, a sword was much more preferable, and usually much more fun.  

As Arlen stood up, he took one last look at the face of the dead man. He had known this day would come, expected it really, just not this soon.  It was the nature of the beast, things like this.  He looked away from the face of one of his closest companions, down the alley towards others who half a day ago he counted as brothers in arms.  He had seen it happen many times to others, but thought, foolishly now, that he would find a way around it, that it wouldn’t happen to him.  Yet still, he did prepare for it, for he was not totally foolish.  He slowly started down the alley, rolling the hilt of his new sword in the palm of his hand, back and forth, lazily almost carelessly.  

The four men at the end of the alley, faces set in stone, began advancing towards Arlen, perfectly spaced to protect each other without interfering with their own attacks against him.  This was not turning out as they had planned, but they knew how to adapt to sudden changes and were still confident in their ability to end this quickly and almost quietly.  None of them would look him in the eyes, however.

Arlen stopped his approach 30 feet away from his attackers.  He planted his boots firmly on the ground and slid his sword between his belt and uniform, effectively sheathing it.  He crossed his arms across his chest.  The four brothers in arms slowed their advance to a stop, wary of his next move.  

“This is the last thing I will say to you in this lifetime Brothers,” Arlen began, “lay down your swords and I will spare you, and I will go my own way henceforth.  I have somewhat of an affection for you all, including young Thomas back there soaking in his own blood, and it is not my wish to see you all dead.  Advance with your weapons any further though, I will destroy you.  It doesn’t have to be like this.”  Sadness filled his voice and his eyes, as he knew he spoke in vain.  

For a moment it looked as if his words might have worked, the four men looked at each other briefly, then back towards Arlen.  The gruff faced man said,

“You know the rules, Sir, and we know them too.” As one the four men started to take a step forward.

“So be it,” Arlen replied.  

Violence taken on human form was the only way to describe Arlen as he erupted from a standstill drawing his sword in a blur of motion as he sprinted towards the four.  They closed in on Arlen, attempting to surround him in the alley but he changed his angle at the last second and shot towards the left hand wall, a fierce wild grin on his face, and death in his eyes.  The attacker on that far side finally looked into Arlen’s eyes, the last thing he would ever see.  The reality in those eyes froze him in place, locked everything else out but fear and dread.  He tried to break the contact but it was too late; Arlen had reached him by then and delivered the promise in his eyes, the promise of death.  

Arlen spun to the side as his sword took the head neatly off the shoulders of his late companion.  He rolled underneath the swing of the gruff faced man as the other two tried to maneuver and pin him against the alley wall.  His arm shot out true and his blade took the gruff faced man straight in the groin, castrating him and slicing the main artery in his leg with one strike.  The gruff faced man fell, so much in shock that he could not even cry out from the sudden and terrible pain that would drive him mad in seconds if he were not already dead by then.  The other two men hesitated just a moment at seeing their leader removed so easily, that was long enough for Arlen lash out a kick to the solar plexus of  the one on the left, knocking the wind out of him.   He jumped up then and charged the one on the right, easily batting aside the desperate attempt at defense and drove his sword straight through the man’s throat, not a sweeping cut to sever a man’s head, but a straight punch with the blade, simply killing him quickly and efficiently and horribly violently.  

With the three men down Arlen turned towards the last one who was still struggling just to breathe, curled up into a ball in the darkest corner of the alley. Arlen knew this one best of all of them.  Poor Jonathan was probably praying pitifully to his God King that Arlen would spare him.  He walked calmly towards him, letting his sword fall to the ground, his eyes fixed on the face of the one who betrayed him the most.  

Arlen looked Jonathan in the eyes as he squatted down next to him, he could see the fear and the sadness there, and something else: relief.  That was it, relief that it was all finally over.  Arlen reached over and pulled the sword out of Jonathans limp hand and tossed it aside.  

“Your death will hurt the most, my friend, for years to come,” he whispered.  Jonathan almost smiled, and just nodded his head in acknowledgement and acceptance.  Almost reverently Arlen leaned over and placed his hands on either side of his head and gently kissed Jonathan on the forehead.  Then with a massive jerk and twist he snapped his best friend’s neck with an audible crack that resounded through Arlen’s ears straight to his heart.  

He stood up and leaned against the alley wall for a moment, taking several deep breaths and letting his mind linger a few moments more on his lost friends in silent eulogy.  He pushed himself off the wall and walked over to a seeming empty space on the back alley wall.  He ran his fingers over the bricks for a moment until he heard a soft click.  He waited for only a moment as the hidden door swung back on its hinges, opening up into darkness.  

Several minutes later Arlen was walking back out of the alley, having drug and disposed of all the bodies in the hidden rooms of the building next to the alley to which the hidden door had led.  Those same rooms also held money, clothing, and supplies and weapons for just such an occasion as this.  He had secreted away stashes such as this all over the kingdom, for he knew in his heart of hearts that one day he would need them.

 He was no longer in his uniform, that he knew he would never wear again.  Instead he wore a simple outfit suitable for travel, yet made with skill and expensive materials: a man of means, a successful merchant perhaps, traveling abroad, if a bit foolishly alone.  He paused as he reached the open street, and took a deep breath.  Part of him was almost glad this time had come, almost.  He turned to make his way to where he knew he could get a horse when a voice behind him in the alley stopped him cold.  

“The nature of the beast, eh Arlen?” the voice said, coming from where only moments ago he knew there had been not a living soul.  

Arlen spun around, his sword and dagger appearing in his hands without even willing it.  He peered into the shadow of the alley, finally making out the shape of something, someone, coming out towards him.  He was not frightened, just angered that someone had snuck up on him like that, and from the alley he had just left as well.  Within moments the speaker had emerged from the shadows and Arlen was surprised to see it was an old man, dressed simply but well, just like him.  

“Hello, young man,” the old man said, smiling softly, “I hope I did not startle you,” he said, nodding towards Arlen’s weapons.  “Trust me, you will not need those!”

Arlen was startled out of his stare by the man’s voice, and looked down at his sword and dagger.  He looked back up to the old man, who had halted still several feet away from him.  Arlen grunted not convinced but put his weapons back up anyways, as long as the old man stayed out of arms reach.  He took a closer look at the old man.  He seemed, well, old…and young.  It took him a moment to realize why; he had no wrinkles for one as seemingly old as he appeared.  Other than that he looked the part.

“Do not be confused, young man, for I am older than I look, I assure you,” he chuckled, his eyes a bright blue underneath pure grey hair.

“You are very foolish, old man, to sneak up on someone who might strike first and ask questions later,” Arlen said.

“I would be young man, except that you are not one like that!” the old man said, actually taking a step closer to Arlen.  The old man fixed Arlen with his stare, and he was held helpless against it, lost in his eyes, and yet he felt no fear.

“Who are you old one, and how do you know who I am? I have never seen you before, for I assuredly would have remembered meeting one such as you.”  Arlen found it harder and harder to concentrate, falling deeper and deeper into the man’s eyes. There were mysteries there, unfathomable and terrifying and beautiful all at once.  

“I know all about your Arlen, I know the truth about who you are, who you were, and who you still might be.”  He took another step closer, now only  a few steps away, Arlen’s instincts were screaming at him to strike out at the old man, to destroy him before he got any closer…MUST KILL HIM NOW!!!

Yet he couldn’t.

The old man shook his head, smiling sadly, “No young man, you cannot kill me, for I have something, something that can never be destroyed, by anyone; be they king or conqueror or a god on high.” He took another step closer now, covering what was left of the gap between them, stopping in front of Arlen, only inches away.  

Entranced, Arlen asked, “What could you have old man, and why would you care to confront me? I am a simple man, awash in delusion all my life, I seek only to be left alone, to go my own way, to find my own death in peace.”  He did not know where those words came from, for he had never admitted them to himself, yet he knew them with a certainty and recognized them immediately for the truth.  

The old man nodded.  “That is what I have, my friend, the Truth,” he said, as if reading his thoughts.  “I have the truth, I hold it dear to me, it has shattered my illusions and opened my eyes; it has shown me horrors and miracles, tragedy and triumph, sorrow and joy.” Now the old man reached out a hand and placed it over Arlen’s heart, “And it is a gift,” he said softly, “a gift I am to share with you.”  

Arlen’s mind was reeling, “Why share such a thing with me old one? Why me? What if I don’t want the truth?”  Desperately he tried to pull away from the old man but he could not move his legs.  Yet he knew it was not any power of the old one that kept him there, it was his own self that would not let him turn away.  

“You must decide for yourself young one,” the old man continued, “for I cannot force the truth upon you.  You must accept it, welcome it, cherish it and live by it for the rest of your life.  If you do not, it will destroy you as surely as a sword through your heart.”  Arlen looked down at the hand over his heart.  He could feel the pulse of his heart beating up against the old man’s hand.  Arlen’s eyes clouded over, and it took him a moment to recognize the tears coming from them.  All his life, after all he had accomplished, all he had gained, all he had destroyed, all he had lost…he still did not know the truth.  

Arlen looked back up into the fathomless blue eyes of the ageless man.  His breathing quickened his heart beat faster; he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, his arms tensed, his fate decided.

“I want the truth, old one; I want to be free at last.”

 The old man smiled; a beautiful thing in the middle of all the chaos around him.

“Then you shall know the truth.”

With that promise, the old man pressed his hand against Arlen’s heart, and the world exploded.

Chapter Three

        The dwarf swung his arms mightily, the huge pick axe in his hands colliding with the cavern wall and knocking loose one more chunk of rock, only one of millions he would spend the rest of his life chipping away at for his Master.  Large calloused hands gripped the worn pickaxe, passed down to him from his father, and his father before him.  Huge muscles powered the endless swinging, his arms and legs as thick as tree trunks, testament to a lifetime of nothing but grueling labor with little respite.  Sweat poured down his forehead, to be soaked up by the cloth headband he wore,  homespun clothing hung loosely about his stout frame to allow freedom of movement and to help cool the heat so far below the surface of the earth.  He had a kind face, firm, yet gentle at the same time, a common trait among the dwarven folk, yet seemingly magnified with him.  His long deeply red hair was pulled back into a pony tail to keep it off his neck, his beard kept short so it would not interfere with the swinging of his pickaxe.  His eyes were a deep green to complement his hair; possessing wisdom far beyond his years.

Again he swung, and another chunk fell loose.  As his family had for generations, and dwarves lived a very long life, he would work for the master until he could no longer raise the pick above his head, and when that time came he would be called up to the surface by the Master, to be rewarded for his faithful service and given to live in comfort and peace for the remainder of his days.  His family and hundreds of others just like his had lived by that promise of a final rest for hundreds of years.  

Another chunk fell to the ground, bouncing into his leg, leaving a small gash just below his right knee.  He paused his swinging to examine the wound briefly.  Dwarves were an extremely hardy folk, and minor scratches like that could be ignored for the most part.  Their hardiness and durability made them excellent miners, especially since dwarves had no qualms about spending all their time below the surface of the earth.  No one in his family had seen the sun for over 300 years he had been told by his Grandmother, who had been called to the surface by the Master just a few days ago, to collect her reward for a lifetime  of toil in the name of the Master.  She had been watching over him ever since both is parents had died in a mining accident 45 years before.  Grommel Gemmelson picked his axe back up, his cut forgotten, and his mind now filled with doubt and worry for his Grandmother.  

Grommel swung his pick yet again, a larger chunk of rock falling before him.  He swung automatically now, after so many years, his mind allowed to drift to other things.  His mind had been drifting a lot lately.  He had been laboring for the Master leagues beneath the earth for forty years now, ever since he was old enough to firmly hold his dead fathers pick in his hands.  He was still young by dwarven standards, he was considered an adult of course, but there was adult, and then there was “adult”.  He had been thinking a lot lately about what the elders of the families had been saying about their history.

 According to the Elders, Grommel’s family and hundreds of others along with his had been saved from certain destruction at the hands of the evil humans and their demonic allies by the Master, and even He could not save them all.  Most of the adults and elders had all perished, only the younger generations had survived in any great numbers.  The Master had saved them all with his terrifying power, as He slaughtered the humans and the demons, and led the young dwarves to safety deep below the earth, never to be harmed by anyone ever again.  Here they lived in security and solitude, safe in their service to the Master, knowing that He would watch over them.  In gratitude for saving them, the surviving children had agreed to serve the Master here deep below the earth, mining for Him precious gems and ores that he desired to further his power that He might continue to fight against those who would do them harm.  

Life spent in service to the Master was hard, and sometimes cruel, but they endured.  Other servants of the Master, good humans, provided them with the raw materials and supplies that they needed to survive.  The dwarven Families had carved out an existence for themselves so far beneath the earth, they felt at home here, even though they knew they would never see anything beyond the caverns and tunnels that they worked in.  They owed the Master a debt, and dwarves always paid their debts.  

There were no gates or barriers to keep them from leaving, if Grommel really wanted to he could probably walk right out of the caverns, although it might take days to reach the original opening of the mines.  Their Word was the only barrier that was needed however. They had sworn an oath to the Master, and they would hold to that word their whole lives.  

Their population was now perhaps double that of the original families that had first entered service to the Master.  Although dwarves lived long lives, they did not reproduce as quickly or often as the humans.  Of course the elders themselves were not very old either, since they were called to the surface by the Master for their reward before they got to a venerable age.  

Another swing, another chunk cut out of the veins of the earth.  Grommel’s thoughts focused on the feeling that something just wasn’t right about their history, but he could not put his finger on it.  He dare not ask anyone about it though, he had mentioned his doubts once to his Grandmother and she had warned him to not speak of such things in the presence of anyone else.  She too had had her doubts, but had learned early on to never voice them aloud, or she would be considered a heretic and ostracized from the families.  She had been called in front of the council of elders for punishment before, and only her seemingly sincere apologies in front of everyone present kept her from being shunned permanently.  She had never mentioned them again, until the day her Grandson had confided in her that something felt wrong.  

Grommel remembered the look in her eyes the first time he voiced his concerns to her.  At first he saw fear in her eyes, as she looked around to make sure there was no one else around who might hear.  Then he saw determination replace the fear, and she pulled him back into the farthest reaches of their family habitation, safe from prying eyes and curious ears.  

“Grommel Gemmelson,” she had begun quietly, “you mustn’t ever talk like that where others can hear you, you understand boy?”  Her face was stern, but compassion showed in her eyes then.  Grommel had nodded in obedience.  “Good,” she had continued, “I will say this only once and then I will never speak of it again.”  She had looked around then, almost as if she had been afraid of invisible spies. She had reached out for his hands then and had held them in hers as she looked deeply into his eyes.  

“There are things in this world that can never be made right, boy, bad things that happen to good people, things that there are no solution for, things that push you down so low the only thing you can do is embrace them, and hope they don’t finally crush you below their weight.”  Her words had scared him at first, but he stubbornly held on and listened further.  “Most folks here believe so strongly in the Master because they’ve been taught that way, but ones old like me, we remember our parents talking about the First Days, and not all of them were so sure that the Master had been our savior after all.”  At that statement Grommel’s eyes had gone wide, his fear and certainty congealing at once into something new.  

His Grandmother nodded her head at his reaction, “Yes, I can see you feel that way too, m’boy, but you must never speak your thoughts to others.  The older ones that spoke about it, they were called up before their time to the surface, supposedly for their reward, but my heart told me differently.”  She had gotten a faraway look then, sadness again caressing her face.  “My own Mum, your great grandmother, was one of those called early.  I knew, I knew it was wrong boy, I knew but there was nothing I could do.”

Grommel had leaned forward then, “But Gran, what was it they were saying? I have to know!  I’ve been having dreams Gran; I’ve been dreaming about the past, and what I’m seeing doesn’t make sense. I just want them to stop Gran; please tell me so maybe the dreams will stop, please Gran?”  

His Grandmother looked shocked.  “Dreams you say, eh?  Well now, don’t that beat all?  Listen boy, I bet I can tell you what your dreams are showing you.”  She had pulled him closer then, and hugged him close for a few heartbeats.  “It’s a dream passed down boy, passed down from my Mum, through me, through your own Mum, down to you.”  

Grommel pulled back out of her embrace then, wonder on his face and in his mind.  “How so Gran?  How can that be?  Is it magic?”  Fear touched his voice then, for Dwarves in general had an ingrained distrust of magic.  “Did we really all dream the same thing?”  

His Grandmother had nodded sternly, “You tell me boy.  I used to dream of fire, of great chaos, our folk fighting and dying, the dead scattered like so much kindling; humans and demons running through our town above ground wrecking havoc.  I saw our fathers and mothers fighting bravely, yet they were horribly outnumbered, and just when things could not get any worse, He came.”  Her eyes had glossed over by then, lost in her own dreams.  “Once the humans and demons saw Him, they fled, and our parents thought they had been saved.  That is where the tale ends for most of us, they then say the Master led us here to be safe, and in our gratitude we serve Him.  My dream goes on however, as did my Mum’s.  Once the humans and demons fled, the Master turned his power onto us.  He burned our community to the ground, killing most of the adults and elders.  He took the young ones, and left the rest to die at the hands of the returning humans and demons.  He took the young ones here Grommel, to work and to be his slaves, and He taught them the story of their salvation at his hands.  He taught it so thoroughly and convincingly that they never doubted him.”  

She had waggled her finger at him then, “But there were a few that didn’t believe, and those of them that spoke their thoughts were quickly shunned by the others, and some even disappeared.  The new elders said that they had been called up by the Master and were never seen again.  So those left that didn’t believe learned not to speak of it anymore, and eventually even they gave up, what was the use of fighting it?”  She fixed her gaze upon Grommel then, “That’s what you dream of isn’t it boy? You see the fire, the chaos, the death after the humans left, as well as before, not as the elders teach us.”  She had raised an eyebrow in question then, but she already knew the answer.  

“Yes Gran, gods help me, yes I do.”  He had laid his head in his hands then, the dream washing over him as vivid as if here were in their midst, watching helplessly as his kin were slaughtered and burned to death before his eyes.  He could hear the screams; see the determination in the eyes of the men and women fighting, even though they knew there were going to die.  He felt their hope soar as the Master came, scattering the humans and demons before Him, and then that hope turned to terror as He turned his power against them also.  Huge waves of fire sweeping through the town, the flames so intense they melted stone and wood alike.  He saw dwarves literally turning to ash instantly as the flames overtook them, their agony etched upon their faces before they disintegrated, imprinting themselves in Grommel’s memory forever.  

He had lifted his head then, tears in his eyes, “How can this be Gran? How could this even be true?

“What does your heart tell you boy?” she had answered, “you look into yourself, and you tell me if it’s true or not!”

It had taken him only a moment, a fate filled moment, to believe. “What can we do Gran? We can’t just let this go on, there has to be some kind of justice!”

“Do?” she had replied, “We can do nothing, not now, it is too late, too many believe what the Master has taught, no one will believe us, and we dare not speak of it to anyone.”  She hung her head then in defeat, acceptance and despair combined to crush the hope and youth out of her.  Grommel had impulsively hugged his Grandmother then, willing his own hope and strength into her.  

Slowly his Grandmother had pushed him away and held him at arm’s length.  

“I had hoped the dreams would die with me, my Grommel, as far as I knew only the women of our family had the dreams.  When your Mother died and you were the only child, I hoped the dreams would not be passed to you, but I see I was wrong.”

        Stubbornly, Grommel had met his Grandmother’s eyes, “This isn’t over Gran, I swear, I’ll find a way to show them. I swear!”

 As he spoke those words he had felt something strange come over him, a sense of  fate, a feeling of a door opening, he could have sworn he heard a voice in his mind say, “Said and done!”  

That had all happened two weeks ago, and ever since all his thoughts had been turned towards anyway he could make the elders and others believe his dream, surely they would do something.  Then he had returned to his dwelling one day after what seemed an eternity hewing away at the cavern walls, only to find one of the elders waiting for him.  He told Grommel that his Gran had been called by the Master just that morning and was so excited she left immediately and that she was sure he would understand.  The elder’s name was Howdin Stonefoot, and had been one of Gran’s few true friends.  He patted Grommel on the shoulder on his way out and assured him that Gran was finally happy and at peace, and to feel happy for her.  

Grommel was devastated.  He wasn’t sure exactly what happened to those who were “called” by the Master, but he was certain it wasn’t the grand paradise that they had been taught.  His mind reeled with the possibilities and he had spent the rest of that night alternately crying and raging about his home, not knowing what to do.

He had returned to work the next day, his mind numb with grief and concern.  Over the next couple of day he let his body work on instinct alone, his mind wandering over all that had happened, and what he could do about it.  He knew he couldn’t go to the elders without certain proof of what had really happened, and it frustrated him no end to realize there was no way he could provide anything like that.  Still, he did not give up the thought that something could be, had to be, done.  

It was with these thoughts in his head that Grommel was working that day.  Another chunk of rock fell from the wall from the point of his pick, bouncing off the others, adding to the pile building up around him, waiting for others to come and carry them away.  He had been assigned to a relatively new tunnel today, in an unstable area, known for heavy seismic activity, but supposedly the Master had said there was a plentiful vein of gold to be found in that tunnel and He wanted it found.  

Grommel stopped mid swing, hearing a low rumble come from all around him.  He knew instinctively the ground was shifting around him, and he stepped back from the wall and spread his thick legs apart to brace himself.  The rumbling seemed to fade after a moment or two, and just when Grommel thought it had passed, it came back even stronger. Dust and rubble started falling from the tunnel ceiling, wooden bracers built into the tunnel walls started shaking and cracking.  Grommel gripped his pick and started running back out of the tunnel, hoping to get clear before it collapsed.  

He was too late.  A section of tunnel collapsed fifteen feet in front of him; he skidded to a halt to keep from being buried alive in the avalanche.  The cave in totally covered his escape route and sealed him inside the tunnel.  The rush of wind from the cave in also put out the torches lit in the tunnel, leaving him in the dark.  He wasn’t too worried though, once the shaking stopped he’d just dig his way out, that was what he did all day anyway, a few more hours wouldn’t hurt; and dwarves had decent night vision so he could still vaguely see with the light leaking through the cracks of the cave in.  But the shaking wouldn’t stop.  He moved back to the dead end of the tunnel hoping the uncut wall there would help brace the ceiling above him and avoid any further cave in.  He braced himself against the wall and waited.  Suddenly he heard a large groan right above him, and he knew he was done for.  A huge section of rock came caving in right on top of him. He crouched down against the back of the wall and wrapped his thick arms around his head, stubborn even now.  Even with his head down and eyes closed he could feel the chunk of rock falling towards him.  He tried to roll to the side but he was hemmed in by all the other debris.  The huge rock struck him, his last thought before fading to black was one of defiance; this was not his time!

The bright light on the other side of his closed eyelids was what finally woke him up.  It was a comforting light, warming his body, and bathing him in peace and comfort.  He didn’t want to open his eyes for fear of it going away, and then he would have to see what had really happened to his body in the cave in.  He didn’t feel anything pressing down on him, which led him to believe he was either in shock or that he was paralyzed.  He sighed, and opened his eyes.  

Amazingly, he was lying on his back, four feet away from the back of the wall, totally out of the reach of the cave in.  Even more amazing was that the light was still present.  Stiffly he sat up to see better, realizing his pick was still tightly grasped in his right hand.  

As he sat up, his eyes beheld a wondrous sight indeed.  The light all around him seemed to come from a figure floating above the ground not ten feet away from him, between him and the first cave in.  The figure defied classification; humanoid, its features appeared neither male nor female, nor human or dwarf or elfen: it just Was.  Strangely enough that seemed to fit, he thought.  It seemed translucent, and was certainly the most beautiful sight he had ever seen in his short life, and he thought it would surely be the most beautiful thing he would see if he should live a long life as well.  It just floated there, serenely unaware of or not caring about all the danger around it.  He just stared at it, uncomprehending, dazed with its beauty, content to just look at it for the rest of his life.  

The figure smiled below bright violet eyes.  The peace and strength from that smile flowed into Grommel, filling and renewing him.  Then it spoke in a voice neither male nor female, without moving its lips, he realized it must be speaking directly to his mind.

“Grommel Gemmelson,” the melodic voice soothed into his thoughts, “you have cried out for justice, and your cries have been heard.”  Grommel’s heart started beating faster, something momentous was happening here, and it was both frightening and exhilarating.  “I have come to you with an answer, a duty, and a promise.  Will you hear me, Grommel Gemmelson, or shall I depart from here and let you live out your life as you will?”  

Grommel’s heart and mind were both pounding now.  His blood was racing, his brow was sweating, and his hands were itching.  His throat suddenly gone dry, he knew he had to make a decision now that would affect the rest of his life. He knew deep within himself that if he heard and accepted what this being had to say, that his life would be one of anguish and heartache and impossible tasks against all hope.  But his heart had cried out for justice and it would not be silenced, no matter the cost.  The figure waited patiently, floating there just before him, content to let him consider his answer.  

“Before I answer you,” Grommel began, finally finding his voice, “I must know who sent you and whose interests you support.”  

“You are very clever Grommel Gemmelson,” the voice replied in his head while the figure smiled even deeper.  “I am the answer to your cry of Justice; I am the bearer of your destiny if you accept; I am the promise of your people’s future.  I am the hand of Justice, not sent, but come here to you in this time of upheaval in the world.  Ages come and pass, and this age will soon pass as well, but with the passing of this age, it is possible that another may not take its place.  Foul creatures never meant to walk the earth roam freely amongst you; this world has been breached from within, and the ones you call demons will soon have unlimited access to do as they wish, for your kind will not be able to stand against them without aid.”  

Grommel’s mind was swimming now, this was way over his head, he thought, all I want to do is get my people out of here!  He looked into the brightly violet eyes of the being again and felt more calm emanating from them.  He looked into those eyes for what seemed an eternity, knowing already what he must do.

“Justice, for that is all I can name you, I will hear you.”

The figure nodded once.  “Hear your Answer Grommel Gemmelson; what you and your line have dreamed all these years is indeed true.  A great evil has befallen your people here, an injustice that cannot stand any longer.  You and your people have been slaves bound by fear and misplaced honor and pride for centuries; your great “Master” is nothing more than a creature seeking power at any cost.  He led those men and demons to your town, and had them cause as much damage as they could.  He then appeared to save you by simply ordering his minions to depart, and then he completed the task of killing the rest of your elders and parents.  Once he had disposed of any possible dissenting voices, he led the children down here, to serve him in fealty and fear and honor, working as slaves for the rest of their lives and their children’s lives.”

Finally hearing what he knew was the truth was very liberating for Grommel.  He felt a great weight lifted off his shoulders; he knew he had been right!  

The being continued, “It is time to end this.  Too long have you been held here, too long have you been doing the bidding of an evil master, it is time now for you to break free.  This is the Duty I would place upon you.  Lead your people to freedom, and continue the cause of Justice once they are free.  Be my hand upon this world during times of corruption and fear.  Shine my light upon the face of darkness and stand firm in the midst of evil.  Wield my strength and never waver, for others will depend upon you and the fate of this age and ages to come rests upon yours and their shoulders.”  

The voice penetrated deep through Grommel’s soul, resonating something within him he never knew he had, awakening a sense of self that had lay hidden in his family line for generations, come to fruition within him.  Slowly, but surely, he stood up and faced Justice on his two feet.

“I shall be your Hand,” he vowed, completely at peace with his decision, his gentle face set in a grim determination.  The being nodded its head in acceptance.  

“This then, is my promise.” it replied, “That you will know times of grief and pain, of sorrow and hardship, unbearable to most, that would shatter even the stoutest of heart.  But you shall persevere, for your cause is just and I will not leave your side as long as you remain faithful.  Nor will you be alone in the mortal sense, others will join you in your fight, as I said, and together you shall set the world free, or perish in the attempt.  My promise to you Grommel is that this world will be what you make of it.  Fight the good fight Grommel, and you will succeed even if you fail.  That is my promise to you, now take what is in your right hand and go forth as the Hand of Justice.”  

Grommel stood with tears in his eyes, overcome by the words of Justice.  Slowly he looked down at his right hand.  He had passed out still gripping his pick, but now, in his hand was a massive hammer, easily big enough to hold in two hands, yet he seemed to hold it with one easily.  He lifted it before his eyes.  The entire hammer seemed made of one piece of some strange metal, intricately carved with beautiful runes up and down the sides, the hand grip made of the softest leather.  The head was polished so brightly and so smoothly that it was almost impossible to look at as it reflected the beings light a thousand fold.

“It is a virgin weapon,” the being informed him, “forged by your need, it awaits a name and a cause.  Give it both Grommel Gemmelson, and wield it faithfully.”

When Grommel looked back up, the being was gone.  

The hammer’s head still shone bright even in the absence of any other light.  Vaguely he heard voices on the other side of the cave in, it sounded as if they were trying to dig their way to him.  Surprisingly, he could sense the cave in was at least 50 feet long, and his would be rescuers were giving up hope of reaching him before he perished.  

Grommel walked up to the cave in, and smiling, he swung his hammer.  There was a resounding Crack as he hit it for the first time, sending shivers of pain and joy up his arms.  The rock he hit pulverized instantly, leaving dust to fall to the ground in its place.  Slowly he worked his way through the cave in, and after a few swings he started humming an old dwarven mining melody.  Off in the distance he heard the efforts of his rescuers cease.  He imagined they must be hearing him by now, for his hammer striking the rocks was making a thunderous noise each time as it disintegrated the rock beneath it.  

Finally there remained only one more swing, and he knew he would be through.  He could hear others on the outside speculating on what was going on, on what had happened to him, and why.  He paused before taking his last swing, thinking about what his life would be like when he broke through.  He knew he could no longer go back to being what and who he was; he would emerge so different from the person who had entered here but a few hours ago.  He had a monumental task ahead of him, apparently just the first of many to come.  He smiled to himself.  Grommel Gemmelson was never one to take the easy way out.

Grommel took one last swing, blasting away the last few feet of rock that stood between him and his destiny.  Torchlight broke through the dust as it settled, revealing a large throng of people drawn there although they knew not why.  They all gasped as they saw him; larger than life he appeared, standing firm and strong, not a cut or bruise on him, garbed only in his loincloth and wielding a massive hammer he appeared a figure out of legend.  

“I am Grommel Gemmelson,” his voice boomed out, louder than he thought possible, “In my hand I hold Aetrius, the Voice of Justice, and it is time to set us free!”

Chapter Four

                                                                                

        The Elfen queen turned her face up towards the thundering darkness above her, letting the rain bursting from the black clouds wash away her anxiety.  Lightning crashed down a scant yard from her yet she did not notice it, her magic shielding her as naturally as she drew breath.  She kept her gaze on the night sky, eyes wide open, harsh daggers of water trying to pierce her skin in their fury, angered at her arrogance to walk among them undaunted while they raged.  

        Slowly she turned her head, studying the clouds as they expelled bolt after bolt of ferocious energy at the earth below them, punching ragged burning holes into the soft soil around her.  This of course was no ordinary storm, which was why she had come to this particular hill, on this night, when she knew this storm would return to her realm.  Winds rose around her, whipping at her pure white robes, as if to tear them to shreds about her; but her magic still protected her and the wind howled in its fury.

        Doubt played across her face.  Out here, tonight, she would either save her kingdom, the last Elfen Kingdom in the world, or doom it to extinction, the final solution sought by the Hidden One.  Her personal guards were not allowed here, not for this; they were half a league distant down the hill, for their own safety.  High upon this hill, this infamous hill, where once the greatest of them all had fallen in battle to ensure a place in this world for the Elfen, she stood now at the precipice, staring off into the abyss beyond, for this was the time.  

        “Oh Dear Father,” she whispered to the hills, “please guide me.”  She sank to her knees, the mud succeeding where the wind had failed, finally marring her pristine robes.  

        Still she kept her face towards the clouds, searching, waiting.  Doubts and fears swirled around her fiercer than the hurricane winds assaulting her from above, her power unable to protect her from them.  All of their efforts had been for naught.  All their plotting, their maneuvering, their attempts to withstand the inevitable onslaught of the Hidden One had all failed.  Finally, as she knew it would and had prepared for, it had come to war.  War was a word the Elfen knew well, they were born in war, a war of magic and blood and steel; they had clawed their way to victory and survival in a world determined to see them destroyed to the last child.  Yet they had prevailed against the gods themselves, and claimed their rightful place in this world as their prize.  Now it was all in jeopardy once again.  This time however, they had no Adian Riftbreaker to slay the demons that sought to destroy them all; for all the great Elfen heroes of the Founding Times had long since passed on and none born since had their god-feared powers.  

        “Elfen Queen,” a deep strong voice cut in to her thoughts from behind, “why do you stare at the darkened sky in doubt and fear?”

        Elliana, Keeper of the Covenant, Heir to the Riftbreaker, Speaker for the Dead and Queen of Eldeire, last refuge of a proud race on a dying world, slowly rose to her feet and  turned her head to regard her new companion on the lonely hilltop.  He met her gaze and held her there a moment, trapped in his vision.

        She saw countless years in his dark green eyes, ages come and gone and to come yet again, all flowing and twisting and changing in a current that threatened to pull her in and drown her under limitless possibilities of past and future.  Finally he broke their contact and she almost staggered back from the sundering, aching to see it again even though it might destroy her.  

        Elliana cleared her thoughts with an iron willpower that had seen her through 600 years as Queen, and focused her gaze once again on the figure before her.  The rain continued to fall as she studied him, and the wind and the thunder and lightning seemed to have increased if anything.  She finally extended her power somewhat to shield them both from the rain and the figure smiled in thanks for her hospitality.  She saw before her a seemingly old human, yet without those horrid creases and lines on his face that ancient humans were afflicted with.  

        He bowed his head to her and smiled warmly, even if there was a touch of sadness on the edges.  “As I stand on this hill, Queen of the Elfen,” he began, “I see your spirit troubled and your eyes anxious.  Tell me, why is it that you stand on this holy yet forsaken hilltop; what is it you contemplate that brings you so far from your refuge out into such a violent and singular storm?”  His emerald eyes softened, “Surely it is a grave matter to pull you out in a time such as this?”  

        Elliana considered the old man’s words as she looked at him, not even concerned with how he had come upon her unaware, for she recognized power when she saw it.  She also recognized and acknowledged that he meant her no harm, or rather that he was not in fear for his own safety at the moment.  While Elliana did not possess the awesome god-feared gifts of her forefathers, she was assuredly one of the most powerful and formidable magical creatures on the face of the planet, and it took a long moment for her to overcome the sting to her pride that came with his appearance and attitude.  

        After that moment however, her wisdom pushed her pride aside and she smiled warmly back at the old man.  “It is kind of you to ask after me, old one, even as I am aware that you already know my doubts and fears and why I am here.”

        “It is true, Riftbreaker’s Heir, that I have some knowledge of how you stand in such dire straits,” the old man admitted, “and perhaps I have come to be of some assistance to you, should you need any.”

        “Some assistance you say?” the Queen’s voice taking on a slight edge.  “As I watch the Elfen being slowly strangled and exterminated, as the world watches and does nothing? Some assistance as the Hidden One and his armies of demon-kin and humans attempt to surround us and cut us off from the few allies we have left?  Some assistance as I stand here on Riftbreaker’s Hill contemplating the very act that our prophecies and seers say will bring about the final age of Elfen in this world?  I have a choice to make old one, here and now, this moment only, that will either save or damn us and probably both!  Some assistance would be most appreciated indeed!”  A horrendous crash of lightning pierced the ground again, as if illustrating her frustration.

        The old one nodded in understanding, “This is not an easy thing for you, Keeper, your soul aches with the knowledge that you might indeed be the last Queen of the Elfen as foretold by your ancestors, and I am here to tell you that you are correct.”

        Elliana rocked back on her heels with his statement, her eyes widened in shock.  She certainly wasn’t expecting to hear that, that’s not what was supposed to happen.  This old one was supposed to tell her that this wasn’t the end, not confirm that it was!  Sadness settled on her shoulders like a shroud, preparing her for burial in a deep dark forgotten tomb.  This was it then.

        The old man shook his head, sighing, “Always quick to conclusions you mortals are, without considering all that lies in between.”  

        Elliana looked up at the old man, and straightened her shoulders, regaining her composure.  “Share with me then, Doomsayer, what I have concluded that is not true.”  Please, she thought to herself, tell me I am wrong.

        “You are quick to lose all hope, to fall into despair, Speaker for the Dead.  Despair is the tool of the Hidden One, it is his strongest weapon and once you fall prey to it you have already lost,” he chided her, “I said you are correct that you will be the last Queen, it is true that things will be coming to an end, but where there is an End there will always be a new Beginning afterwards.  What you do here and now will decide the fate of the Elfen in that new Beginning.  No mortal knows what is to come, and there are those immortal that do not recognize the outcome, to the full extent, of their own meddling.”

        Something like hope sparked inside Elliana at his words, and she took a deep breath and marshaled her wits about herself.  If she was the last Queen it was up to her to see to the survival of her people, no matter the cost.  Iron resolve once again took its place in her heart.  “Thank you old one, for sharing this with me, for it has helped me decide that this is exactly the time and the place to do what the Elders and Seers were afraid I would do.”  She raised an eyebrow at him, “Am I jumping to conclusions again in assuming that you will help me with my summoning?  While I do not fear for myself, if I should fail then I do fear for my people, and I would be there to lead them into the last of days.”  She fixed on him a look full of all the regal majesty centuries of love and hope and pride for her people has instilled in her.  

        The old one bowed again, this time from the waist down, a solemn look on his face as he straightened.  “I am yours to command in this, and proud I am to serve you.”  His features began to change slightly as he spoke to her, “This night you draw a line, and those who cross over it shall feel your wrath oh Queen, tonight a legend is reborn and Hope let loose into the world, and it will be either the means of your salvation, or the hand of your doom.”

        The Queen turned away from the old one, while banishing completely the protective power surrounding them, the full fury of the storm finally free to crash about them.  She raised her arms, the folds of her robe falling back with her movement, and turned her face once again towards the sky, yet this time there was no fear or doubt or anxiety that needed to be washed away, only grim determination and a fire burning in her heart.  “Let us begin.”

        

        Peace.  It seemed such an odd thing for him.  He had led such a violent life, born into a life of war and death, dying in much the same way.  His life had been one struggle after another; stories of strife and blood and steel and power that could fill volumes by themselves.  He and those others closest to him had defied their destiny after centuries of misery and servitude and had risen up against their masters and finally destroyed them.  

        Once, he and his kind had been one of the most feared of races in the known worlds.  They had done their masters’ bidding and destroyed civilizations on their whim, they had devastated worlds with their magic and their swords and their unbreakable, implacable will.  Theirs’ was the voice of horror to the brave; theirs’ was the hand of death visited upon any who opposed their masters, theirs’ was the Legion of Ruin and all fell before them.  The centuries passed as they spread their havoc across the cosmos, never resting longer than it took to tend their wounds and replenish their war machine, to expand on their knowledge of magic and power, the forces that shaped the worlds and how to bend them, how to break them to their will, and how to destroy them when they were defied.  

        Gradually, over the millennia however, something crept into the psyche of this race, starting with him for some reason, he never fully understood why.  A feeling of…discontent.  A feeling that there might possibly be more to existence than endless destruction on behalf of their masters, the chance to perfect something other than the art of death, these things began to linger in their thoughts for more than moments at a time, and they felt uneasy.  

        Unknown to their masters, who had grown overconfident in their total dominance of their hounds of war, his people began to talk amongst themselves about these strange feelings; what they were, where they came from, how they could stop them, did they want to stop them?  They were a very methodical, logical and disciplined people, they approached problems with the intent of dominating them any way possible and overcoming them with confidence.  They puzzled over these feelings they were experiencing and over the decades they came to one conclusion.  They were evolving.  It seemed unnatural for it to happen to an entire race at once, but since they were so long lived and had warped and broken so many natural laws during their lives, they deduced they were the victims of some kind of backlash as a result of their endeavors on behalf of their masters.  

        He and his people were naturally upset by this turn of events, it seemed they were finally developing a conscience, a sense of right and wrong, of good and evil, and realized they were on the side of evil.  While others of his race still seemed ambivalent about choosing a side to stand with, he and several others who had become his friends (another new concept for them as a race) decided to take matters into their own hands.  He and his friends stood up against their masters and rallied their race to their cause.  They turned on their masters and fought them savagely.  Their masters were terrible foes, for their power had originally allowed them to enslave the primitive warlike species in its infancy, and they still wielded it with supreme ruthlessness and horror.  The masters had failed to realize however that their minions had grown in power as well during the long centuries of fighting on their behalf, mastering arts both marshal and magical and turning those against their masters with devastating effects.  

        The masters’ world spanning empire collapsed in mere decades of revolt by their now awakened slaves.  The masters called these slaves elfen, their word for traitor; and the once slaves took that word for their own.  The masters gathered their remaining forces together, abandoning all their other worlds and focused on eradicating the traitors, chasing them from world to world in a constant running battle, each world a new battlefield as the elfen sought a suitable place to make their last stand.  

        Finally the elfen found what they were looking for, a rather new world with relatively few intelligent species to contend with, a place they could call their own, and a place where they would stand.  

        He relived all this once again, as he had so many times in his sleep over the millennia since then.  Millennia spent in peace by his people after he and his companions paid the sacrifice of their lives to end the threat of their masters’ vengeance.  His physical body had passed on, but his spirit remained tied to the land he had given his life to defend for his people.  He had shared the years of peace his people had enjoyed since then; they were a constant balm to the stark memories of the death and carnage he had inflicted for so many years before that.  He looked at this then as his final reward for his role in his people’s freedom: not paradise, but not the Abyss either.

        Yet now something was intruding on that peaceful feeling, interfering with it, agitating him in his dream.  Something was eroding that peace that sustained him in his eternal rest, something he could not identify, and something he was helpless to remedy in his current state.  He grew restless with passing time and his frustration grew with it.  Strangely he now felt fully aware, fully awakened, yet still detached, barred from returning completely to reality: until now.

        He heard a voice calling to him, a voice of power, a voice of reason, and a voice of supplication.  Slowly, he willed himself towards the voice, exerting monumental force and power to just barely move in its direction.  Louder and more insistent came the voice, still unintelligible yet its meaning clear: it was calling out to him personally, and he could not, dare not, resist the call.  

        Finally after what seemed an eternity of struggle against an invisible force, he reached a point where he could proceed no more.  He could hear the voice clearly now, calling out to him, petitioning him for his help, his people needed him and he strove mightily to answer the call, yet something still barred him as before.  It was the barrier between life and death.  He could pass that barrier as a spirit, but that was not the answer.  He had to find a way to pass through as flesh and blood.  His spirit railed against the barrier, almost frantic to answer the call.  Then another Voice spoke to him. He listened to that Voice, to what It said, to what It pledged to him, to what It required of him.  And then he agreed.  

        Lightning struck the very ground at Elliana’s feet sending chunks of earth and mud splattering into her face, yet she ignored it all, concentrating on the forces she was commanding, bending to her will, warping in ways that they were never meant to be.  Beads of bloody sweat dripped from her brow as she concentrated her whole being into the summoning.  She had assaulted the very laws of the universe itself to attempt this, and she dismantled them one at a time to reach her goal.  The winds around her were reaching hurricane force as they howled and tore at the land around her, sending the raindrops like swords to disembowel her where she stood.  Her guards over half a league away had withdrawn even further, getting caught up in the fallout of her sorcery.  

        Elliana did not have time to wonder at what kind of help that strange old one was willing to give, for so far he had not assisted at all in her efforts to bridge the gap between life and death.  As Speaker for the Dead she had considerable knowledge and power regarding those who had passed on before her, and this one she had studied for over three hundred years in anticipation of this very night.  She had pinpointed this hill, not surprisingly, as the spot his spirit might be anchored to this world, if there was such a place to be found.  She had called out to him, and finally he had heard her.  She almost lost it then in her excitement that she had reached him, yet she dug in deeper and called out even stronger to him, expressing her need to him, the need of his people for him.  She funneled every ounce of her considerable power into that call, into that connection and used it to draw him closer and closer, to where she could feel him just on the other side of the Veil of Tears, eager to break through and answer her in the flesh.

        Yet he could not.  And she could not.  Her mind wailed with the thought that this had all been in vain.  Despair threatened to overwhelm her then and there; but then she remembered the words of the old one, once you despair you have already lost.  She quashed any fears she might have for herself and put her last ounce of self into the call, battering at the barrier that separated them.  In her delirium she thought she heard singing then, coming from behind her, but then surrounding her, and gently lifting her up and sustaining her.  She took the singing inside her wholly, trusting it and consuming it and using it to strengthen her.  She focused it at the barrier that had thwarted her every attempt, that was about to destroy her for trying, and the barrier shattered like so many leaves before a wind.  The music reached an unbearably beautiful crescendo, and her senses, unable to comprehend it, collapsed, and took her body with them.

        Wetness was the first sensation he had felt in millennia, the gentle drops of rain washing new life into him.  A cool breeze caressed him next, bringing with it the smell of a storm just passed, one of the most precious memories he had possessed, now come back to him in reality.  Then he opened his eyes.  

        The first sight that met his eyes was that of a woman laying face down in the grass and dirt, her once white robes now covered with blood and mud.  He looked up into the night sky as the clouds began to part and reveal the countless stars they had been hiding for so long.  He stood upon a hill; easily recognizing where he had returned, untouched by eons of erosion, so powerful were the events that took place on Riftbreaker’s Hill.  He took his first deep breath and smiled as the scents of the world came flooding into him, filling him and reviving him.  He moved slowly towards the woman, afraid for a moment he had forgotten how to walk, yet successfully making his way towards her.  

        Hers was the voice he knew that called to him.  He bent down and turned her onto her back and studied her face for several minutes.  Then he reached out and picked her up in his arms, and stood upright, flexing more muscles long unused.  Slowly at first, the man made his way down Riftbreaker’s Hill, a last Hope reborn on a night of legend.

Chapter Five

        The old man swiped the rag across the bar, wiping away the day’s dust, sweat, spit and blood.  Large hands held the rag steadily, making smooth even paths across the grime stubbornly clinging to the surface, bit by bit making it ready for the night’s new grime.  The man was younger than he looked, and older than he ever wanted to be.  A close look at his face showed many marks: scars of battle, lines of worry and fatigue, a nose streaked red by too much drink, lips pulled down in a hard press, cheeks covered by a neglected scruff of a beard mostly but not all gray, and the eyes…those old deep blue eyes full of such a mixture of sorrow, rage and helplessness, of old wrongs never answered after so many years, that anyone looking too long into them had to look away or be caught up into the maelstrom and dragged down under with him.  

        It wasn’t usual, however, for anyone to look into his eyes. All the townsfolk knew that the old barkeep and owner of the Twisted Shiv brooked no one taking any interest in him, and he was better left alone. It was all as he preferred, ever since he came into town a stranger over twenty years ago and bought out the old owner in gold and sent him packing and moved in like he’d been there all his life.  He quickly developed a reputation as being sour but fair, so while he was respected for his business dealings, he was still distant from anyone else, kept at an arms distance, mainly by his own preference.  He was a large man, intimidating most by his mere presence, and had an air about him that kept most of his patrons under control. Those that got out of hand quickly found themselves thrown out the front door, sometimes with considerable blood loss or various parts of their bodies broken.  

        So it came to pass one day as he mechanically wiped down the bar, his mind miles and years away, that a stranger entered his bar.  He glanced up as the stranger came in, making a quick assessment for both possible threat and profit.  A puzzled look came to his eyes as he gazed at the newcomer.  Some faint tingling, a familiarity, something about this man that stirred echoes up from his bitter past, memories better left to rot.  The old man grunted at his own imagination, dismissing it as the guilty imaginings from a drunken stupor.  

        As the stranger approached the bar, the old man noticed how he took in the whole room as if planning to either fight his way in, or fight his way out.  So either a military man or mercenary or bandit, he thought, or somewhat of all of them.  He appeared to be in his mid thirties, short dark hair, of average height and well fit.  He wore a loose fitting white tunic, dark brown leather pants and riding boots of a style only the most accomplished of horsemen would think of using.  A well used long sword was buckled at one hip, with along knife, almost a short sword itself, hung at the other.  

        In short order the newcomer was standing at the bar, only a few feet to the side from the old man.  The old man watched as he turned his head towards him and for the first time looked him directly in the eyes.  The old man’s eyes widened in surprise, finally recognizing what he had refused to see, and that maelstrom bottled deep down within him threatened to burst forth and consume him right then and there.  

        “You?” the old man gasped, “Are you a ghost? A spirit of what might have been?  A vision sent to torture me even more? Are you here to condemn me in person as I do myself every night of my life? Why do you come here to torment me?”  The fire and rage started to burn in his eyes, the deep blue of them almost turning a violet hue as the old man struggled not to lose control.  “I have suffered enough!” he growled out between clenched teeth, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth, “I’ll not stand another moment of your presence!”

        By now some of the regular patrons had begun to take notice of the old man’s outbreak, and the wise ones began to edge away from the bar, out of the reach of his impending fury.  Some of the more foolish ones tried to inch a bit closer to see and hear what was about to happen, and place wagers on the outcome.  Neither the old man nor the newcomer seemed to notice any of the maneuvering behind them.  

        Finally the stranger spoke: “Peace, old man,” he said, his voice calm and soothing, “I didn’t come here to torment you, but to repay a debt I owe you.”

        “A debt you say?” the old man retorted, “Is that how you chose to word it? I’ve paid my debt! Every day of my damn miserable life that I drag myself up out of the depths of my nightmares, only to find out that I am to live another day! Every damn day is payment for my sins, and I don’t need you here to remind me or mock me or accuse me!” He finished his tirade by slamming his fist down upon the bar, actually cracking the surface of the solid oak with the force of the blow.  

        The younger man looked down at the fist that had just cracked the bar, and to the surprise of the onlookers he reached out with his own hand and covered that fist, gently closing his fingers around that hand that had done so much.  The contact seemed to stun the old man, and even though he tried he could not pull his hand free from that gentle grasp.  

        “Yes I owe you a debt, but not the debt you fear I am here to repay”, the stranger said, raising his eyes once again to the old man, his own eyes a vivid reflection of the old man’s deep blue.  

        The old man shook his head in confusion.  “You were there, you know what I did”, he said, the self accusation seemed to add a dozen more years to his face.  “You almost died as well, you should have died, I don’t know how you didn’t, and here you are once again to torment me, to remind me of how I should be dead but I am not! How I deserve to be dead but am not! How I am alive and she is not!”  Tears trickled out of the old man’s eyes, tears he thought had been cried dry so many years ago.  

        “Look at me,” the stranger said, “see me standing here before you, not accusing you, not judging you, not carrying out any sentence! I am here to tear away the lie that has been destroying you for all these years!” The young man leaned in closer to the old man, his other hand reaching out to grasp the old man’s shoulder.  “You do not know the truth as it really happened, and after all these years I have finally learned it,  I have seen it for what it really was, and I owe it to you, to show it to you as well!”

        The old man looked with wild disbelief at the younger one, “Are you crazy? Have you been out in the wars too long?  Has some blow knocked you daft?”  The old man shook his head emphatically.  “Don’t mock me, not now, it is useless to even do that, for a man must have some dignity to be mocked, and I have none!”

        The young man grasped the older one more firmly with both his hands, slightly shaking him, “Lies! All lies!” he said fiercely, his own eyes now shining with a righteous fury, “All lies tied to you to destroy you!”

        “Why have you come?” the old man asked, “why after all this time?”  his shoulders slumping in defeat.

        “I have come,” the young man with the deep blue eyes said, “to show you the Truth!”  And with that the onlookers saw the old man go rigid looking at the young man, his eyes glazing over, sweat forming on  his brow, his breathing becoming slow and deep.  Some patrons made as if to approach them, but as they got near the two men the younger one glanced at them, and in that glance they saw Power, and it made them fearful so they quickly decided the old man was on his own, once again.

        

        

        As if he were there again in the flesh, the old man was a witness to that fateful night.  He felt like he was watching a play by the Royal Theater, the opening scene being his own home, now long gone in the ashes of time, the actors being his younger self and his beautiful wife.  His mind screamed at him to look away but he could not.  This was just a more substantial retelling of his nightmares every night for the last twenty years.  Of how he had come home drunk one night from a dinner party with his wife at the palace.  How he was angry at his wife’s supposed flirting with a rival officer, a flirting he had not actually seen but had been told about by the King himself, a most damaging and unacceptable affront, to his reputation, his ego, and a deep wound to his love of this woman he had been married to for seventeen years.  He vividly remembered getting angrier and angrier in his drunkenness, even though his wife kept denying it, and pleading with him to stop drinking after they had gotten home.  But he kept drinking, and his anger built up into a blind rage that he had only felt upon the battlefield as he fought and killed his Kingdom’s enemies.  The bloodlust had come upon him, and amidst her cries he vividly remembered taking hold of her and choking the life out of her, her hands flailing against his chest as she slowly, oh so slowly succumbed to his fury.  At last when he was done and she lay lifeless upon the floor, in his horror and rage and pain, he turned to the fireplace and with his bare hands dragged the burning logs out and threw them into the room, onto the furnishings, into the curtains, determined to turn his once joyful house into a funeral pyre.  He had never known how he had survived himself, when he had finally come back to his senses he was standing outside his home, fully engulfed by flames, tears of rage and sorrow streaking down his fire reddened face.  Of his wife and his only son there had been no sign, and with a rush as brutal as a firestorm, the memories of that evening had come rushing back into his awareness.  With the blood of his beloved wife and his son upon his hands, he had cried out in despair to the heavens, and he fled into the darkness, leaving behind all he had ever known and loved and dreamt of, never to look back, but always remembering.  It was only later that he had learned that his son had survived, but by then he knew he could never show his face to him, that he didn’t deserve to see his son, and it would be best if he just disappeared from his life forever.

        “That was the Lie,” a gentle voice said, surrounding him and comforting him and drawing him in, quieting his sobs, and slowing his shudders.  “Now know the truth!”

        Once again the old man felt compelled to look upon that scene, his drawing room, his wife, and the fireplace, himself swaying in his drunkenness.  Then however he saw himself stagger over to the overstuffed couch and clumsily drop himself into it.  He saw himself trying to focus in on his wife, but his head kept wobbling, it seemed as if he was dizzy and confused, and then finally he had passed out completely upon the couch.  His beloved wife had rushed over to him then, and tried to revive him.

        “Don’t bother,” the old man heard a voice say behind her, “he’ll be out for hours, and by the time it wears off, well, let’s just say that he’ll be burned to a crisp my dear, like you.”  His wife spun around then, and before stood…the King’s High Chancellor Sir Loric Al’doin.  Her eyes widened in disbelief and fear.  Sir Loric took a step closer towards her, a small smile playing at his lips. He appeared to have just come from the palace itself, for he still wore his ceremonial armor he wore for such occasions, a light suit of armor, polished almost white, with the kings golden lion emblazoned on the breastplate.  His Elfen sharply pointed ears looked almost demon-like for a moment, his usually handsome face twisted into a distasteful sneer. “Fear not, dear one, for your death shall be quick, relatively, and know your death is for the good of your King!”

        Anger replaced fear in his dear wife’s eyes, as she stood her ground and faced the Chancellor.  “Don’t think for a moment that you will get away with this Loric! Whatever you do or plan or hope to achieve here will fall to ruin!”  Then unbelievably she rushed Loric, her dress hiked up in her left hand, a dagger having appeared in her right she actually reached the Chancellor before he realized what she was about.  Her hand lashed out with a skill Loric did not know she possessed and almost succeeded in piercing his right eye, but at the last moment he was able to draw upon his native agility and duck his head back, but she still managed to mark him just below his eye.  He then lashed out with both hands at once; one hand grabbing her wrist with the knife, the other slamming his fist into her face, knocking her head back and rocking her on her heels.  He then twisted her wrist and the old man could hear it cracking as she cried out in pain and dropped the dagger to the floor.  

        “You and your husband and your brat of a child will all die tonight, my dear Eloise,” Loric growled at her, blood beginning to drip from just below his eye.  He pulled her closer to him, slamming her body against his in his anger.  She kicked at him but it was useless against his armor.  “It is your own fault, you know,” Loric sneered at her, contempt lighting up his dark green, some would say beautiful eyes.  “Your dear husband forgot the most important rule: never become too popular to the masses, or especially to the army, and never more popular than the King Himself!” He then grasped her throat with both hands and raised her off the ground a full four inches by her neck alone.  “And now the whole kingdom will hear how the dear beloved Grand Marshall in a drunken stupor killed his wife and set fire to his own home, killing himself and his son in a suicidal rage!”  He chuckled, “How sad, really.  Goodbye Eloise, it’s too bad, I rather liked you.”  With that the old man saw Loric snap his wife’s neck like a twig, his heart breaking with the same motion, the resounding snap of her neck breaking snapping his soul asunder.  

        Loric carelessly dropped her lifeless body to the floor, and looked down on her for just a moment longer.  Something almost like sadness touched his eyes then, but it was soon gone.  Quickly he strode to the fire place and began pulling out the fiery logs and tossing them about the room.  The old man noticed that even though Loric thrust his hands deep into the fireplace, his hands never burned or smoldered or were harmed by the flames.  With his work done and the drawing room already catching on fire, Loric looked around one last time at his handiwork.  He nodded to himself and made his way to the front door, the firelight making eerie reflections of his almost white armor, his green eyes, and his pointed ears.

        The old man continued to gaze upon the scene before him, unable even if he knew how, to break away from what lay before him.  After several minutes of staring at his dead wife lying upon the floor, he again looked upon himself lying passed out on the couch.  That was when he saw himself stir, cough, choking on the fumes from the already spreading fire, and come awake.  He saw himself in a daze look down at his wife; saw her laying there with an obviously broken neck.  He spun around the room, barely comprehending what was going on, and then he rushed upstairs to return a few moments later with his only son bundled up in his arms.  He barreled his way out the front door and onto the grounds beyond.  He laid his son on the ground and made sure he was breathing, and was about to turn around and go back for Eloise, when he heard a voice come from nearby.

        “Oh this will not do,” he recognized Loric’s voice from beside him.  “I am quite glad I stayed behind to make sure of a job completed. Well now, how should I handle this?”  The old man saw himself turn and regard Loric with puzzlement in his eyes.

        “Please, we must go back in,” his younger self said, “Eloise is still inside, we have to get her!” He grabbed Loric’s shoulder and turned to make his way back inside the burning house.  Loric, however, lashed out with his fist and slammed him in the back of the head, knocking him out instantly and dropping him to the ground.  

        Loric leaned over the unconscious body, muttering to himself.  “I should just break his neck now too. Or,” and his green eyes lit up, “I can just make him wish he was dead.”  The old man then watched as Loric rolled his younger self over and laid his hand upon his fire reddened brow.  “Now, Jarred, my dear friend, remember for the rest of your days how you killed your beloved wife, ah how I wish I could be there to see you torment yourself for so many years to come! But alas I fear you will take your own life much too soon. No matter, it will be amusing watch while it lasts!”  Loric chuckled to himself and rose from Jarred’s prone body.  He made to walk away, but paused by the sleeping form of his son.  “Let’s just take you with us, shall we?” he smiled to himself, “We’ll let him think for a while that he killed you too; now that I have to see!”  Loric slung the boy’s body over his shoulder and walked away.  

        The old man, watched in stunned disbelief all that had transpired before is very eyes.  He couldn’t believe it, yet to the depth of his soul he knew it was true.  As his old self watched the flames consume all his hopes and dreams, the flames also burned away something he had carried with him for over twenty years: guilt.  Guilt at what he had done to Eloise, what he had almost done to his son, and what he had done to himself ever since then.

        “Walk towards the flames father,” he heard that soft, firm voice say in his head, “let it cleanse you, renew you, turn what they made your funeral pyre into something that births you anew.”  With those words the once Grand Marshall Jarred Nash walked into the flames of his burning home, the heat blasting away the years of scars on his soul, burning away all the tears shed, turning to ash the mountains of guilt he had built, igniting in him a new life, where once it brought destruction it now brought…the truth.

        The onlookers in the Twisted Shiv sat in wonder for several minutes as the young man held the old barkeeper in that awkward position, no one daring to interfere.  Then suddenly the old man popped upright and shook his head.  He stood taller than anyone there had ever seen him, and that was when they realized he had never stood to his full height, some dread weight seemed to always drag him down, but now it seemed to be gone.  The old man looked at the younger man then, and for the first time ever the townsfolk saw an incredible sight: the old man smiled.

        “My Son,” the old man said, “you have saved me.”  Tears once again came from his eyes, but this time they were tears of joy.  “How,” he began, “how did you do this?  Why did you do this?  Why after all this time?”  He searched his son’s face, seeing him again after so long, he looked so much like his mother, his heart broke, but again as with his tears it was with joy.  

        Arlen looked up at his father, as large a weight off his own soul as was off his father’s, his own tears gently slipping from his eyes. “I have accepted a task, father; and to complete this task I have been given a gift.  With this gift I will show people the truth, and no one can stand against the Truth father, in the end of all things all that is left is the Truth.”

        “Who gave you this gift my son, and why did you accept this task?”  Wonderment showed on Jarred’s face, a pride in his son he never thought to know again.  

        Arlen chuckled, “The Truth gave itself to me father, if I could bare it, if I was not destroyed by it, if I had the strength to shoulder it and to give it to others.”  Arlen smiled at his father, “My task will take me to places I never thought I’d see, and I fully expect to perish before the end father, but I wanted you, above all others, to know the truth.”  

        Once again the onlookers in the Twisted Shiv stared in wonder as the old sour barkeeper who had never smiled in all his twenty years in their town, reached across the bar and grabbed the younger man and embraced him.

                                                                                                                                        

Chapter Six

        Catti was in the middle of affixing a very delicate (for dwarven standards) handle to a silver tea pot when she first heard the call.  At first it failed to intrude into her mind, as focused as she was on her task.  She was one of the finest silver crafters in clan Silver Shield, and took her duties very seriously.  Finally the rhythmic pulsing of the assembly gong wound its way into her awareness, intruding into her thoughts without disturbing the pattern of her work, until she could put down her tools and bring herself back to the here and now.  She always lost herself in her work like that, everything else in the world fading away until all that was left was her and her silver.  It made things easier that way.  It was the only time she was truly content, the only time she could shut out those feelings of being stuck in one place forever and it slowly driving her insane.  

        When she wasn’t wrapped up in her work, she was always out exploring the new diggings, poking around the newly exposed caverns and peering into long shafts they would occasionally find that seemed to dive into the earth forever.   What she was really looking for however was a way out.  She enjoyed the work she did for the Master, but the thought of spending the rest of her long life trapped down in these mines had started to chafe away at her sanity about five years ago. Doing the same thing, day after day, month after month, decade after decade wore her spirit down.  At first it was just a minor nuisance every now and then, easily shut away and dismissed; but as time wore on those thoughts became more and more insistent, harder to push away, and they would come back sooner and even stronger than before.  She went to sleep thinking about it, and woke up the same way, and only her work and her exploring could bring any amount of solace to her.  She knew there were no physical blockades that forced her to remain, but the Clans’ pride and debt owed to the Master were more formidable barriers than any mortal could fashion.  She couldn’t walk out the front, so she delved into the depths of the caverns and tunnels as often as she could.

        This time though, as she put down her tools and clearly heard the assembly gongs, her borderline manic thoughts could not take hold.  She heard the call, and she knew something was different.  

        She quickly jumped up from her bench, the tools of her trade forgotten, left lying scattered on her work table.  She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, heedless of anyone or anything in her way, her breathing rough and ragged as pushed her way past others also making their way to the Clan Hall.  This was no ordinary summons to the Hall.  The beat and pattern of the call signaled an emergency gathering, and required all those able bodied of any age and station to immediately cease what they were doing and gather as quickly as possible in the Hall.  This call was also different because it did not have the added test drill sequence that had been a part of every call like this she had ever heard in her life.  This was the real thing, and thank the gods, as horrible as it sounded, she was glad for it.  

        After an eternity she reached the Clan Hall.  It was a huge cavern that was basically shaped like a cone with tiered stone benches carved out of living rock; largest in diameter at the top, getting smaller as they descended the huge pit, until the lowest tier was even with a huge platform in the center.  The Elders alone were allowed to sit on the lowest tier, with the rest of the tiers being first come first serve.  The entrance Catti came out of was about halfway down the pit, a decent place to sit and still get a good view of the platform, yet she pushed herself down even further, something driving her that she could not explain.  

        She stopped suddenly in her tracks as she got a good first look at who was on the platform.  At first she did not recognize him,  standing so grim and fierce, maybe a bit taller than she remembered him; he stood with his legs braced apart, both his hands resting on the butt of a huge War Hammer with its head on the platform.  He scanned the Hall as people came pouring in, nodding to those he knew well, and then he caught sight of Catti.  

        She and Grommel had been friends for years; he was one of the very few who knew about her desire for freedom, her need to escape from this living grave.  Lately she knew he had been having troubling thoughts as well, she could see them on his face when they talked, yet he would not speak to them to her.  She knew if she pressed him he might tell her, but she waited for the time to be right for him, like it was for her, so she did not push him.  

        They stared at each other for a moment, shock clearly present on Catti’s face.  Grommel smiled at her, and incredibly he winked at her!  Catti’s mind whirled; what did that mean? What in the name of the god’s was he doing up there, and why did he look…different?  He looked larger, sterner, fiercer; and yet at the same time he looked kinder and gentler than he already was, if that was possible.  There was something frightening and wonderful happening now, at this very moment, and she had never felt more alive.  

        She pushed herself to a good seat about 3 rows above the platform, having stepped on a few toes and pushed a few bodies aside to get there.  Once she was settled down she looked around her.  The Clan Hall was totally full.  It could seat over a thousand dwarves and there were still others in the passage ways stuck standing shoulder to shoulder. Voices raised anxiously, a wave of noise roiling about the Hall, washing over those in its way, leaving unrest in its wake.  Grommel looked all around as the voices played against him, craning his neck up to see those seated at the highest levels.  He looked almost serene to Catti, and her heart warmed, for she had always liked him deeply, and she knew he returned that feeling as well.  He lowered his head and scanned the Elders seated around him.  Standing on the platform surrounded by the Clan Elders was surely an intimidating experience, yet Grommel seemed not to be affected.  Actually it looked like he was judging them, not the other way around.  His gaze shifted from the Elders and found hers once again.  This time his mouth quirked to one side in that ironic grin of his that always drove her to distraction.  

        After a few more moments, Grommel lifted that huge Hammer and slammed it back against the platform.  The concussive sound exploded from the stone, silencing everyone immediately.  He nodded his head in satisfaction as he looked around.

        “Clansmen, hear me!” Grommel shouted.  Once again Catti was amazed; his voice was filling the entire Hall, which should have been impossible for one person.  What was going on?  A shiver ran up her spine in anticipation.

         “Clansmen!” he shouted again, “you know who I am.”  He looked around at the surprised and anxious faces around him.  “I have summoned you all here to witness the Truth!”  Confused voices broke out at that, nothing out of the ordinary had been happening for decades: the truth about what?  “Many of you know of the cave in yesterday that almost took my life,” he resumed, “but what you do not know, and what our Clans have not known for hundreds upon hundreds of years, is the Truth! The truth about how we came to be servants of the Master, how we became Slaves to the Master!” Shocked cries of outrage erupted at this; they had not come here to listen to blasphemy!  Grommel raised the head of his hammer a few inches and let it slam again onto the platform.  The resounding crack silenced everyone.  

        “I have no way to prove to you the Truth,” he said, his defiant look centered on the Elders.  “Yet someone else here does!” At that statement the voices began again, murmuring in confusion and still quite a bit of anger.  The Elders were looking at each other, totally lost as to what was happening.  Suddenly there was a commotion at one of the entrances on the lowest tier, and as Catti twisted around to look, she saw something no dwarf had ever seen in the Clan Hall since it had first been hewn out of the living earth over six hundred years ago.  A human.  

        Catti drew her breath in sharply.  No humans were ever allowed to enter the Clan Hall.  This was a sacred place for the Clans only, and to bring a human here was beyond comprehension.  She smiled wickedly; this was getting better and better!  

        The human made his way unhindered from the entranceway to the platform, the elders around him being too shocked and intimidated to try and stop him.  He was of average height for a human male, which was still taller than a dwarf; short cropped black hair, and he wore a black tunic, leggings and boots, with no insignia or markings on them.  As close as Catti was she could see the Human’s face, rather plain and average from what little she knew of humans. But his eyes, ah but his eyes, they grabbed a hold of her and wouldn’t let her go until they had plumbed the depth of her heart and gathered her measure, and then gently released her.  She shook her head slightly to break the spell as the human approached Grommel.  

        Once again Grommel slammed the head of his war hammer against the platform.  Again silence was the result.  He looked over to the human.  “I had been struggling with how to show you the Truth,” Grommel addressed the gathered assembly again, “but then this morning this one came to me, passing through our Master’s minions unnoticed and unscathed, and he approached me and spoke with me, and I knew his words as the Truth.”  Catti saw Grommel’s face take on a determined look.  “He said he came to me because he knew I had need of him. He said he would do for me whatever I asked of him, because he knew my task was Just.  He said the Truth led him here, to me, to us.”  Now curious, the elders and assembled clans people were held in rapt attention.  “I asked him,” Grommel concluded, “to show us all the Truth.”

        With that, the strange human walked to stand beside Grommel.  He reached out his right hand and laid it on top of Grommel’s grip on the butt of his hammer.  He looked straight up to the far off roof of the Clan Hall and with his left hand he drew the long sword strapped to his waist opposite a wicked looking short sword.  He lowered his head and looked Grommel straight in the eyes. In a soft voice he spoke to Grommel, seemingly for his ears alone, yet every soul in the Hall heard what he said: “Know then the Truth!” The human drove his long sword into the platform with a might defying his appearance, the blade easily piercing the billion year old stone, and in that same instant the platform burst into light, too bright to look at, burning at the eyes.  As all in the Hall looked away from the light in fear, they saw something take shape above Grommel and the strange human, a good twenty feet above their heads.  At first it seemed a glowing spinning ball of white and green, lighting strikes of blue flashing in and around it.  Then as the ball began to grow larger a scene began to reveal itself inside.  Frantically the Clan Elders made warding signs against magic. Dwarves had always been untrustworthy of magic, and had developed ways to combat and nullify magic around them.  These had no effect however, the assembled finally realizing that this was not magic they were witnessing, but something different.  

        The scene inside the expanding glowing sphere began to take the shape of a typical dwarven village of such as those that chose to live aboveground.  Curved and domed structures built up from the ground, shaped out of the earth itself with dwarven skill and their own type of magic. They filled a lush valley with a nearby waterfall, and also nearby was the structure of a mine entrance recently begun.  A hush fell over the Clan Hall, as those gathered recognized their own clan emblems and icons around the village, proudly displayed for all to see.  

        Time seemed to speed up inside the sphere, showing years of prosperity for this village; children born, the mine expanding and deepening, brigands repelled, the village spreading out and filling the entire small valley.  Then one day the Demons came.  They seemed to burst out of mid air, directly in the center of the village, and at the outer limits, both at once surrounding them and penetrating them.  Caught totally unawares, the dwarves still put up a valiant fight, even seeming to hold the demons to a standstill, for much of the demon’s magic would not work against dwarves.  Then a tide of rampaging humans attacked the village from both sides, overwhelming the stalwart defenders forcing them back to the center of the village, their children and aged in their center.  

        Suddenly there was a great burst of wind and the demons and humans froze in terror.  A great winged creature came flying over the valley, a long sinuous neck with a head full of razor sharp teeth, a body seemingly half as long as the valley itself, born on impossibly huge wings, the whole beast the color of the deepest part of the ocean, a blue so dark to be almost black, yet streaks of dark green and purple flashing off its massively sized scales.  The beast roared, and cries of “The Master, our Savior!” could be heard from those seated in the Clan Hall.  The beast banked over the village, and opening its maw, a great gout of ice blue flame erupted and shot out at the demons and humans.  They scattered before its might, fleeing in horror from the dread beast.  

        The Beast landed outside the village once all the demons and humans had fled.  The sphere showed the dwarven warriors gathering in front of the beast, while the young and old headed towards the mine entrance.  Once the dwarves reached the Beast, it spoke: “I have saved you from the marauding demons and their evil human allies,” spoke the deep rich voice of the Beast, almost hypnotizing in its effect.  The gathered dwarves before the Beast then asked why they Beast had saved them.  “I have long known of your village here and watched you grow and prosper over the years, and I decided to take pity upon you once you were about to fall to the demons.” The dwarven Elders came forward and expressed their gratitude, even though their fear of the Beast was obvious.  “I accept your thanks,” the Beast responded, dipping its head, “however this is only a temporary victory.  You must leave this valley!” The Clan Hall dwarves echoed their ancestors gasp of surprise at the Beast’s proclamation. “The demons and humans you fought are but the vanguard of a large army coming directly through your valley, on their way to conquest of a distant human nation.  The ones I scattered will return within the day with numbers far exceeding even what I can defeat.”  The dwarves lowered their heads in defeat. “Fear not, small ones, for I shall set your feet upon a path that will lead you to safety.  All able bodied warriors stay here and prepare a delaying force, while I shall take the rest of you and lead you to safety, to a place where you can dwell in peace and even greater prosperity for centuries to come.”  

        With that, the dwarves gave those not of fighting age, both young and old, into the care of the Beast.  The Beast led them off to the East, towards safety.  The sphere had shown the dwarves assembled in the Hall basically what they had all been taught about their rescue by the Master.  But the scene from the sphere did not end with the Beast taking the rest of the village away.  The scene inside the sphere continued showing the dwarves remaining behind making preparations to delay the next wave of demons and humans, to give the Beast enough time to lead their people away.  Several hours had passed and then the demons returned with their human allies.  There did not seem to be any more than the first time however, and the sturdy dwarves took heart.  Prepared this time as they were, they were a formidable force indeed, wrecking havoc and many casualties among their foes.  A great shadow over the valley heralded the return of the Beast. The dwarves cheered as the Beast turned its great horned head towards them.  Gouts of ice blue flame once again shot out of its mouth, yet this time the dwarves watched in terror as the flames hit their homes instead of the demons.   The flames came upon them in their bulwarks and turned them to ashes mid scream.  The Beast laid waste to the village and the dwarves in it in mere moments.  Where once had stood a prosperous, happy village, nothing but dust and ashes remained.  

        The Clan Hall had gone deathly silent.  Disbelief, shock, fear, anger; all these emotions played across the faces of that village’s descendents.  Catti felt something unlock within herself in that moment.  She was free. What she had been feeling all these years, it wasn’t her slowly slipping into insanity; it was something that was trying to tell her the truth.  A Truth she had just witnessed, that she and all t hose watching knew to the depths of their souls was the real truth.  This was no magic. This was no deception. It simply Was.  

        The final moments played out in the sphere, watched in a hall so silent one could hear the stone itself weeping at the scene.  The Beast looked upon the denuded valley, and then turned its head towards the demons and humans gathered before it.  “You have done well, my children,” the Beast said, “return now to whence you came until I have need of you again.”  With that the demons and humans all bowed to their Master; the demons then used their magic to depart, while the humans formed up in their ranks and marched away to some unknown place.  

        As the sphere faded away to nothing, Catti sat back on her bench, dumbly blinking in shock.  All these years…

        The human next to Grommel had sagged visibly during the sphere’s display, but once it had dissipated, he stood up straight again.  He removed his right hand from Grommel and his hammer, and with his left he withdrew and sheathed his sword, leaving a gash where it had pierced the stone.  Catti saw the human grasp Grommel by his right forearm, and was close enough to hear the words he spoke.  “The rest is up to you my friend,” the human said, “they know the truth now, but need you to guide them; and to deliver Justice in their name.”

        Grommel smiled sadly at the human.  “Thank you Arlen, you will always have my gratitude for what you have given us today.”  Catti saw the human named Arlen smile in return and drop Grommel’s arm.  

        “We shall meet again, Grommel, have no fear, you will have plenty of opportunities to repay me!”  With that, Arlen turned upon his heel and swiftly strode out the entrance to the Clan Hall, the dwarves he passed by too stunned to impede him.  Once he had departed the Clan Hall erupted like a volcano.  Shouts and curses of anger and frustration broke out in the hall, a violent tide of hate and shame and outrage crashing about the Hall in a mindless frenzy.

        Once more Grommel lifted his mighty hammer above the platform, this time raising it even higher, and with a heave he slammed it upon the platform with such force the platform cracked and shattered beneath the blow.  The thunderous crack cut through all the chaos and silenced it.  All eyes returned to Grommel.  

        “Hear me Clansmen!” he shouted, “you all know now that we have been betrayed and deceived all these centuries.  I know some of you had doubts and misgivings about our place here.  Those were not evil thought as the Master told us they were; they were the thoughts of our Ancestors trying to reach us, trying to tell us the truth about how we were lied to and tricked into centuries of slavery!  Finally now the time has come to throw off our shackles Clansmen, throw them off and win our freedom!”  Cheers and calls burst out from over a thousand throats to answer him.  “Tomorrow I leave this place! Forever! All who wish to can come with me.  I won’t stop until I’ve taken you home, to your real home, the kingdom our Ancestors left to build their village.  There you may or may not find peace, but you will be there of your own free will!”  Catti cheered along with the rest, tears of anger and joy streaming down her face. She saw Grommel turn his head and look at her.  He still looked mighty and somehow changed, yet to Catti she still saw the same old Grom she had known and grown up with all her life; kind, shy and maybe just a little bit frightened about all that was happening around him.  On impulse (which was no surprise to those that knew her) she dashed out of her seat and towards the platform.  She ran up the steps to Grommel, grabbed him in a huge hug and puller him close to her.

        “Thank you Grom,” she whispered “for giving me back my life.” Tears once again upon her face she looked into his eyes and planted a kiss on his lips that took his breath away.  Grommel didn’t hear any of the cheers or cat calls that followed.

        

        

        The next morning Grommel waited impatiently as the Clans gathered with their possessions and prepared to leave their home of the last six hundred years.  They were taking only what was necessary for the journey, which according to the Elders would take almost two years of nonstop travelling to reach their ancestral kingdom.  Two years if we make it past the Master, Grommel mused, about one day if we don’t.  Either way was good with him, at least they would do it as a free people.  Like that Being had told him, even if he failed he will have succeeded.

        Not a single Clan member had decided to stay behind.  No one could deny the truth they had felt in their hearts upon seeing what the strange human had shown them.  They may not have understood how he did it, but they believed it, and that was enough.  So belongings had been gathered; centuries of life pushed into bundles and carts and bags.  Food, water, craftsman tools, supplies; all the things the practical dwarves knew they would need for their trek, and for what was hopefully at the end of it.  

        Promptly one hour after what they calculated as dawn, all the Clans had gathered and were prepared to march.  The Iron Foot, the Silver Shield, the Double Axe, the Golden Anvil, the Fire Beards; the Dark Depths, the Mountain Hammer, the Valley Runner, the Bright Helm, and the Stone Walker.  All the Clans, all the people, all their hopes, all their fears, gathered before Grommel.  

        Grommel looked over the Clans, seeing faces he had know all his life, now looking somehow different.  It was the need, he realized, that was different.  Before yesterday they had looked at him like just any other clansman.  Today though, they looked at him with need.  They were a stout people, and knew they would not all make it in the end, but nonetheless they would follow him.  A brief panic swirled in the pit of his stomach, until he saw Catti’s face near the front of the Silver Shield Clan, and she winked at him.  He smiled and nodded, knowing that success or failure, it was the right thing to do, and he was the one to do it.  

        Without a word Grommel turned towards the way out, and set off.  Without a word, they followed.  

        It took the greater part of the day to traverse the tunnels leading up to freedom, for they had lived and mined down here so long the tunnel system was vast and winding and complicated.  The human servants of the Master were known to get lost on occasion, but never a dwarf.  Even once they were past the highest part of the tunnels any of them had ever seen, they still instinctively knew their way up and out.  Around mid day was when the first of the Master’s human slaves  realized something was out of the ordinary.  One human foreman was turning a corner headed deeper into the tunnels when he came face to face with over a thousand grim looking dwarves, lead by a dwarf carrying the largest hammer he had ever seen in his life.  He dropped what he was carrying and fled up back the way he had come.  About an hour later the dwarven Clans rounded another bend to find the way blocked and barricaded with huge rocks and boulders and wooden tables hastily erected to bar their way.  Human voices could be heard on the other side, worried and angry.  Without slowing his step, Grommel took up Aetrius in a two-handed grip and launched it towards the barricade.  Stone and dirt exploded out towards the humans, showering them in debris, knocking several of them to ground and burying them under the rubble.  

        The Clans continued their march, stepping over or on the humans in their way.  Grommel had the toughest dwarves up front with him, axes and hammers and bladed gauntlets ready to convince the humans to stay out of their way.  Several groups of humans tried to stand in their ground but quickly gave way before the determined march and weapons of the Clans.  No dwarven blood was shed, but the same could not be said for the humans in their path.  After so many centuries of having a docile group of dwarves at their disposal, the Master and his human slaves had grown complacent and lax about any kind of rigorous containment or guard requirements.  

        Gradually Grommel was becoming aware of a strange light ahead of him.  At first he did not recognize it; it had a different quality to it than torchlight did, and the brighter it got it seemed to hurt his eyes.  He was wondering what kind of human trickery it was when he heard someone behind him say, “Ack! What is that light? It hurts my eyes!”

        “It’s the sun you silly fool!” came Catti’s voice in answer.  Grommel chuckled to himself, he was glad he hadn’t asked the same question out loud!  It got steadily brighter in the tunnel leading out, and finally after most of a day of marching, the Clans emerged into the sun as a free people once again.  Grommel did not stop his march until all of the Clans had left the mine entrance.  There he called a halt, and it was a good thing he did, for the dwarves were struck almost still in awe at the sights that awaited them above ground.  The sun, the trees, the hills, the sky, the grass, all these things they had never seen in their lifetime, was almost too much for them to comprehend.  They stared around them in wonder, and not a little fear, of the things their ancestors had around them every day, yet had been forbidden to them for centuries.  

        They also saw what was left of the Master’s humans who had not fled at the sight of the Dwarven Clans on the march.  A few dozen humans still remained around the east to west stretching valley leading into the mine.  Tools and equipment lay scattered about the ground, shacks and out buildings haphazardly built with no apparent design or organization dotted the valley as well.  None of the humans approached them, most looked dazed and confused and about to run.  

        Grommel breathed in deeply.  The fresh air, it was something so strange, almost too much to bear like the sunlight.  Maybe not any better than the air deep down in their mines, but definitely different.  He could smell the flowers and moisture in the air, scents not present deep in the caves for sure.  He felt a hand upon his shoulder, and turned to find Howdin Stone Foot beside him.  “Why have we stopped Grommel? Do we need to deal with these humans?” Howdin looked with distaste at the grubby humans still rooted to their spots around them.  

        “No, Howdin,” Grommel replied looking him straight in the eyes.  “Here is where we demand Justice.  Here is where we face our so called Savior. Here is where we judge the Master.” Howdin’s eyes went wide with surprise, but then hardened in understanding.  He nodded at Grommel and squeezed his hand on his shoulder.

        “So be it then lad.”  

Howdin returned to his Clan, and the dwarves stood stoically, awaiting the hand of justice, one way or the other.  

        They didn’t have to wait long.  

        Grommel was scanning the horizon in all directions when he heard one of the dwarves shout, “Look! Coming over the mountains! It’s coming straight for us!”  Grommel spun around to where the dwarf pointed; along with all the others there he saw one of the most frightening sights he would ever see in his long life.  

        He had always known the word “dragon” but had never really put it into context with reality.  Now he was getting a crash course in reality, as the dragon crested the top of a nearby mountain to the east, even at this distance it seemed impossibly huge.  That it was so far away and already so large sent a frightened tremor through all the dwarves, including Grommel.  He gripped Aetrius even harder to steady himself for his first sight of the Master.  

        Alarmingly quickly the shape grew larger.  It must be moving incredibly fast, a fact not lost on the assembled dwarves.  Grommel looked back at the dwarves, and was filled with pride at what he saw.  Even though it was obvious they were anxious and startled, they stood their ground with stubborn determination, and some even raising their weapons in defiance and anger.  Instead of frightened cries he heard angry shouts as the dragon drew ever closer to its former slaves.  

        Within minutes the dragon had covered the distance from the mountain leagues away to just within a mile of the dwarven mine.  That something so huge could even fly, even with magic, was astounding.  Easily six hundred feet from head to tail, with a wingspan of at least half that, the creature flew with a grace that defied nature.  This creature appeared larger than the creature in the viewing in the Clan Hall; Grommel could not tell if this was due to some kind of magic or if it had just grown larger in the last six hundred years.  The dragon did indeed still have that same beautiful deep sea color, its scales flashing sunlight off them in blinding sparks.  Majestically curled horns topped its long snout and head, which sat atop a long sinuous neck attached to a body as solid as a mountain itself.  Long wicked claws extended form all four thick limbs of the beast, and its massive wings beat at the air in total command of its surroundings.  Even from this far away Grommel could see the golden color of its eyes contrasting so sharply with the dark blue-green of its body.  

        The beast hovered for a moment, and then shot like an arrow, a gargantuan terrifying arrow, straight at the dwarves.  

        The dwarves went totally silent as the beast fell towards them.  Grommel raised Aetrius up as if to fend the dragon off, yet at the last possible moment the beast veered off and landed with thunderous impact on the northern side of the valley, well above Grommel and the dwarves.  The ground shook and some of the dwarves fell to the ground as it landed; a huge cloud of dirt and dust billowed out from beneath the behemoth, spilling down into the valley and covering the dwarves in a shroud of a promised burial.  

        Grommel coughed as the dust tried to smother him and his clansmen, and without thinking he raised Aetrius above his head.  A great gust of wind raced down from the east and channeled into the valley, driving before it the dust and dirt that threatened to drown them all.  The wind whipped and flew through and around the dwarves, toppling more of them to the ground, but in its wake it had pushed the dirt and dust beyond the dwarves to the west, up and over the mine entrance, to scatter harmlessly on the plain.  He lowered Aetrius and scanned the dwarves to make sure there were no obvious injuries.  They looked frightened, but not hurt.  They helped their neighbors to stand up, and along with Grommel turned to face their Master.  

        The dragon sat in silence above them, turning its head this way and that; it looked at the dwarves, at the mine entrance and then towards the humans who foolishly remained.  The dragon’s eyes focused on the frightened humans.  Grommel felt his stomach clench.  

        Instantly all the humans heads snapped around to look directly at the dragon.  Their eyes seemed to lose focus, as if seeing something not there, and then the screams began.  Terrifying, horrible screams of primal agony and fear ripped out of their throats as they started clawing at their own eyes and faces, spouts of blood shooting out as they tore into their own flesh.  Fingernails gashed across noses, lips, digging and ripping, their howls growing to a fevered pitch as their skin parted showing muscle and even bone beneath.  The humans fell to the ground writhing in agony, thrashing in the dirt, yet still they tore at themselves with a frenzy and abandon that made the dwarves sick to look at, and yet they could not tear away their eyes from this horrifying moment.  Finally the shrieking faded away as the humans, flesh and blood and fluids mixed in with the dirt around them, ceased their thrashing as blessed death finally embraced them and ended their agony.  Feces and urine mixed in with the dirt as well as they had lost all control of their bodies as they died in agony, giving birth to a smell unlike any they had encountered before: the smell of horribly violent and evil death.  

        “They did not deserve that, Monster!” Grommel screamed at it.  The dragon swung its beautiful head towards Grommel, and a voice that threatened to shatter his skull seemed to speak directly to his mind.

        “They failed me, slave,” the overwhelming voice spoke into his mind, “as you are failing me now.   Return to your mines AT ONCE!”  Grommel was driven down to his knees, the voice exploding out of his mind, he could easily see how the humans had torn their own faces off to try and escape it.  

        Suddenly Grommel felt his hand on Aetrius grow warmer.  He concentrated on that warmth, focused on it, clung to it as an anchor and slowly began to drag himself up from the agony.  He forced the pain down, moment by horrible moment, growing more confident and stronger as he succeeded in pushing it away.  After what seemed like forever he squashed the pain into nothing, and stubbornly stood back to his feet.  

        As Grommel stood, he sensed surprise and anger from the dragon.  Grommel quickly realized the beast was not just projecting its voice into his head, but that a part of its mind was actually inside his head, trying to dominate him like it had the humans.  Grommel smiled.  

        Dwarves are stubborn, resistant, and just generally contrary by nature, and had always possessed an inherent resistance to magic not of their own making.  Since his encounter with Justice in the mines, Grommel knew he had been changed in some fundamental ways, but he hadn’t really had the time yet to fully explore them.  He knew he was far stronger than even the mightiest dwarf in the mines, quicker, and hardier.  He seemed to suddenly know things he had no notion of the moment before when he needed to know it; and he obviously possessed some kind of power of his own to make things happen.  He wouldn’t necessarily call it magic; it was just there when he needed it. Like now.  

        Grommel grasped at the presence in his mind with his own.  He felt shock and surprise and not a little anger as he was able to grapple with it and after a few moments he was able to break its hold over him.  For just the briefest moment, Grommel was able to actually See into the dragons mind, and what he witnessed there he would never speak of to anyone, save to say it was immense, ancient beyond belief, supernatural in its power, and totally twisted.

        Grommel and the dragon tore their minds free from each other with an almost audible snap, and for several moments just stared across at one another.  Grommel shook his head to clear it, drew in a deep breath, and spoke softly even though he knew all present in the valley and the dragon above them could hear him clearly.  

        “I know you dragon,” he began.  He could feel the surprise from both the dragon and his own people as he said it.  “I know your name as Haylon.”   The dragon visibly shook in anger at this.  “I have seen some of what you have done in your long life.  I now know why you were created, and what your purpose was, and how over the centuries you corrupted that purpose out of your own greed and pride.  It is not these humans or us that have failed you; it is you that have failed us!”

        The dragon now exposed to all as Haylon reared back on his hind legs, extended his neck to its full length and let loose a roar to deafen all those in the valley.  The valley shook as violently as it had upon his landing, boulders sliding down the valley walls, cracks ripping open in the ground, the mine entrance collapsing in on itself in an avalanche of ruin, the dwarves scrambling for cover where none was to be found.  Haylon dropped back down to all four limbs as his roar ended, and turned his terrible head towards the dwarves in the valley.  Haylon’s voice boomed out for all to hear this time:  “Burn!”

        He opened his mouth and gouts of blue fire shot out, pouring over the dwarves like an ice storm made of flames.  Grommel again without thinking thrust Aetrius high up in the air and instantly felt his hand catch on fire as Aetrius acted like a lightning rod to the flames, siphoning them all into the hammer, drinking in its life ending power.  Grommel gasped in pain and shock and almost dropped Aetrius then and there, but he tightened his grip even more.  He sank to his knees again in pain, tears of blood trickling down his face as his hand and now his arm were engulfed in blue flames.  It felt like his skin was being slowly peeled away, layer by layer, his nerve endings slowly melting and turning to ash, each moment a lesson in mind altering pain.  With a roar of Rage Grommel thrust himself to his feet again.  He couldn’t see his arm within the blue flames that had engulfed it and surrounded Aetrius.  With a snarl of pain he cocked his arm back and threw Aetrius at Haylon, not even knowing if he would be able to let go of the hammer.  Miraculously the hammer released from his hand and flew unerringly at the dragon.  Unbelievably Aetrius grew in size as it raced towards the dragon, larger and larger, pulsing with power barely contained, fighting to release, and eager to destroy.  It didn’t even look like a hammer anymore, just a flaming blue meteor headed straight at the dragon.  

        Haylon stared at the meteor streaking towards him in disbelief.  This was not possible. No mortal had ever overcome his will.  No mortal had ever defeated his magic.  How dare he even try? I will crush him! I will strip him flesh from bone! I will devour his people and fertilize the plains with their residue! I will unleash upon mortals such fury as they have not known since the gods fought amongst them!  I am as old as time! I will not be denied my anger! You will all burn!

        Haylon reared back, gracefully weaving his head out of the hammers path, and gathered unto himself his most destructive powers to unleash upon the mortal daring to defy him.  Pain suddenly exploded from the side of his head.  Confusion and agony flooded his mind for an instant, and he almost fought his way clear of it.  He didn’t realize he was falling until his head cracked upon the valley wall near the dwarves.  It was a titanic collision, the impact pushing Haylon over the brink and into darkness.

        He woke.  He could hear voices as he groggily raised his hand to the side of his head to probe for any permanent injury.  He shook his head as his vision began to clear, blinking the dust and dirt out of his eyes.  He pulled his hand away from his head and saw the blood on his fingers.  

        Fingers?

        Panic exploded in Haylon. I don’t have fingers! I have fingers! And arms, and legs! What have you done to me! He scrambled to his feet, falling backwards as he realized that the mortal and his followers were surrounding him.  He stood in the center of them, frantically running his hands all over his body, a crazed look in his eyes as he processed consciously what his worst fears had already told him.  

        “Why didn’t you just destroy me mortal?’ Haylon demanded of the dwarf.  “What have you done?”  He realized his voice was shaking, his whole body was trembling, and he was helpless to stop either.  So helpless: a feeling so alien to him that he didn’t even know what to call it.  Until now.

        “The Master is judged,” the dwarf said to him.  Haylon looked at the dwarf, was that a look of pity on its face? Rage built up inside Haylon and he made as if to strike at the impudent dwarf and wipe that look off its face.  He raised his arm but then found he was so weakened that he fell over to the side, crushing his arm underneath him, bringing a whimper of pain.

        “You are still weak after your judgment Haylon,” the dwarf said, that irritating voice grinding in his skull.  “But you will survive, for a very, very long time.”  Haylon twisted his upper body painfully and awkwardly to look at the dwarf.  He had his hammer back in his hands, and his hands didn’t seem to be injured or burned at all.  Amazing.  

        “Who are you mortal?” he rasped, “and how do you dare do this to me?” He wheezed again as dust caught in his throat.  “Know that those who created me and gave me my purpose will not suffer their creatures to be abused like this!”

        “Those that created you are no longer,” the dwarf retorted, “and they left you here and gave you a purpose indeed!  A purpose you have perverted and subjugated to your own desirers!  It’s not Who I am that should concern you once-dragon, once-master, but it is What I am that you should be asking.”  The dwarf walked next to Haylon, crouched down and leaned near his head. He looked Haylon straight in the eyes, and softly said “I am the hand of those who cry out for Justice.  I am the voice who will not be silenced.  I am the Judge come to pass sentence.  You are the first of many to be judged, and your punishment will be true.  You are now as we once were.  We were once slaves, shackled to your will and whim, helpless in your grasp.  Now you are that slave.  Your body barely strong enough for work and forever lacking any great skills, your mind locked away from your powers, your tongue lacking any wit, your face horrible to look at.  You shall suffer and toil and strive under the yoke of those who think they are better than you, yet you shall never make any progress.  Yet you will survive, that is the worst punishment of all, my once master.  You will survive no matter what happens to you, no matter how much you wish you were dead.  You will walk this earth until your judgment is complete.  However many lifetimes that takes.”  

        Haylon stared in horror at the dwarf.  He could feel the judgment being passed onto him, and knew it to be true.  He felt dizzy as he watched the dwarf stand up, brush off his legs, and turn to his followers.  “Now my friends,” He heard him say, “it is time for us to go home.”  The dwarf who moments before was grim and full of judgment was now smiling at the others, a bright light in his eyes, a bounce in his steps as he moved among them.  A female dwarf came out of the surrounding crowds and hooked her arm around his waist.  Haylon felt bile rising up in his throat.  The dwarf smiled at the woman, and the crowd parted for them as they made their way through them.  

        Haylon dropped his head back onto the ground and closed his eyes as for the first time in his existence tears formed and fell down his cheeks.  They went unnoticed however by the Dwarven Clans as they began their march home, and left their one time master in the dust.

Chapter Seven

        He stood before the gates of Cair Eldeira, the last great capital of a proud people.  He looked up to the parapets at the guards there, staring down at him, and who he held in his arms.  He turned and looked behind, more guards who had followed him down from the hill, who had known not to interfere.  Turning back to the gates, he lifted up his voice:

        “Open these gates before your Queen!”

        As if released from a trance, the guards burst into activity.  Within moments the massive gates began to open, moving silently and quickly, Elfen engineering and craftsmanship at its finest.  Even at night the glory of the Elfen city was impossible to ignore.  Subtle lighting was all that was necessary for a race that could see almost as well at night as in full daylight.  Functionality merged with beauty and legendary skill were the hallmarks of Elfen architecture, and nowhere was this more evident than the capital of their great nation.  Nature found a home in the capital as well, never far from the hearts of the truly Elfen.  Great ancient strands of a variety of trees wound their way through the city, providing both shade and beauty, never seeming to intrude upon the efficiency of the streets and paths and alleys.   Wildly different types of architecture found a home here, from the high and mighty arches and pinnacles to the low and sturdy block construction, all pieced and woven together into a perfect tapestry of function and beauty.

        Down these streets he carried the Queen, and whether she was dead or alive those watching could not tell, and for some reason they could not articulate, they did not dare ask the strange man or interfere with his progress. Even the guards merely followed at a respectful distance, more like a funeral procession than an escort.  The man kept his eyes forward as he carried her through the capital, yet he saw everything around him, drinking it in, very proud indeed of the statement this city made: about how his people had grown over the millennia, how they had kept their sense of purpose and survival, but had somehow managed to find the beauty in life as well.   All around him he saw the evolution of a once wickedly destructive race that had finally found their soul, and it softened his heart.  

        Finally he reached the gates of the Queen’s palace grounds.  He knew it also served as the gathering assembly of the Elfen Legates, the body of learned Elfen whose duty it was to advise and council the Queen.  The Queen’s Guard had already opened the gates before his arrival, so he proceeded unimpeded towards the palace itself.  As he approached the main doors to the palace, he encountered his first resistance.  Blocking the front doors were the Legates themselves, milling about anxiously, muttering worriedly, quieting down somewhat as they caught sight of the man carrying their Queen.  

        The man’s nostrils flared as he caught the scent of the Legates.  He smelled something he should not smell here, and what could explain a lot about the present situation the Elves found themselves in.  He stopped about 30 feet short of the advisors, staring at them, holding their Queen in his arms. Gradually all became silent, simply staring at him, some of the faces anxious and worried or frightened, and some…not.  Finally one of them in front cleared his throat and spoke.

        “What have you done with our Queen?” he demanded, his back straightening, his voice becoming clear and strong.

        “Do you not recognize me Legate?” the man asked, looking down at the Queen in his arms.  “Do you not remember why your Queen was on Riftbreaker Hill?”  The Legates eyes widened at this, some of the fear creeping back into their eyes.  “I am here, holding her before you, because she succeeded.”  As one the Legates took a step backwards as if pushed by an invisible hand.  

        “Has she perished then?” asked the Legate, finding his voice.  “Ah Elliana,” he whispered shaking his head, “What will we do without you?”

        “Let me pass,” the man said, “your Queen has yet to decide if she has perished or not, and I would have her decide in her own chambers, in her own palace, in her own homeland.”  The Legates mumbled in confusion at his words, but they did part before him, the Legate in front striding to the doors to open the way for his Queen.  As the man passed into the palace, the Legates filed in behind him, leaving the guards outside, taking their place as her escort.  

        As the procession made its’ way to the Queens chambers, the man drank in the beauty of the architecture of the palace.  Again he was struck by the statements made here: these were a people forged in death and war, yet emerging from it they developed into a conscious people, aware finally of the dark and the light, and they chose the light.   Without being told where to go, the man came to the Queen’s chambers, halting outside her doors, and turned around to look at the Legates.

        “You may come no further,” he told them, “what happens now is up to your Queen alone.”  The Legates looked as if they would argue, but the one who spoke before quieted them down.

        “He is right,” he said to the others, staring them down. “There is nothing we can do for her now, trust in our Queen, alive or not, to do what is best!” He glared at the others until they ceased their grumbling and lowered their eyes in submission.  Satisfied, the old Legate turned back towards the man holding their Queen, sadness in his eyes, but iron in his voice.  “Take her then Riftbreaker, and when you are done we will see what fate awaits the Elfen.”

        Adian Riftbreaker looked the Legate in his eyes and nodded.  He turned to the doors and kicked them open, the force banging the doors to the walls behind them.  He left the Legates behind, staring at him beyond the threshold, and strode past all the trappings of a Queen’s chambers, and made straight for her bed. He willed the doors closed behind them, and then he gently laid her upon her bed, fastidiously arranging her head on her pillow.  Once he had her laid out to his satisfaction, he knelt next to her bed and placed his hand on her forehead as he closed his eyes.  

        The Riftbreaker slowed his breathing, marveling at the fact that he was breathing again at all, and let his mind slowly reach out to that place in between, looking for what was left of Queen Elliana.  Having had some familiarity with being dead but not gone to the final rest, he knew exactly where to find her soul; a peaceful Limbo type of place, it didn’t have a name, as none there cared what it was called, only that they were no longer in pain, even if they were not in the Final Presence, they were at least not in torment.  There he found her, her soul wandering aimlessly in wonder as the newcomers there normally do, no real sense of time to anchor or bother them.  

        She saw him coming, at first fear in her eyes, thinking she had failed, but then realization dawning and the fear changed to puzzlement.  The Riftbreaker took his first good look at her, having not paid much attention to her physical body since bodies often were misleading about who truly resided within, but looking at her soul, the real Queen of the Elfen.  He smiled as he truly saw her for the first time.  She had a beautiful soul, reminding him of his own long lost love like a spear through the heart.  Strong, wise, courageous, and unflinchingly in love with her people to the point of laying down her own life to bring them Hope.  She smiled back at him, brightening the dull surroundings with a radiant light.  

        “My Queen,” he began, bowing to her, “First and foremost I must thank you for your gift.  There was only one way I could breach the Veil of Tears and take on a physical body again, and that was the death on your side of a willing sacrifice to take my place.”  

        “It was done willingly,” Elliana replied softly, “and it was done happily.  I would trade my own life a dozen times over to give my people a chance to survive the coming times.”

        “You are a true Queen in every sense of the word Elliana,” the Riftbreaker responded, “standing strong for your people in times of strife, willing to put their needs before your own, even unto death.  But there is one point on which you are not correct.”  Elliana raised an eyebrow at him and nodded for him to continue.  The Riftbreaker nodded in consent and continued speaking.  “There was someone with you, someone who was given the authority to broker an agreement between myself and…Someone Else.”  He could tell Elliana was now very intrigued, and the now mortal part of him couldn’t help but grin inside.  “I was offered a chance to redeem myself, a chance to obtain the Final Presence, the final peace.  You called the Riftbreaker as the final hope of your people my queen, and now that is what I am.  I am Hope.  If I fulfill that hope, whatever it is, then I have been promised the final reward that the terrible acts I committed in life denied me all these millennia.  My last actions as Elfin before my death were enough to spare me from the abyss, but not enough to gain me the Final Presence.  Now, thanks to you and your love of our people I have been granted that hope.”  

        Queen Elliana stared in wonder as she listened to the Riftbreaker’s story, questions flying through her mind but not daring to ask them, yet.  The Riftbreaker grinned as if reading her thoughts.  “Your willing sacrifice of your own life to bring me into the mortal realms again has left you here, not because you do not deserve the Final Presence, which you most definitely do, but because you have now a choice to make.” Surprise showed on her face at this, and she looked around again at the dull and peaceful yet empty presence around her.  “Your choice, my queen, is to take the last step into the Final Presence you have gained for yourself, or to return with me to the realm of mortals to guide your people one last time after a lifetime of service to them.  I myself can provide that guidance, but they will fear me even as they need me.  With your hand present it will give them the courage they will need to make use of the Hope I bring.  I can promise it will be difficult, as was promised to me, but my heart tells me you would not leave your people at a time such as this. What say you my queen?”

        “I say you already know the answer or you would not have come to find me Aidan Riftbreaker, Founder of the People, Scourge of the Gods, Destroyer of Worlds, First Rider of the Legion of Ruin,” Queen Elliana answered, “and you are correct, if my people need me I will be there even past death to guide them and give them what courage I can.”

        Aidan Riftbreaker bowed from the waist down before the Queen.  “My Lady, you are the culmination of what we began so long ago when we first awoke from the blood and death our masters would have had us stay chained to for all eternity, doing nothing but their bidding, till the end of times.  But we are free now! And free we shall remain till there are none of us left under any sun.  Take my hand my Queen, your people need you.”  With that, Elliana, Last Queen of the Elfen took the hand of Hope into hers.

        Outside the Queen’s chambers, the Legates continued to wander around, mostly in a daze, discussing in hushed tones what had transpired.  The Riftbreaker! The name itself struck fear into the hearts of the Legates; the prophecies of his return all ending in the destruction of the Elfen on this world, and only some of them hinting at a hope beyond that.  Mordinne, the Chief Legate and the one who had finally spoken to the Riftbreaker, stood apart from the others, leaning on an ornate column to the side of the Queen’s chambers, listening to the ebb and flow of the conversations amongst the other Legates.   His mind was clouded in worry, yet a part of him could not help but thrill in the fact that the Riftbreaker was in the very next room.  Dread and excitement warred within him; he knew full well the implications of the Scourge of the Gods’ return, but damn it all, a part of him was more than willing to stand with him come what may.  He could tell from listening to his colleagues that several felt as he did, yet he noticed a few of the Legates openly questioning the wisdom of even letting the Riftbreaker into the capitol.  As if we could have stopped him, Mordinne thought to himself, but did not say out loud; several of the Legates had some unrealistic grandiose self images and reality did not sit well with them at times.  He noted to himself which Legates were trying to sow more fear than wisdom amongst the Legates, to some success it seemed.  He had always had his doubts about some of the Legates, but as a whole the body seemed to be genuinely dedicated to advising the Queen truly and faithfully.  Listening to some of the conversations though, he was now beginning to doubt it.

        Mordinne was in the middle of following that line of thought to its ugly possibilities when the doors to the Queen’s Chambers burst open.  All conversation ceased mid sentence as the Legates spun around.  Before them stood Aidan Riftbreaker, Elf of legend and of horror, tall and proud, dressed now in all deep brown leathers, a blindingly polished white oak staff in his hands.  

        “Legates of Eldeire,” he said, staring them all down at once, “I present to you, your Queen.”  Out from behind the Riftbreaker, Queen Elliana strode forth from her chambers and into the main hall, into the midst of her Legates.  As one they all bowed down deep from the waste, not a word spoken, but Mordinne saw several faces, including his own, filled with joy; their beloved Queen was back among them.

        “My friends,” Elliana said softly yet regally, “I would not stand by and let these times come upon you and not be by your side.  Together, we have found Hope, we have found the Riftbreaker, and he will usher in the times we all fear and hope for.  We will do this together, as we always have, and we shall do what is best for our people, and we shall prevail.”  She looked around at some of her closest friends in the world, “Do I have your support?”  

        Mordinne, Chief Legate of the Council of Eldeire straightened up from his bow.  “My Queen you have our support, our hearts, our minds, our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor to stand with you.”

Elliana reached out her hand and touched Mordinne’s shoulder affectionately.  

        “You were always the most faithful dear Mordinne, and I know your heart is pure and your purpose clear.”  She turned to the others as well. “Come, Legates, we have a people to guide.”  She started walking through the throng of Legates, towards the council chambers, and the Legates all followed.  In their daze they failed to notice that the Riftbreaker followed them into the chambers as well, a very grim look upon his face.

        Once all were seated and some much needed wine had been called for the Queen asked the now obviously present Adian Riftbreaker to address the assembled councilors.  He strode and stood behind the Queen’s head seat at the council table.  

        “By now you all know who I am, and who I was; yet now you fear what I am to become.  Good. Fear is healthy councilors; it keeps you from doing foolish things.  However don’t let fear rule your judgment, because I also bring Hope.  Hope for our people to survive these times and if possible to experience a new beginning.  That is partially up to you however; if you give in to despair then all is lost.  If you grasp on to the hope, then you have a chance.”  Mordinne intently studied the Riftbreaker as he spoke and recognized the truth in his words.  He looked around at his fellow councilors and saw both fear and hope; that was as good as could be expected for now he presumed.  Mordinne watched as the Riftbreaker left the Queen’s seat and started walking around the councilor’s table.

        “The first step, ladies and gentlemen,” he resumed, hands cradling the bright white staff in his hands, “is to recognize a simple fact.  There are traitors among you!”  Shocked gasps sprang out at his claim, some calling out for him to be silent, how dare he make such accusations!

        Adian Riftbreaker looked up to Elliana, “Your Majesty, may I?” The Queen looked at her council, all men and women who had spent decades assisting her with their experiences and advice, some of them very dear to her.

        “Do what you must Riftbreaker,” she replied solemnly.  Adian spun around and pointed his staff at a council member.  

        “You sir reek of demon stench, it filled my nose as I approached you and almost made me strike you down then and there!” He spun around to another member then, “And you!” and then another, “And you!” as he pointed at each member they had frozen in place, literally paralyzed and unable to move.  “Have you not wondered how you always seemed to be one step behind your enemies?  How they seemed to know where our troops would be before they got there? How your economy would have failures when there was no clear reason?  Your Queen knew there were traitors among you, but did not have the means to detect them; they were so well hidden and entrenched in their roles for decades, even centuries in some cases.”  Mordinne saw the Riftbreaker coming around the table, and he stopped right next to him, behind the second oldest member of the council, his colleague Andrimas.  “And you,” he said as he places his hands on Andrimas’ shoulders, freezing him in place, “are the worst of all; your smell makes me want to retch upon the Queen’s floor, your stench tells of vile acts and disgusting rites, betrayals, deceits, murders and sacrifices to your dark lords. I would destroy you all right where you sit would it not be an unseemly site for those here who actually still love their Queen and their people.  But I will do this!”

        And with that he squeezed Andrimas’ shoulders even harder, and he and the others who had been exposed simultaneously screamed in utter terror and pain for several moments, then passed out, oblivious to the world around them.

        Queen Elliana then stood from her seat, and in shocked silence the remaining councilors turned towards her.  “This is the beginning Legates, perhaps the beginning of the end, but I have Hope, and now that we have been purged of those who would serve the very ones we struggle against, you can all hope again as well.  You said you support me, and now with those of you here I believe and accept your support.” She turned towards the guards standing around the perimeter of the chamber, “Take these fools to the dungeons, strip them, chain them, deny them their link to their true masters, and we will question them soon.”  The guards rushed in and quickly removed the unconscious ex-Legates from the room.

        Queen Elliana turned to the Riftbreaker and the Legates, her eyes alight with a fire none had ever seen, her words filling the room with Power: “Now, my friends, begins the painful part, the part we knew would come inevitably.  We will do this on our terms, in our own way.  Never before will our enemies have seen such fury as is about to be unleashed upon them; never before will they have heard the thunder of their own destruction fast approaching them; never before will they have felt the fear they will soon feel, for we are their Doom.  Legates of Eldeire send out the word to the scattered tribes of Elfen across the lands, to the farthest reaches, send out the word that We command that every last man, woman and child of Elfen blood come and strengthen us.  We will stand once again united against those who would see is destroyed.  Let us gird ourselves Legates, for the Elfen go to war!”

Chapter Eight

        Slowly, lovingly, he caressed her neck with his left hand, memories flooding back into his mind of the countless hours they had spent alone, just the two of them, escaping the world around them, finding their own special place where no one or no thing could interfere.  He delighted at her touch, thrilled and excited as he had ever been at the prospect of what was about to happen, the two of them joining into one.

        Slowly, lovingly, he drew his bow across her strings, coaxing the first notes out into the open, eliciting a sigh from his lips as he closed his eyes and let instinct and long habit take over.  Quietly at first the notes crept through the air, lightly dancing through the smoke and raucous laughter that filled room; then slowly as he moved his hands and fingers the notes became louder, more insistent, demanding to be heard, daring the room to silence, to listen, to experience, to believe.

        The tavern common room quickly became silent as the revelers caught the first strains of music coming from the stranger in the corner, a fiddle under his chin, a bow in his hand, and an achingly beautiful melody born on the strings.  The bartender stopped wiping his mugs, the serving wenches stopped still in their tracks, the customers who only moments before were full heartedly carousing and drinking settled back in their seats, closed their eyes and nodded their heads as they heard and understood.  

        As always the two did become one, but ever since that day when the old man had stopped him in the street, it was even more intense, more real, and more interactive with the world around them.  Usually he preferred to play in solitude, just him and her speaking their hearts to the uncaring, non judgmental, empty world around them.  Since that day though, he was compelled to play more and more in public, to share with others what he had long coveted for himself:  release.

        Slowly, lovingly their music comforted the listeners, telling them it was ok to hurt, to feel pain and anger, frustration and loss.  But it also wrapped around them and showed them they had a choice, they could be free, if they truly desired it, lest those feelings eventually drag them down to somewhere so dark and treacherous they might never find their way out again.  Their music filled more than just the room now, drawing people downstairs from the rooms above, the stable hands in from their work, wandering souls passing by outside.

        Their music brought tears to the eyes and heart, opened up doors thought long closed, reawakened memories long lost, rekindled emotions feared long dead.  As he plied his bow across her strings he could feel the power not just of the music, but of the Truth, and again showed to him how if people just listened without prejudice, they would understand.  And these people, these common, mostly non-educated, barely scraping by at the expense of their youth and strength people; they understood.  

        Slowly, lovingly, they brought their piece to its conclusion, the softly piercing final notes lingering in the air for several moments before the patrons realized it had finished.  A collective sigh escaped the now large crowd that had been called by the music, and then suddenly they erupted in cheers and applause and hoots and howls of appreciation.  Some turned to the Barkeep, “Who is this man?” they asked.  

        The Barkeep shrugged his shoulders in bafflement, and called out to the man, “I’d be obliged if you could stay for a while and play, I’ll make it worth your while good sir!”  The man, dressed in mostly loose fitting black clothing looked to the Barkeep, smiled, nodded and looked at the crowd around him.  

        He stomped his foot, raised his bow, and tore into a wild melody that folks swore really did bring fire out of the strings.  The crowd started stomping their feet and clapping their hands, yelling out with the rhythm as some even started dancing and not too gracefully swinging each other around the room as the music shot through their veins, igniting a fire and a passion that was seldom seen in their lives of back breaking work and difficult times.  

        Arlen smiled to himself as he watched the people dance and laugh and bounce into the walls and other tables and each other.  He had spent many years traveling all over the Kingdom since that fateful day in Ragea and one of the few delights left to him was moments like this.  Helping people let go of their daily worries and cares and just feel good for a few moments, it was worth a lot to him.          

        Many years of traveling and hiding in plain sight as a minstrel had shown him a side of people he never saw in the King’s Own.  The important side, their real side, the hard working good neighbor, the family struggling to make ends meet, the lost and forlorn clawing their way out of darkness; this was the important side of people he had never seen before, and he learned something new every day.  His eyes had been opened, even after having received the Truth, seeing the day to day struggle of everyday people.  

        That was one reason why he had been traveling so much, almost the breadth and width of the Kingdom of Cypria, avoiding anything near the capitol city of course! He had been trying to understand what made the backbone of the Kingdom tick.  The capitol and those closest to the king were almost totally corrupt he could see now.  Cypria was generally prosperous, with low sickness or disease rates, and for the most part there was order and peace.  But the Kingdom was ever on the move, ever growing, other kingdoms and nations either falling to military might, or succumbing to economic pressures and treaties and coming under the rule of an aggressive Kingdom that had been steadily growing for the last thousand years.  

        Arlen had been spending more and more time in the more recently added territories of the Kingdom of Cypria and had discovered something interesting.  The further from the capitol he traveled, the more alive and aware the people seemed.  There was a sort of malaise in the air in the oldest territories of Cypria, while they still went about their daily lives, the people seemed to lack color, lack a purpose, as if they were plodding along in their lives, no real ambition, like life was a chore to be endured, just waiting to die so they could get it over with.  Once in the outskirts though Arlen definitely found things different.  He preferred to spend most of his time in the newer territories because they seemed really alive, hard times or not they were living them one day at a time planning for a future.  

        Over time Arlen came to the conclusion that is was the constant reshaping of the nations and kingdoms that fell prey to the Kingdom that transformed once robust and lively populaces into plodding, almost mechanical shadows of themselves.  Like a disease that wasted the flesh away, the Kingdom infected its new territories and slowly drained the vitality and life from them. What puzzled Arlen the most was the how and the why.

         As the steward of the Truth, some things he just knew as a part of his nature.  As he needed to know something, it was revealed to him, usually.  Some things were left for him to puzzle out on his own, and as of yet he did not know what made one thing instantly known, and another thing hidden until he uncovered it himself.  Being totally honest with himself, Arlen had to admit that he did not care really, he trusted that what was revealed to him was for a reason, and what was left for him to fathom on his own also had a reason, and with that he was content.  

        It was certainly better than the life he had left behind, he mused as he played his fiddle long into the night.  Around midnight the innkeeper signaled to him to finish off his set, so he decided to take a chance.  Arlen played, as his last piece of the night, an old patriotic song of the region, one that had not officially been outlawed by the Kingdom, but was certainly looked upon poorly as a reminder of days long gone and not soon revisited.  He had expected maybe just a small response from the departing crowd, maybe some half hearted remembrance of days gone by, but what he got was totally unexpected.  The patrons that were leaving suddenly stopped, turned around and took their seats again. Some stood still by the door and windows, like they were looking for the city watch.  The innkeeper and his people stopped dead in their tracks staring at him in disbelief.  

        Slowly, lovingly, he played that anthem in honor of a place and a people gone into the mists of time; in honor of those in the present, wondering what the future now held for them.  Tears ran down his own face as he saw theirs, reminded that they were not who they used to be, not who they chose to be, not who they wanted to be. He closed his eyes as the last notes played across the strings, sparing himself the looks on his patron’s faces as they left the inn for the night.  Some things he did not need to see to know.  

        He opened his eyes to find the innkeeper sitting next to him, absently playing with the frayed edges of his apron as he stared off into the distance.  Finally he turned towards Arlen, his brow furrowed, scrutinizing him as shrewdly as an innkeeper could.  

        “Mister,” he said, “you were lucky tonight.”  Arlen raised his eyebrow at him. “Lucky you were that no one here tonight would rat you out to the city guards!  Now don’t get me wrong, mister, you played beautifully tonight and I did well because of you, and I may or may not be glad you played that last bit, but in certain places in this town and others like it in this area, that could get you arrested and smacked around quite a bit, maybe even vanished into thin air!”  The innkeeper darted his eyes around the empty inn.  “The Kingdom has spies everywhere, ‘specially in places like this where we’re not so grateful to have them around like they think we should! I’m just sayin, don’t go get yourself locked up and beaten on account of us.  We know who we were, more than they think we do, and we won’t forget, we remember who we are!”  His look penetrated into Arlen, daring him to prove him wrong.  

        Arlen Nash returned that stare, and slowly raised his hand and placed it on the innkeepers shoulder.  The innkeeper stiffened at the touch, his eyes going wide, and his mouth open in shock.  Arlen knew he was taking a risk, showing this man the Truth, but he felt he deserved it.  For several moments they held that pose, and slowly the innkeeper’s mouth closed, his eyes went back to normal, and he relaxed a bit in Arlen’s grasp.  Finally Arlen removed his hand and smiled at the innkeeper.  The innkeeper shook his head and stared at Arlen in awe.

        “By the gods who are you?” he whispered, wonder and fear mixed in his voice.  But Arlen detected something else in his voice too, something that confirmed he was right: hope.

        “I bring the Truth friend.  You and your people are not as alone as you would think.  Guard your hope well, and when the time comes you will know what to do.” The innkeeper nodded numbly as Arlen stood and gathered his possessions together.  That was when he noticed a tip jug full of coins sitting on his table.  He grinned and scooped it up as well.  He started making his way to the stairs to his room for a few hours sleep.

        “Wait,” the innkeeper’s pleading voice made Arlen turn around.  “Can I tell anyone else what you showed me? Who can I tell? I can’t keep this a secret, I’d burst!”  Arlen grinned at the man.

        “You are a shrewd judge of character, good sir, I trust you to only tell those who need to hear it.”  Arlen winked at the man whom he had just shown something incredible, and made his way upstairs, to a well deserved rest.  The poor innkeeper, however, did not sleep at all that night.

        Five hours later, Arlen was saddled up and headed out of the stables attached to the inn.  The Innkeeper saw him off, wonder still in his eyes, but the confusion had been replaced with a steely resolve he’d seen on some of his most hardened veterans on the eve of a battle.

         With a nod and a grin, Arlen took his leave of that town without a name, stopping only for a few moments on his way out, at a house who he knew needed something of his.  He swung off his horse agilely, and reached into his saddlebags.  Pulling out a pouch that jingled with his tip money from the night before, he walked up to the front and only door of a dilapidated house.  It was one of those houses built long ago, for a much smaller family that who lived in it presently.  Slowly falling apart, the house did the best it could for those inside, and had done it faithfully for years.  Time however, was the enemy of houses such as this one, and the too large family inside it.  Arlen stood at the door for a moment, placing his hand along the frame, feeling the life on the other side, fighting for one day after the next.  He bent down and placed the pouch of coins at the threshold, commending the house on its many years of faithful service to those who looked upon it as their one refuge against the world trying to bring them to their knees.  

        Quickly Arlen hopped back upon his horse.  Suddenly, he knew exactly where he had to go and what he would find there.  He caught his breath for a moment, excitement at finally finding her mixed with the sadness of how they would find her.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself; no one ever said the Truth was an easy thing to accept.  

 

Chapter Nine

        Time is a funny thing, Grommel thought.  Over 600 years his people had spent enslaved by the treacherous Haylon and time had seemingly stood still for its entirety.  A mere five years had passed since they gained their freedom, however, and so many things had changed it made him dizzy to think about it all. He reminded himself again to ask Catti to catalogue the history of their journey so that the entire story could be told and remembered among the Clans, but that would have to come later. The Clan Elders had thought it would take at least two years to make it back to the closest Dwarven realms, but that had turned out to be an overly optimistic wish.  Five years it had been, and they were just now approaching the borders of the nearest Dwarven Kingdom.

        He shook his head again in wonder as he marched alongside his wife Catti, married some four years ago; it had taken her a full year to penetrate his thick skull and make him realize what she had known all along: that they were made for each other.  A little over a year later she had given birth to the first of hopefully many children.  They named her Magthi, in honor of Grommel’s Grandmother.  She was the delight of his eyes, and the warmth in his heart, and strengthened his soul with more conviction that he was on the right path.

        He snuck a quick peek at Catti as they marched together, at the head of the main body of the Clan warriors, and grinned. Another change was the fact that they even had Clan warriors; quickly they had learned they needed to be able to defend themselves if they were to survive the brutal march to their homelands.  Transforming miners and craftsmen and women into warriors was not as hard as it seemed, not for Dwarves anyways!   The treasures they brought with them out of the mines bought them what they did not make themselves, but those same treasures also marked them as prime targets for bandits and greedy warlords along the way.  Much blood had been shed these last five years, he reminisced, but thankfully the vast majority was not Dwarven.  

        Eventually, after much trial and error, they had established a mobile, well defended and well provisioned living caravan of over a thousand dwarves advancing relentlessly home, and nothing was going to stop them for long.  Wagons and draft beasts had been purchased or won in battle, and good fortune (of course Grommel knew it was more than that) had smiled upon them and they had met some horse breeders that had bred a variety that was perfect for a dwarf; the breeders called them Auxian, and had struck a deal with the dwarves for their whole stock including most of the breeders as well.  The Auxian stood about 11 to 12 hands high, with a broad forehead and small alert ears.  Very stoutly built, they have a short, thickset neck, with a broad deep chest. They were also surprisingly broad through the back, with sloping shoulders which gave them an excellent gait.  Mild and kind, yet possessing large amounts of endurance, made the Auxian the perfect work horse for the dwarves, as well as the perfect mount for a smaller statured race.  

The dwarves mainly used them as draft and pack animals, occasionally using them as farm animals when they were forced to stay in one location for an extended time.  They were not used as mounts very often, but when they were, they proved very capable in scouting and battle alike.  A permanent squad of scouts had been formed as well, using the Auxian as fast sturdy almost fearless mounts, swift for their size and fierce in a fight.  

Catti caught Grommel peeking at her and gave him a wicked grin and a wink.  He was about to say something when the sound of pounding hooves caught his attention and he jerked his head up and saw a squad of his scouts on the Auxian galloping at full speed from ahead of the caravan straight towards him, the emblem of Clan Whitehammer whipping in the wind.  That had been one of the biggest changes, Grommel thought to himself, the founding of a new Clan.

It had happened shortly after Catti and he had been wed.  All the separate Clan Elders, Howdin chief among them, had approached them and declared that all the clans had agreed to sever their bonds with their traditional clans, who had surely forgotten about them by now, and form a unified clan under Grommel’s leadership, with the Elders serving as his advisors when he needed them.  He had refused of course, but both Howdin and Cattie argued with him, pointing out that if they were to survive this trek through nothing but hostile lands, they needed to be united in thought and purpose and identity.  His people’s survival then was the deciding factor that had made Grommel agree to the new Clan and himself as the Clan Lord.  He shook his head and sighed as he watched the scouts gallop towards him, wondering what new disaster they were about to announce.

He did not have to wait long.  The scouts ground to a halt scant feet from Grommel and Catti, and Levin, the Lead Scout, leapt of his Auxian and rushed to Grommel’s side. He bowed his head in greeting to his Clan Leader, agitation showing on the scouts face.  

“Lord Grommel,” he began, “five miles north of here, well within what we thought were Dwarven lands, we came upon a troupe of dwarves in a pitched battle, surrounded by some strange feline looking beasts, but on two legs, in armor, wielding weapons and well organized. Our kin numbered twenty, with at least four times that attacking them.  Our kin are well entrenched and fending off their attackers for now, but it is only a matter of time before they will be overrun, and by the looks of things there will be no mercy given, on either side!”  Levin’s report had been delivered almost in one breath, and now he labored to catch his breath again as he looked at his Clan Lord.  

Grommel was impressed with how short and to the point Levin’s description of the situation was.  Swift and efficient communications had been one of the main things Grommel as Clan Lord had insisted upon in his Clan, especially among the warriors and scouts.  He nodded his head to Levin as his thoughts raced around the situation.  

“Kang!” Grommel bellowed. Almost instantly a burly redheaded and bearded dwarf appeared by Grommel’s side.

“Yes, my lord.” He answered in a gravely, no nonsense tone, standing stock still yet giving the impression of being able to spring into immediate and effective violence.

Grommel nodded at him, “Warchief, you and I and two cohorts will advance to our Kin’s assistance.” He turned to Catti then, “Form the remaining cohorts and the caravan itself into a defensive position until we return. Instruct them to be ready for an attack of some sort from these creatures, there are likely more of them around here and it’s a miracle they have not found us already.” He turned back to the Warchief, “we leave in five minutes!” Kang nodded sharply and exploded into motion, calling to the cohorts, one hundred men and women each who would be leaving with the Warchief and the Clan Lord.  

Grommel turned back to Catti, just in time to see her frowning at him.  “Do you think they’ve already spotted us and were just waiting to ambush us?” she asked him

Grommel shrugged, “No way of knowing that yet, just be thankful we know now.  With us dug in and ready for them, they better have a lot more than a few hundred of them if they think they are going to make a dent in our defenses, especially with you in charge of them!” He gave her a quick hug and grinned at her.  “I don’t know how long we will be gone Cattie, guard our Clan till our return!”  He made to turn away, but Catti grabbed him and spun him around back to face her.

Catti grabbed the sides of his head and gave him a fierce kiss.  “Just remember what you are coming back to Grommel Gemmelson!”  Then she winked at him and turned away herself and started shouting orders to form the caravan into its defensive positions.  Grommel smiled and shook his head in wonder at what a wild creature he had married and how thankful he was for such a thing.  

As Grommel turned around again, Kang had already returned with his mount and Grommel’s own as well.  “Levin also reports that he left three of his scouts behind to observe and give us a more complete report as we approach, my Lord.”  Kang held the reigns of the mounts in his grizzled, scarred hands.  Once upon a time some of those scars were just from the mine shafts and the dangers there, but even more of the scars now were from battles they had fought together side by side on their march homeward.  Grommel trusted Kang as his right hand on the field of battle, his strategic thinking and tactical precision had turned many seemingly impossible situations into victories, and his unswerving loyalty to him and the Clan Whitehammer was a constant source of comfort for Grommel.  And he was a great partner to have in card games too, which didn’t hurt at all.  

Grommel took his reigns from Kang, and they both gracefully (for dwarves) mounted their Auxian.  Grommel’s mount, Breeze, was a brown roan; its short low set tail whisked away flies as he moved closer to Kang on Saber, his chestnut horse that matched the shade of his copper red beard perfectly.  “Warchief, we will ride four miles, with our scouts flanking, and then dismount and march the last mile and hook up with our scouts.  From there we’ll see what we are up against, and hopefully free our kin quickly. Let’s ride!”  Kang smiled back, grim determination mixing with the somber thrill of an approaching battle. They were dwarves, after all.

In short order Grommel and Kang, with Levin by their side, had set out with two full cohorts mounted and ready for battle. The other scouts that had come back with Levin now flanked the cohorts, ranging to and fro, seeking any sign of the strange creatures that were attacking their kin just a few miles away.  They quickly left behind the sounds of Catti and the caravan preparing for a possible attack, and as those sounds faded away, Grommel forced thoughts of her from his mind as well; she would be fine, now he needed to concentrate on what was ahead of him, not behind.  He breathed in deeply the smell of his Auxian as they entered the woods a few hundred feet from the caravan; he did not get to ride often, but when he did he relished the feel of freedom riding gave him, even if he was riding into a battle.  Soon enough there would be the sounds and smell of blood and battle, but for now there was just the smell of the forest and the musky scent of Breeze, and the comforting sounds of tranquil woods to keep him company until it became time to loosen his hammer and wield it in defense of his people.  

Time, again being funny, passed too quickly for Grommel’s liking, reaching the point where they needed to dismount much too soon. Kang signaled to him they had reached the mark to dismount, and Grommel nodded as Kang silently gave the command with hand signals for the cohorts to halt and dismount and prepare for a quick march.  The scouts also reigned in and dismounted, gathering around Levin and setting off at a much quicker pace than the cohorts would, giving them time to asses any new information from the scouts left behind.    

Soon after they set out, the lead scouts returned with the ones they had left behind in tow.  Grommel and Kang called a halt to the march as the scouts ran up to them.  Levin nodded to Grommel. “Lord the scouts report that the dwarven numbers have been reduced by half, as well as their attackers.  That leaves about forty of those feline creatures left, but I think they are about to gain the upper hand if we don’t move in quickly!”

“How have our kin held out so long?” Grommel asked in admiration.

“They are fighting from inside a fortified stone bulwark of some kind my lord,” Levin replied, “it’s like it grew right out of the ground! They fight from the tops of the walls, and they are fierce, so it has been hard for those creatures to finish them off.”  Grommel nodded as he listened. When Levin was done Grommel took a quick glance at his men, thinking as fast as he could.  He hated having to come up with plans on the fly like this, one of the many pressures of being Clan Lord he really wished he could live without.  Even with superior numbers, if he had a bad plan he could still manage to get a lot of his kin killed.  After all these years he thought of them as his family now, not just a bunch of dwarves who all happened to be slaves together.  The thought of him getting any more of them killed was almost paralyzing, but he knew he didn’t have any time to waste, so he just did it.  

“Ok, scouts move ahead again and flank us; I want all the archers up front with Kang and me, the rest in four columns. Move out, quick march!”  With that they were pounding through the forest as quickly and silently as heavily armed dwarves could move; Grommel was counting on the noise of the battle ahead to cover most of the clamor of their approach. If he was wrong, well he’d find out soon enough.  He looked over to Kang as they pushed forward, the Warchief always looked happiest when there was fighting to be done, and this time was no exception.  Kang caught him looking at him and winked.

“It’s as sound a plan as you could make under the circumstances, my lord,” he said, as if reading Grommel’s thoughts.  “Of course, if it all goes to hell, I’ll be sure to tell everyone it was yours!” he said slyly. Grommel almost laughed out loud, a bit of the tension easing from between his shoulders.  

Again, time blurred, and it seemed only moments more and they were within earshot of the battle.  Kang slowed them all down as the sound of battle first were heard over the normal sounds of the forest, and by the time they reached visual contact they were moving rather silently for dwarves.  

Grommel and Kang eyed the scene of battle.  Indeed there was some sort of bulwarks set up in the middle of the clearing, but something didn’t look right about it.  It was if instead of it being built and fashioned in the normal way, it appeared to have simply burst forth from the ground fully formed.  The ground and dirt sloped up to the bulwark walls, easily putting the defenders well above head height of their attackers, giving them a slight advantage in the struggle.

The attackers themselves were a sight he had never seen before.  Slightly taller than humans, they really did look half feline like Levin had said.  They stood on two legs, but had long powerful tails they seemed to use to help keep their balance as they made incredibly acrobatic moves and attacks.  Their faces under their helmets were definitely more feline than human looking, with round heads and short erect ears.  Sharp powerful fangs, probably meant for grabbing prey (or dwarves) stuck out of their helmets. They had short necks and broad shoulders narrowing down to small waists.  Their armor seemed to be some kind of light weight chitin, black in color with gold colored designs on them.  The armor stopped right above the knees of their long powerful legs; bare feet ending in longer claws than what were on their hands.  Those human looking hands were holding short powerful wickedly hooked swords, using them in combination with the claws on their feet in some pretty spectacular looking attacks.  Overall, most of the creatures were a tawny brown in color; some had white streaks in what looked to be their fur.  

Fortunately for Grommel’s kin, the feline creatures could not bring the full use of their tails, claws and swords to bear on them because of the earthworks they had taken refuge in.  Grommel saw blood on all of the dwarves on the walls, some with open gaping wounds still bleeding freely.  They were fighting with axes and hammers and short swords themselves, and while it looked like they had put up quite a fight, their time had just about run out.  The creatures had spread all the way around the bulwark now, trying to overwhelm the too few remaining defenders.  Grommel had seen enough.

“Do you see their leader?” he asked Kang.

“I’d say that fellow over there,” Kang said, pointing, “the grayish looking one standing back with those two darker ones standing next to him.”  Grommel looked where Kang pointed and saw a shorter but broader shouldered creature growling something and pointing at the battle, like he was issuing commands.  He nodded grimly and looked at Kang.

“Take them out, all three,” Grommel ordered. Kang looked at Grommel, nodded once, and turned to the archers.  Grommel didn’t hear what he said, but he did hear the sound of twenty heavy crossbows strings being pulled back by powerful dwarven arms.  Grommel didn’t look at his archers, but kept his eyes on the enemy commander.  He heard Kang whisper the command, and felt the rush of air of twenty long and wickedly sharp crossbow bolts flying past his head.  He did see the commander and his two comrades shudder and jerk at the impact as they were pin-cushioned by the hail of bolts.  He watched them as they realized they were dead on their feet, and he heard them as they screamed out in agony for a brief moment before their lifeless bodies slammed to the ground.

The attackers spun around from the walls as they heard the scream, stunned upon seeing their commander slaughtered where he stood.  As they looked at Grommel and Kang, Kang signaled and the rest of the cohorts came out of the woods in formation, completely surrounding the clearing, the bulwark, and the creatures. The archers had by then reloaded and had their deadly weapons pointing directly and the creatures closest to their Clan Lord and their Warchief.  The dwarves on top of the bulwark lowered their weapons in exhausted disbelief, relief in their eyes.  

“Hail Kinsmen!” Grommel called out in dwarven to the bulwark. “I am Grommel Gemmelson, Clan Lord of Clan Whitehammer, and with me is Kang my Warchief.  We have come to assist you.”

One of the dwarves on the battlement, a fresh wound on his forehead leaking into his eyes shook his head to clear away some of the blood, splattering it on the dwarf next to him.  “I’ve never heard of a Clan Whitehammer, but I’m damned glad to set my eyes on you!” He yelled in reply.  “I’m Garrum, Construct Engineer of the Twilight Mountain Clan, upon whose land these creatures have invaded and ambushed us, trying to kill or capture us as we made our way back to our Clan!”  Garrum was average size for a dwarf, with jet black hair and an impressively long beard, with wide dirt stained hands clutching a blood covered axe.  He was wearing more of a robe type of clothing, whereas the other dwarves were wearing actual armor and their beards were more neatly trimmed.   Grommel recognized the Twilight Mountain Clan name; that was where they had been headed all these years.

“Invaded?” Grommel asked, “this is the first we’ve seen of these creatures, where are the rest?”

“To the north of here, closer to the Mountains, they’ve invaded in force and surrounded us, trying to choke us off from the rest of the clans or some such nonsense.” Garrum nodded down at the creatures, “These are called Qal’cha, I have no idea what that means, but I know they are tough bastards to kill. Finish these off so we can get a move on!”

“Do they speak our language?” Grommel shouted back at Garrum.

“Not most of them, no; but most of them do understand common, though I don’t know why’d you’d want to talk to them, just get it over with, I’ve wounded in here that need tending to!”

Grommel nodded at Garrum, but then turned towards the remaining Qal’cha, who had been standing extremely still since they had been surrounded.  Grommel began speaking to them in Common.

“Your leader is dead, lay down your weapons and you will be taken captive without further harm!”

The Qal’cha growled at him, a primal guttural sound coming from deep within them. One of the taller creatures closest to the dwarven defenses pointed his sword at Grommel.

“You killed our chief, now we will kill yours!” With that he let out a growling command and as one all forty of the Qal’cha leapt forward towards Grommel and Kang.  Without hesitation the dwarven arches let loose a volley head on into the charging Qal’cha, dropping ten of them in their tracks. Aetrius appeared in Grommel’s hand, and without thinking he hurled it at the Qal’cha closest to them, striking him smack dead in the center of his forehead, caving in his skull with a dull cracking sound.  Grommel blinked and Aetrius was back in his hand again.  This time he picked out another charging creature and dropped him in his tracks, trying to trip up those behind him, but the agile creatures gracefully jumped over their dead fellow and kept charging towards them.  The cohorts to either side of Grommel and Kang let out a bellowing howl and surged forward to meet the Qal’cha, the two forces crunching into each other, stopping each other in their tracks, viscous hand to hand combat breaking out.

 Here on flatter ground the Qal’cha were able to take advantage of the claws on their feet and their superior acrobatic ability to punish the dwarves heavily.  But if there is one thing a dwarf can do it is withstand punishment.  Covered from head to boot in cuts and scratches they dwarves surrounded the Qal’cha and began to dismantle them.  Grommel saw the Qal’cha who had given the order to attack and decided to go after him.  

“You two with me!” he called out to the nearest dwarves around him, and the three of them set off around the side of the battle to cut him off.  They smashed their way towards him, the two dwarves fending off attackers left and right, Grommel spearheading the way.  The tall Qal’cha finally saw them coming and turned to face Grommel.  He crouched low, and shot into the air straight towards the dwarf on Grommel’s left.  The dwarf raised his shield and readied his hammer to return a blow, but the Qal’cha unexpectedly leapt onto the shield and sprang onto Grommel’s back.  Grommel felt the Qal’cha claws dig into his armor, but it held fast and didn’t let them penetrate.  The Qal’cha sword headed to the back of his neck was another story.  Grommel ducked his head and threw himself forward into a roll to dislodge his attacker.  Grommel hit the ground and felt the claws on his armor dig in one final time then release.  He came out of his roll expecting to see the Qal’cha in front of him, hopefully on the ground, but he didn’t see him there or to either side.  Grommel flung himself down on his back just as the Qal’cha blade slashed through the air where his neck had been a moment before.  Saliva from the Qal’cha’s mouth splattered onto Grommel’s face.  The Qal’cha was directly above him now, leaping straight up into the air and bringing his sword down to deliver a fatal blow.  Grommel snatched Aetrius in front of him and heaved it as hard as he could from laying flat on his back.  Aetrius flew true in aim and intent, striking the Qal’cha under the jaw with a satisfying crack, knocking the Qal’cha out cold, but not killing him.  

His leap had taken him at least four feet straight up, and now he fell those same four feet; Grommel had to quickly roll to the side to avoid being crushed by him.  He hit the ground with a dull thud, the dust and dirt forming a small cloud around his unconscious body.  Heaving in deep breaths, Grommel signaled to the two dwarves to grab the Qal’cha and take him back to Kang.  

The fighting literally died down as the Qal’cha refused to surrender, even so vastly outnumbered, and so they died to the last one.  Four of Grommel’s soldiers had been killed in the battle, and at least a dozen had been badly mauled, but he refused to think about that now.  Kang regrouped the cohorts, and they gathered their dead and wounded.  Grommel stumped to the bulwark but did not see Garrum or any of his men on top.  As he got closer he felt the ground tremble slightly, and to his astonishment the bulwark wall in front of him seemed to shimmer and then just fall to the sides like a giant hand had parted it in half.

Garrum came walking out of the rift in the now disintegrating bulwark, followed by several other dwarves, most in armor, carrying out their wounded as well.  Garrum stopped directly in front of Grommel, studying him from head to toe.  He had a puzzled look on his face, grateful, for sure, but still puzzled.

“I have no clue of who you are Grommel, and I’ve never heard of your Clan Whitehammer before, but like I said I’m damned glad to meet you.”  He thrust out his hand and Grommel took it and shook it, Garrum’s grip firm and confident.   “We were headed to Twilight Mountain,” Garrum continued, “when we were ambushed by these Qal’cha.  They’ve surrounded and cut us off from all our main routes, so we were headed to a more, ah, non traditional route.” He winked at Grommel as he loosened his vice grip and finally let his hand go.

Resisting the urge to shake out his hand, Grommel grinned at Garrum.  “We’ve come a long way, been gone a long time, the Clan is new, but those of us here have survived centuries in captivity, and we want to come home.”  Grommel looked back at his men, his friends, and saw the determination on their faces, even as they were surrounded by their own dead and wounded friends.  He turned back to Garrum, his face hardening: “We didn’t come back to find our kin surrounded and fighting for their own survival; if we are to return at all, it won’t be until we’ve broken the back of this siege.”  

Garrum nodded his head, smiling in approval.  “Well then lad, let’s get you inside the mountain, so you can talk with our Clan Lord, maybe between the two of you, you can figure out how to get rid of these bastards once and for all!”

About an hour later, Grommel and Kang and ten of their stoutest men, along with Garrum and the remainder of his men, stood in front of a seemingly random boulder resting on a valley floor. The still unconscious captured Qal’cha had been trussed up to a wooden pole and was now carried between two of Garrum’s warriors.  The valley itself was full of thousands of boulders that looked just like this one, and how Garrum had picked it out among all of them Grommel had no idea.  It had gotten hotter as they had made their way to this valley, and now Grommel looked around at a desolate empty place, no vegetation, no animals, not even the sound of birds in the distance.  Sweat had been dripping off of them for a while now, and finally they had come to this one boulder out of thousands.

Grommel had sent Levin and the scouts along with the cohorts back to Catti and the main encampment, to let her know what had happened, and to dig in and prepare, until he and Kang returned with some sort of plan to break the ring of Qal’cha surrounding the Twilight Mountain Clan.  Then they had trekked for over an hour through the forest, until gradually the trees became sparser, and the animals more scarce, and then rather suddenly they were both gone and they had entered this valley, where the only things that lived were thousands of boulders staking claim to the valley floor.  

Grommel and Kang sized up the boulder Garrum seemed to think was important, wondering how many men it would take to even move it.  It was not tall, but was incredibly wide, at least the length of three of Grommel’s own Auxian horses. Garrum sighed and wiped the sweat off of his forehead. “Ok lads give an old dwarf some room,” he said, “I’ll have us on the way to the Clan Halls in a just a moment!”  Firmly planting and digging in his feet in front of the boulder, Garrum spread out his arms over the boulder, and slowly lowered them onto it.  Grommel watched in fascination as Garrum leaned in and closed his eyes, almost laying the side of his head onto the boulder.  Almost immediately the boulder began to shimmer and vibrate; this huge boulder then simply scraped and slid off to the side a full four feet, revealing a hole underneath, with stairs carved into the side, spiraling down into the darkness.  

“Neat trick,” Kang muttered, “wish we had known how to do that trapped in Haylon’s mines all those years.”

        “We lost a lot of our past it seems,” Grommel muttered looking at Kang, “now let’s see about getting it all back!”

        “Ok lads, let’s get a move on!” Garrum wiped his hands against his robe and started stomping down the stairway. Grommel and Kang waited for Garrum and all of his men to descend before they started down themselves.  

        The winding stairway took them at least a hundred feet down a shaft before it let out onto a ledge about ten feet wide that continued on at a much more gentle angle down into the earth.  There was still plenty of light coming in from the entrance shaft to illuminate the cavern through which Grommel and his companions tromped.   It was cool and dry inside the cavern; the ceiling now about five feet above their heads, the ledge they walked upon had a fairly rough surface, evidence that this entrance had not been used very often.  Over the lip of the ledge, the cavern dropped off into the darkness, even the low light vision of the dwarves couldn’t see down to the bottom of the crevasse, and it stretched out to the other side of the cavern, about fifty feet across from them.  

        After a few minutes, the light from the shaft winked out; Garrum explained that the stone had moved back to its original spot on its own once the effects of Garrum’s “engineering” had worn away.  Grommel wondered at Garrum’s insistence on calling it engineering since it looked a lot like magic to Grommel, but he supposed that was just one of the many things they had to relearn once they returned to the Dwarven culture.  Garrum had one of his men light a small torch; the low level of light was all that the dwarves needed to see perfectly well in otherwise total darkness.  

        The crevasse beyond the ledge gradually shrank in size until it was only ten feet across; seemingly dragging the cavern wall with it, till the cavern itself was only twenty feet across.  Still they traveled at a light downward angel, slowly making their way even deeper into the mountains.  After a few miles of this, the crevasse finally gave up its fight against the ledge, and disappeared entirely, leaving them in a twenty foot wide tunnel, formed naturally, but with some signs of dwarven hands smoothing some edges here, clearing some obstructions there, as little as possible to ensure progress without damaging the structural integrity and safety of the tunnel.  From there the tunnel took a noticeably sharp downward slope, getting a little cooler as well.  

        After a few hundred feet of the downward slope, the tunnel opened up into a huge cavern, with crystals of all colors covering the walls and most of the floor, turning the low light from the single torch into a fireworks display of blues and reds and greens and white bursting all around them, surrounding them in a kaleidoscope of color and motion that was almost dizzying. Grommel and Kang and the other Whitehammers paused for a moment to recover from the dazzle.  

        Grommel looked at Garrum and his men, and they in turn were grinning at Grommel and his companions, “The first time in Rainbow Cavern always takes folks by surprise,” Garrum grinned, “no matter how many times I travel through here, it’s still something to behold.”  He shook his head wistfully and they resumed their trek deep into the Twilight Mountains, getting ever closer, Grommel hoped, to a chance at a new and permanent home for his people.  

        After the Rainbow Cavern, Garrum finally started opening up to Grommel and Kang as they passed through tunnels and caverns and over chasms and in between stalagmites and stalactites, winding their way through this seldom used system that would finally lead them to the home of the Twilight Mountain Clan.  He told them of  how this way was first discovered over a thousand years ago, during another attack upon their clan by some forgotten enemy; the clan leaders decided to keep this entrance and a few others as secret as possible, to avoid any surprise attacks, and to provide a way of escape if necessary.   He explained how there were several “engineered sentries” all along this way that alerted his clansmen of anyone using this or any of the other secret paths into the mountain.  

        Grommel and Kang and the others marveled at all the sights that were revealed to them.  This was the first time since their escape from Haylon that they had spent any amount of time underground, the troubling memories of their captivity warring with the excitement of the magnificent vistas opening up before them.  Eventually wonder and awe won out over the bad memories and they were all basking in the beauty around them.  

        It took just over three hours to complete their journey from the hidden entrance to where they stood now, a seemingly dead end at the end of another long level tunnel about the same dimensions as the one they had first entered. Garrum raised his hand and placed it into a small recess in the dead end wall.  The air around the recess shimmered as his hand passed into it, and then went away as his hand touched the stone itself.  After a moment, a section of that wall, about a yard square, at eye level, became transparent.  On the other side of this window Grommel saw another dwarf dressed like Garrum was.  He seemed a bit young, but had that same earthy look to him Garrum had.  He was in a room that looked to be ten by ten by ten feet, totally alone, with no seeming way out. Without thinking, Grommel reached passed Garrum and tapped the wall where it had become transparent, and the feel of solid rock met his touch.

        Garrum, grinning at Grommel’s reaction, nodded to the other dwarf, greeting him: “Hail young Jaxom, I have returned, with some unexpected allies for the Clan Lord to meet!”  Jaxom’s eyes widened when he saw Grommel, Kang and the rest of their troupe, and got even wider when he saw the captured Qal’cha.  To his credit though, he kept his mouth shut and simply nodded back to Garrum.  He moved his arm towards the wall, out of Grommel’s vision, and closed his eyes.  After a moment, from beneath the wall, there arose a grumble, and the wall itself shook momentarily and then slid down into the floor soundlessly in a matter of seconds.  

         Once the wall was down, Garrum led the way into the new chamber.  Not everyone could fit, so some of Grommel’s and Garrum’s men stayed in the passageway behind them.  Garrum and Jaxom exchanged some words quietly that Grommel could not quite catch, and then Jaxom nodded and turned towards the wall opposite from the passageway.  Grommel then noticed another recess like the one Garrum had used, and Jaxom placed his hand into it, producing the same shimmering aura until his hand touched the wall itself.  Grommel nodded to himself as the transparent window he half expected appeared and Jaxom spoke to another similarly dressed dwarf on the other side.  After conferring with each other, Jaxom lowered his hand and the dwarf on the other side placed his against the wall, followed by the same rumble and then that wall also lowered down into the floor.  

        Jaxom nodded to them as they filed out of the passageway and through his room into the next.  The dwarf there also nodded to them as they marched by, but he wasn’t speaking to Garrum or anyone else.  Garrum led everyone past the second dwarf into a hallway that showed more evidence of dwarven workmanship than nature itself that stretched out two hundred feet. Garrum stopped before what looked like a shimmering curtain of light that stretched across the entire passage before them, blocking their way.  The curtain seemed alive with swirls of light flickering about, flashing and blinking almost mesmerizing to look at.  Garrum looked back at Grommel and Kang.  

        “The other side of this curtain is an illusion of a passage wall; once we pass through we will find ourselves in one of the many tunnels systems of the Clan Proper.  I will go through first to make sure there is no one wandering around where they should not, and then we will all proceed.  I’ll be back shortly.”  With that he stepped through the curtain and vanished.  Grommel and his men were startled even though they had been told what to expect.  They stood there in an awkward silence with Garrum’s men for several minutes until Garrum’s head popped through the curtain, which was also quite awkward looking.

        “The tunnel is clear, please friends follow me!”  With that his head disappeared again.  Grommel and Kang looked at each other.  

        “Now or never Lord Grommel,” Kang said, anticipation clearly marked on his usually stoic face.  Grommel clapped Kang on the shoulder, appreciating his feelings and glad for his company at such a momentous event.

        Grommel unconsciously held his breath as he passed through the curtain, feeling a slight tingle against his skin as he passed through it.  He looked behind him once he was through and saw solid wall, even reaching back to touch it he felt solid stone again.  He kept moving though, and saw Kang and Garrum’s men and then his own pass out of the wall and into the hallway.  The hall they had entered was covered in light colored stone tiles, definitely part of a more proper dwelling area.   The hall extended in both directions from where the illusionary wall was stationed.  Once everyone was through, Garrum led them down the hall, turning down several seemingly random intersections along the way.  They did encounter other dwarves along the way, who usually stopped in their tracks to look at the new comers.  Grommel didn’t detect any hostility in their looks, just curiosity and some anxiousness.

        The hallways became longer and wider and more elaborate as Garrum led them on, pillars stretching from floor to ceiling, tapestries on the walls, sets of armor and weapons proudly displayed along the way, and evermore  there were the dwarven folk going about their daily routines, even during a time of siege.  Finally after several halls and hundreds of dwarves staring at them, Grommel and Kang stood with Garrum and the others before a huge open doorway. Two armored guards were stationed on each side, all four armed to the teeth with huge two handed wickedly sharp looking axes in their hands, a shield strapped to their back, a stout hammer strapped on their waist, a belt of throwing knives strapped to their chest, and one handed axes strapped to the side of each boot.  Their armor was the color of deepest twilight, that purple almost black color that spreads itself across the land just before total darkness takes control of the world.  

        Grommel and Kang nodded in approval at the guardians. Garrum caught them looking at the guards and winked at them.  “They’re as mean as they look. Let’s go in and meet Dalim our Clan Lord.”  The guards remained motionless as Garrum led them through the doorway.  Grommel noticed that Garrum’s men had not followed them past the doorway, only Grommel and his men and the captured Qal’cha, now carried by his own men, had moved through the doorway.  

        They entered into a huge circular hall, easily several hundred feet in diameter, the vaulted ceiling towering at least fifty feet above their heads.  Here the floor was covered with smooth marble tiles the same dark mysterious color as the guard’s armor, inlaid with golden colored tiles in the center of the chamber forming the Clan’s coat of arms: a tall mountain with the sun to the left of the peak, and the moon to the right.  The walls of the huge hall were painted a light yellow color, perhaps symbolizing the waning of the day’s light into twilight, Grommel thought.  The walls and the floor had no decorations or artwork on them other than the clan symbol in the center of the floor.  At the back of the hall, on a raised dais twice the height of a dwarf, sat the Clan Lord’s throne.  The throne itself was made of stone, somehow dyed that deep twilight color of the tiles.  It certainly didn’t look very comfortable, Grommel thought, imagining sitting on a much simpler seat, with perhaps a thick cushion.  Kang caught Grommel eyeing the throne and raised an eyebrow at him.  Grommel grinned and shook his head slightly and turned his gaze to where Garrum was now pointing.  

        On the left side of the hall, close to the wall, was an odd sight.  Several dwarves stood around what looked like a model of the Twilight Mountains themselves, literally grown out of the hall floor. As Garrum led them closer Grommel saw the dwarves pointing at certain spots, and he swore he saw movement on the miniature hills and valleys.  Spread on the wall behind them were maps of the more distant areas that led up to the Twilight Mountains, but everyone’s attention was focused on the waist high mountain spread out before them.  

        The closer they got, the more real the model seemed, until Grommel and Kang realized at the same moment, without knowing how, that it wasn’t a model of the mountain, it was the mountain!  Grown right out of the hall floor, no denying it, Grommel and Kang were forced to acknowledge that they had lost more lore than they had ever dreamed.  Garrum halted them about ten feet from the group clustered around the mountain on the floor.  They waited patiently there until the group of dwarves paused in their discussions, and one of the dwarves, obviously the Clan Leader, turned casually to look at them.

        Dalim, Clan Lord of the Twilight Mountain Clan was of average height for a dwarf.    His age was hard to pin down; Grommel thought that he seemed to have an ageless look about him, both ancient and youthful at the same time.  His looks were not helpful in determining an age either.  His skin was smooth and wrinkleless, but toughened by many years of hard and dangerous living.  His hair was bound in the long braid that elder dwarves were accustomed to wearing, reaching almost down to the floor behind him, yet there was not a trace of grey in it.  Grommel found himself searching out Dalim’s eyes, and found them a mystery also.  Deep ancient eyes met his gaze back, and Grommel wasn’t surprised to see that Dalim’s eyes were a deep violet in color, unheard of in a dwarf.  Those violet eyes now searched Grommel’s own blue eyes for something, and Grommel hoped he found it!

        The hall fell silent as Dalim and Grommel eyed each other.  Dalim squared his broad stocky shoulders, crossed his burly arms across his chest and spread his stout legs slightly apart as he settled in to stare at Grommel.  Grommel noticed the others in the room staring at them in silence;  some of the Clan Lord’s men were in robes similar to Garrum’s only more ornate, while others were in armor much more ornate than the guard’s outside the hall.  Dalim himself was wearing a full set of armor as well, a shade closer to actual twilight than what his guards or advisors wore, and he had a simple golden cloak draped across his shoulders.  His head was bare but Grommel caught a glimpse of his helm out of the corner of his eye, it had been plopped on one of the mountaintops, crushing the trees beneath it.  

        Not knowing what Clan Lord meeting Clan Lord Etiquette was like, or if Dalim even considered Grommel a fellow Clan Lord, Grommel broke the staring contest and nodded his head respectfully to Dalim, willing the tension out of his shoulders and the butterflies out of his stomach.  That seemed to satisfy Dalim, who smiled and reached out and clapped Grommel on the shoulder.  

        “As Clan Lord of the Twilight Mountain Clan, I, Dalim welcome you Grommel, Clan Lord of the White Hammer Clan into our lands!” As he finished, Grommel heard a collective breath of relief rose up from Dalim’s advisors in front of him and from Kang behind him.  

        “I thank you Lord Dalim,” Grommel replied, sensing he needed to say something official as well, “for your reception and your hospitality; long have we been separated from our dwarven cousins, it is good to have returned!”  Grommel’s voice had gotten thicker as he neared the end of his words, the emotion of finally finding their kinsman again almost overwhelming him as it finally sunk in.  They were not alone anymore! For better or for worse, whether they ended being friends or enemies, they had finally found what had been lost to them all those centuries: people who could reconnect them to what they had lost, what had been stripped from them, what they had never even known they didn’t possess any longer.  

Grommel returned the shoulder clap and squeezed his hand on Dalim’s shoulder, hoping to convey both his thanks and his hopes at the same time.  Dalim met his eyes again, this time with a smile on his face, and he nodded at Grommel as if he understood.  Dalim then looked over Grommel’s shoulder to Kang and the rest of his men, and at the Qal’cha still unconscious in their midst.  

“Greetings to you as well, White Hammer Clansmen,” Dalim addressed Grommel’s men, “and I see you brought me a present!  How thoughtful!”  Grommel grinned as Dalim eyed the Qal’cha, the implications already running through his mind.  

Dalim looked back to Grommel, excitement in his eyes.  “I heard how you and your men saved ole Garrum’s arse,” he began, winking at Garrum, “and for that I am in your debt. Now come take a look at this, I want you to see something.”  Dalim spun on his heel and without looking back led Grommel and Kang to the mountain growing out of the floor surrounded by his advisors.  

The mountain before Grommel was truly amazing.  It didn’t look like a model, it looked like someone had taken the entire mountain and its surroundings and literally shrunk them and then dropped the whole thing on the floor!  The movement he had noticed earlier was actually figures of Qal’cha troops moving about the valleys and trails of the mountain itself, some digging in, and some building fortifications, some even in pitched battles with figures of dwarves.  Grommel stared at the battle scenes before him, becoming lost in them for a moment, until he could almost hear the sounds of battle and pain and death that always came with such a scene in real life.

Grommel shook his head at the wonder of it all.  He glanced beside him and saw Kang staring at it as well, his hard eyes calculating positions and angels of attack and means of egress and the fortifications and lines of supply all painstakingly detailed before them.  Dalim gave them a few minutes to drink it all in before he broke their reverie.

“As you can see Lord Grommel,” he began, sweeping his arm across the vista displayed before them, “we are holding them at bay easily enough, but they have blocked all our major trade routes out from the mountains.” Frustration played in his voice. “We just don’t have the numbers to push them back once and for all, there are thousands of them out there, more than just one tribe, and all working together which is something they don’t normally do.  They can’t get in, but we can’t get out.”  Again he looked Grommel right in the eyes and Grommel saw fiery determination light wicked sparks behind his violet eyes.  “But now, with you and your men here…” he trailed off, hoping he had read Grommel correctly.

Grommel smiled at his new friend, “Let’s see about kicking these bastards down the Mountain, shall we?”

Chapter Ten

        Adian took a moment to relax and breathe in the cool early evening air as a light breeze ran across his forehead.  He leaned back in his saddle, slowing his heartbeat (how odd it was to have a heartbeat again!) and admired his surroundings.  He was on a rise overlooking a wooded valley, the trees all different colors, like a master artist had mixed hundreds of different shades of green and scattered them everywhere.  Dozens of different kinds of birds filled the air with their music, a wonderful sound forgotten by one who had spent thousands of years in limbo.  And the smells!  Fragrances and odors fought for his attention as he closed his eyes and just let them enter all at once, filling his lungs as he had not done in such a long lonely time.

        Ever since his return, he had been focused on his mission; not just here in the Elfen homeland, but his greater mission, what he had agreed to do in exchange for a second chance.  No two ways about it, for most of his long long life he had been a total bastard, laying waste to all those who opposed his masters and enjoying every moment of it.  It wasn’t until the beginning of the end that he and most of his kin had begun to realize the truth of who they were and what they had been doing, and for whom they had been doing it.  There had been precious little time before or after to enjoy any of the beauty any of those worlds or civilizations had to offer, so he took this opportunity now to soak it all in while he could, vowing that he would never forget who he was, what he had done, and what he had come to do.  

        The distant echoes of hooves on stone brought him out of his reverie, and he opened his eyes and sighed.  Then he smiled as he saw Elliana, Queen of the Elfen, ride up onto the rise on her favorite horse, a pure white mare with deep blue eyes, a look of grim determination on her face.  Following her, fanning out and flanking her and filling up the rise and the slope that led up to it were over five hundred of her most trusted and powerful knights.  Proven time and again on the field of battle, they also possessed great ability in manipulating the powers that controlled the world around them.  Most people called it magic, but there was really no such thing as magic, just the natural forces there were a part of every world and those who had the gift, the knowledge and the will to harness them.  There were supernatural forces however, like Adian’s old masters and the One with whom he had made his current arrangement, but fortunately those who harnessed and represented those powers were few and far between, because those were the powers that in the wrong hands could destroy worlds.  

        Elliana smiled back at Adian, and once again he was struck by how much she looked like someone long lost to him.  He cleared his throat to banish such thoughts, and once again he was focused on what tonight would bring.  He bowed his head as the Queen approached, wondering how she and her knights would handle what they would experience tonight.

        “Good evening, My Queen,” Adian said as he raised his head up, “may I assume that everything is in place?”  

        “Indeed Adian, everything has been…arranged.”  Queen Elliana smiled again at Adian, she had caught him looking at her in a strange manner as she came up over the rise, and it comforted her that this ominous figure of destruction from their past still had some mortal feelings and desires.  Ever since their first meeting in Limbo, she had been struck by both the incredible power that lay at his command, but also the real emotions and passions that had brought him to who and where he was now.  

        “The traitors in our council have been most forthcoming about who their contacts on the outside are.”  Elliana scowled thinking about all the damage those traitors had done over the years, some for centuries before Adian had exposed them.  Now however the tables had been turned, at least temporarily until more traitors were somehow worked into the palace or the Legates themselves.  “False information has been fed to them, about our intentions, our current supplies and stores, and in particular that I myself plan on leading a surprise assault on the Orcish forces harassing our northern borders this very night.”  She smiled again, this time a hard smile, promising something not so pleasant.  

        The Queen’s knights continued to move up and around her on the rise, and she turned on her horse to watch them, the newly risen moonlight flashing off their mail armor.  Her knights had their traditional Elfen long bows out, powerful weapons capable of punching through plate armor even, and these knights were also quite skilled at adding a considerable bit of  their own power to the arrow, making them hit even harder and faster than the best archers could produce.  Each knight also had a medium lance strapped to their mounts, as well as their greatsword on their backs.  Pride filled her face as she turned back to Adian to again find him looking at her, but this time with a calm dispassionate gaze.

        “These are my Stalwarts, Adian, any of whom I would gladly trust with my life.”  She could feel the swell of affection and pride from her knights; these men and women were some of the best her kingdom had to offer, having spent a minimum of two hundred years each in service to the crown and the Queen herself personally.  Accomplished in battle both martial and mystical, they had proven themselves time and time again in their loyalty and prowess.  

        Adian nodded at her, and turned his eye upon her stalwarts.  He spent several moments looking at her knights, and Elliana couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking at them but seeing far into the past at his old legions; those same legions who he had led both in a war of terror across the worlds, and in a last stand against his own masters.  Slowly he was nodding his head as he looked at her knights, as if they had passed some test, then turned to look at her and smiled.

        “My Queen, these brave knights, and you yourself, will witness something here tonight, something that I wish you to remember, and to learn for yourselves as well.”  Elliana wondered at his words but kept silent since he seemed to be in a talkative mood.  “With the false information you leaked to our enemies, they are even now massing in huge numbers on the northern border to ambush you.  They will indeed meet our forces on the border, but you will not be there, and they will be ready for the Orcs themselves.”

        “And where will we be Riftbreaker?” the Queen asked, intrigued.

        Adian flashed a truly wicked grin, lighting up his eyes with a light that almost took her breath away for its power and its purpose.  He turned his horse back around facing the valley, drew in a deep breath and sat perfectly still in his saddle.  After a moment he turned his head back to Elliana.  She could see with her own mystic sight the incredible amount of power gathering around him even now, the levels almost frightening even to her.  

        “Tonight, My Queen,” he whispered, but Elliana knew even her knights farthest away from them could hear him easily, “tonight I humbly ask you and your stalwarts to watch, observe and learn what I am about to reveal.  You said earlier that the Elfen go to war, my Queen, tonight I shall show you How.”  Queen Elliana shuddered as with his last word Adian Riftbreaker, the First Rider, most feared figure in Elfen history, raised his arms slowly from his sides and gathered Power unto himself.  

        Such an intoxicating feeling, he thought, as the primordial forces and power of the world flowed into him, seeking him out because he had called to them.  Come to me, he whispered, remember me? I who once called upon you all to aid me, I who once wielded your power in your defense, I who was the final one, the only one between you and your destruction: I have come again; feel me, know me, trust me, use me. I only ask for a fraction of your power, I know not yet all who stand against us, I dare not reveal your power in its fullness, lest I tip my hand to our enemies.  Flow from me into our allies; teach them what they need to know tonight.  They are already your friends, you know them, and you see them.  Tonight we will both show them what it was like when we rode against the Gods, when we stood in the face of the Masters, when we drew their own blood and brought them to their knees! Rise up with me!

        “Raise the Legion once again!” Adian cried out into the night.  Elliana and her knights froze in place, blood like ice in their veins.  He stood straight up from his saddle, his whit staff suddenly in his hands and rising even higher into the night.  The Queen and all her stalwarts felt the Power wash over the Riftbreaker and flow into them like a tidal wave.  At first it seemed it would overwhelm them, drown them in its endlessness, lose them in a whorl of colors and sensations, and leave them forever wandering into Limbo itself.  Gradually though, the Queen first and then her knights after, they began to see the pattern, to pick apart the pieces and see how they all fit together.  This power was familiar of course, they all were friends with it and had used it for centuries, yet this was a significantly different manifestation, and they struggled to comprehend it, to master it, to make it their own.  

        Suddenly, it was there.  Like a light focusing in a crystal, the knowledge and reason for this power became evident, and as one the Queen and her stalwarts again held their breath in disbelief.  

        Slowly, unbelievably, the Queen watched as Adian’s mount started to rise up into the air. Slowly, unbelievably, Elliana and her knights followed him, all linked together in a web of power and intent.  At first they rose slowly, as the Queen and her knights struggled with the shock.  Their mounts seemed not to care whether they were on solid ground or floating in the air, and that helped the knights and their Queen calm down quickly as well.  Higher and higher they rose; the Queen and her knights seeing how it all wove together.  It was all so simple, really, once you knew how to look at it, how to hold it, how to shape it.  This power could be magnified they realized, each rider manipulating it and passing it on to the next, and so they did.  

        Adian turned his head back to the Queen.  That wicked grin was a full smile now, power flowing out of him like a river, almost painful to look upon.  

        “Ride with me my Queen,” he challenged, “ride with me stalwarts,” he shouted out to her knights.  “Ride with me as did the Legion of Ruin! Ride with me to lay down the judgment of the Elfen upon her foes! Eldeire!”  With that shout he launched himself even higher and into a gallop across the air over the valley.  

        “Eldeire!  shouted Elliana, last Queen of the Elfen, and she launched herself after the Riftbreaker, for better or worse, her horse striding through the air as easily as upon the ground.  

        “Eldeire!” shouted her stalwarts as one.  Then they too rose up into the night sky and charged after their Queen into the night.

        The rush was almost too much to handle for Elliana, charging through the atmosphere across valleys and hills and even mountains; fields disappearing beneath them as they sped on past them.  They were moving much faster than their mounts could normally carry them, yet their mounts still simply moved their legs as they were galloping across an open field on a sunny day.  They passed over mountains that would normally force them to look for a pass, flew past marshes that would bog them down for hours, and sped through sky to the northern borders faster than any bird could fly.

        For several moments they forgot about anything else, wonder and amazement totally consuming them as the width and breadth of the Elfen Kingdom passed beneath them in its entire splendor.  Gradually though the thought of why they were flying over their kingdom began to push its way to the front again; and while they never completely lost the thrill of flying over the mountains and fields, that grim determination became their main focus once more.

        Even though they had started their flight from the western edge of the kingdom, several hundred miles away, it seemed not much more than an hour before the familiar mountains and valleys of their northern borders came into view.  The approach north from the western lands was virtually impossible; a huge mountain range cut right through the area and demanded a several day long detour to find the nearest passage through them.  Of course this was why Adian had chosen this route: the Orcs would not be considering any kind of attack or reinforcements from this direction.  They quickly approached a low mountain peak, and Adian brought the Legion to a slow cantor, bringing them to a halt just on the western side of the peak.  The mounts remained in mid air as if on solid ground, panting as if after a hard gallop, some even trying to sniff around for grass to munch on.  

        Adian motioned for Elliana to follow him as he guided his horse to the peak itself, which overlooked a huge plain that marked the Elfen northern border.  Moonlight reflected off of thousands of weapons as they swung up and down, back and forth in battle.  The Orcs had managed to push up to the very border of the Elfen homelands, where it seemed the Elfen were holding them off, but barely.  The Orcs were trying to outflank the Elfen by using their feared mounted warriors upon beastly looking mounts called Zurghas that looked more like lizards than horses and were some bizarre mixture of both that thrived on the northern plains.   The Elfen Calvary though had slammed up against them and frozen their advance it in its tracks.  The middle of the plains saw the most savage hand to hand fighting, Elfen soldiers and knights clashing with the Orcs face to face in a bitter fight to the death, no mercy given and none asked.

Up until about a thousand years ago the land north of them had been pretty much empty of any civilizations or peoples, which was just the way the Elfen liked it.  Seemingly overnight though the Orcs had shown up out of nowhere.  They were a tribal society not interested in peaceful existence with their neighbors.  They seized a huge portion of the northern frontiers and made them their own, but had run into the Elfen when they tried to expand to the south.  At first the Elfen had no trouble rebuffing the incursions since they were mostly by individual tribes, but eventually a single leader had emerged and united the Orcs under one Tribe, the Redstorm, led by Vargan Redstorm.  Normally nomadic and individualistic by nature, Vargan managed to hold them together long enough for an all or nothing war against the Elfen.  In a decisive battle on this very plain, the Elfen had broken the back of the united Orc tribes and Vargan Redstorm had disappeared, presumed dead in the chaos, but his remains never indentified.  Things had quieted down after that for several centuries as the Orcs resumed their tribal ways and traditions, largely ignoring the Elfen and focusing their aggression on their neighboring tribes fighting amongst themselves almost constantly.

Two hundred years ago though, something odd happened.  The tribes seemed to unite again, but this time there was no clear leader.  A new breed of Orc itself seemed to have come to power amongst the tribes, leaving the tribal leaders intact and nominally in charge of day to day life, but totally taking control when it came to matters of expansion and aggression.  These new Orcs, called the Khor in Orcish, were taller and leaner than the average Orc, and where the normal Orc was a deep brown in color, the Khor were a distinct reddish black. Most Orcs were shorter than humans and Elfen, but broader and more muscular with flatter faces and dark eyes with no pupils. The Khor however seemed a mixture of human and Orc, their bodies more wiry and standing as tall as humans.  Their most fearsome traits though were their capacity to focus supposedly supernatural powers, and their brutality in using them. The Khor had once again united the Orcs in a quest of conquest, and for the last two hundred years (with the aid of the traitors in the Elfen kingdom) had expanded their lands to the East and West and now were pushing South once again into Elfen lands.  The Elfen had been hard pressed to stop the invaders lately, the toll from the traitor’s efforts finally starting to show.  

Capturing or killing the Elfen Queen would be a huge victory for the Khor and the Orcs and proved to be too much of a temptation to resist launching a full scale attack to achieve.  Such was the situation as Adian and Elliana looked down upon the plain they had never named since they staked no claim to it other than to mark the edge of their kingdom.  Adian and Elliana spent several minutes observing the battle beneath them, not being able to pick out individuals from such a height, but more than capable of seeing the overall ebb and flow of the battle.  

“I’d suggest striking them from the rear, My Queen,” Adian said, “and pushing up the center, dividing them, and allowing our own forces to outflank them.”

“I agree, Riftbreaker, let us begin!”  Queen Elliana spurred her horse in front of Adian’s, drawing a questioning look from him.  “I am their Queen, Riftbreaker,” she said looking at him intently, “it is only right I show myself and prove that if they are willing to die for me, I am willing to die for them!”

Adian Riftbreaker bowed his head to the Queen, once again struck by her courage and honor.  “Then lead us my Queen,” he said, raising his voice for all to hear, “unleash us upon our foes!”

Elliana looked at Adian for a moment, and then turned her gaze upon her stalwart knights, looking back at her with confidence, love and determination.  Her heart swelled with affection and sadness and her own determination to see them through to the end.  She smiled at her knights, trying to think of something proper to say to them at this moment, but she couldn’t think of anything, so she simply nodded her head at them.  Her knights broke out into a cheer as they raised their weapons to her, offering their lives for their Queen and Homeland.  

Elliana turned her head away quickly, facing the peak and the plains beyond, but not before Adian saw a single tear work its way down her face.  She drew her own slender but sturdy sword from its sheath, and pointed it towards the plains below.  A single moment passed as she centered herself for what was about to come.

“Eldeire!” she called out at the top of her voice as she dug her heels into her mount and it literally leapt through the air over the peak.  Adian tucked his staff down under his arm and spurred his mount after her, letting out a primal yell as he followed her over the peak.  The knights echoed Adian’s yell as they galloped over the peak and followed their Queen to whatever fate befell them.

Queen Elliana could feel the Riftbreaker and her knights behind her, the force of their charge almost pushing her forward even faster.  The Orcs and Elfen down in the plains below had not noticed them yet, but that was about to change.   She stood up straight in her stirrups, not feeling the wind whip at her hair and armor, trying to rip her off her mount and plunge her into the rocks below.  Deliberately she pointed her sword at the distant Orcs slamming up against the center of the Elfen soldiers down below, closed her eyes, and unleashed her fury.  

It took several moments for those fighting down below to hear the roaring sound from above.  At the same time they heard the massive sound, the night sky lit up with a wicked orange glow and finally the Orcs looked behind them; the Elfen looked above them, and all saw the horror of six huge balls of fire seemingly appeared out of nowhere. They appeared to be moving slowly at first, until all realized how far away they were, and to the Orcs horror the balls of fire grew larger and larger as they screeched even faster towards them, promising death to all who dared stand in their way.  

The Orcs didn’t even have time to scream out before the fireballs slammed into their center rear, vaporizing those at ground zero, the concussive wave exploding outwards flinging lifeless bodies in all directions for dozens of yards, as well as igniting everything in a huge radius in sheets of flame.  The fighting almost stopped on the entire plain as everyone stared in awe for a moment at what had just happened.  The bodies were still twitching on the ground as a new sound caught everyone’s attention.  The pounding of hooves could be heard, but as they looked around neither Orc nor Elfen saw any new horsemen: until someone looked up.  

 “The Queen, the Queen!” The shout went up from the Elfen ranks as they caught sight of their beloved Queen Elliana leading the flying charge into the Orcs, her deep black hair flying about her, her sword pointed straight at them, her knights and the Riftbreaker charging after her.  The sight of the Elfen cavalry flying through the air about to descend upon them stopped the Orcs in their tracks for just a moment.   That moment was all the Elfen on the plain needed.  The Elfen surged in from the flanks, redoubling their efforts, and the Elfen knights and soldiers in the center renewed a vigorous push, all trying to collapse the center of the Orc offensive, all the while shouting for their Queen.  

The flying Legion hit the Orc lines like a hammer striking an anvil.  The rear sections not obliterated by the fireballs were wiped out within seconds as a hail of arrows from the flying Elfen raked across them dropping them by the dozens.  The Legion flew up the center of the Orc lines, just above head level, reigning death down upon the hapless Orcs beneath them.  Arrows and axes shot out from the Orc invaders trying to dismount the riders, but only a few were able to get past the Elfen defenses and strike a target.  The Orc center lines were getting too thin and were starting to be pushed inward even further from the Elfen attacking on the flanks, pushing them in all together and give the flying Legion even more targets .  

Now the flying Legion came under magical attacks as the Khor amongst the Orcs turned their attention from fighting the Elfen on the ground to the ones flying above them.  The Khor were more successful, some Elfen knights falling from their mounts under the assault, to be torn to shreds by the Orcs below them.  Still the Legion fought its way up the center of the Orc lines, forcing the Orc lines to fold in upon themselves.

The Riftbreaker was careful not to unleash too much power himself, limiting his own attacks to simple but deadly effective bolts of power and the occasional wave of force or fire to relieve Elfen positions and support the Queen herself.  He spent most of his energy keeping the Legion in the air since now most of the knights were busy using their power fighting.  They would have to learn to balance flying with fighting if they were to make much use out of it in the future however.  What energy he had left was also being used to shield the Legion from physical and energy attacks from the Orcs, and that was proving more difficult to do with the engagement of the Khor and their powers.  He also did not want to unleash his  power too obviously because whatever allies these Orcs had, the ones who were obviously helping them in their conquests and endeavors would detect his power and realize it as something new and perhaps even recognize its source.  It was imperative that no one other than the Elfen knew of his return yet, so even here he could not risk revealing too much of himself.  

Suddenly a pulse of power from behind the Elfen lines caught both the Queen’s and Adian’s attention.  They both looked for the source and saw that just behind the Elfen lines there was a glowing black sphere on the ground.  Neither could see into the blackness and were afraid it might be a new attack by the Orcs or the Khor themselves.  Before they could react however, dozens of black bolts shot out from the pulsing black sphere, striking out towards the Orcs like aimed arrows.  Howls of rage and pain came out from the Orcs as the black bolts struck the Khor among the Orcs, hitting them, stopping their hearts mid beat, singling them out and striking them dead where they stood.  More pulses burst forth from the black sphere behind the Elfen, and more Khor fell to the ground twisted in agony.  The mystical attacks on the flying Legion lessened to almost nothing as the Khor died by the score, allowing Adian more time to focus on protecting the Queen herself.  

Shortly there didn’t seem to be any Khor left standing upon the battlefield, and the pulses shot out from the black sphere concentrated on the Orcs in the center of the attack.  The Orcs were pressured from above by the Legion, below from the Elfen army and from all sides by the bolts of certain death. Amid the chaos the Orcs folded in on themselves and collapsed into a disorganized retreat.  The retreat quickly degenerated into a route, none of the Elfen commanders restraining their troops to show mercy.  The Queen and Adian led the flying Legion to spots where it looked like the Orcs might escape and cut them off, decimating them until the Elfen ground cavalry and troops caught up with them to finish the job.

It was a bloody night, with not a single Orc survivor.  Those individuals who sought to escape were hunted down relentlessly and slain one by one.  None of the Orcs asked for quarter or tried to surrender, it was simply not in their nature, and the Elfen probably would not have granted it even had they asked; not this night, the first night of the new Elfen War.

After what seemed forever but was actually only several long brutal hours, the battle was over, the Elfen dead collected and prepared for transport back to the capitol; and now began the task of cleansing the plains of the Orc dead.  Hours were spent using both physical and mystical power to gather the dead Orcs into hundreds of heaps of lifeless husks, flies already swarming them and carrion birds already staking out their claims on the feast spread out before them.  

During the clean up, Elliana and Adian and their knights had landed and made their way to the Elfen front lines to congratulate the commanders on holding the line until their arrival.  Cheers and salutes greeted the Queen as she joined her people, smiles on faces covered in Elfen and Orc blood, wounds that needed tending, new scars mixing in with old, pain and fear fading away as it finally began to sink in that they had survived and won the day.  Amidst the cheering and congratulations, Adian caught sight of Mordinne, now the most senior Legate of the Council. The legate was wearing a black robe, and as Adian looked around for the other legates he realized as he found them that they were all wearing the same black robes.  

Adian made his way to Mordinne, and clasped his forearm in greeting.  Mordinne looked haggard and tired and a bit sad, but he returned Adian’s smile truly and with feeling.  Adian raised an eyebrow in question at Mordinne; he and his fellow legates were not originally planned to be at the battle, but safe at the capitol in case the worst case scenario played out: the death or capture of the Queen.  

Mordinne chuckled sadly at Adian’s unspoken question.  “No we had not planned on being here either, but once our forces engaged the Orcs, reports were coming in that the Khor were wielding much more power and sinister forces than what we had expected from them.  They were quickly turning the tide of battle against our knights and soldiers.” Adian nodded his head recalling the power with which he had to defend the flying Legion from the Khor’s attacks.  “We took it upon ourselves to both support our troops and show our Queen that we too are willing to give our lives in defense of Eldeire.”  Adian smiled at Mordinne again, not doubting for a moment the truth of his words.  “We arrived just as the Khor were leading an attack on our left flank.  We were able to repel it barely, and after that it took all our power to fend them off, there were just so many of them.  When the Queen and you came, ah, hrrrm, flying out of nowhere and attacked their center, the Khor turned their attention to you.  That gave us the space and time we needed to gather and summon our powers jointly.”  Here Mordinne’s face became if possible even sadder, but also more determined.  “The Queen said we were to unleash such fury as the world has never seen against our enemies Riftbreaker, and we have taken her at her word.  We combined our efforts and sent our fury out in what shape it chose to take.”

Adian clapped Mordinne on the shoulder, “You did the right thing Legate, and probably saved the day, thank you for your timely arrival!”  Mordinne smiled at Adian again, and then looked around at the aftermath of the battle.  Again sorrow and determination mixed on his face.

“So what now Riftbreaker?” he asked, “We have defeated the Orc here, but still they remain in numbers larger than this and they will continue to attack us.  The humans of the West have made their enmity of us clear and their intention to wipe us off the face of the earth is well known.  With so many enemies around us, how do we act?”  His worry was plain to see.

“I can’t speak for the Queen, Mordinne, but I would suspect that tonight was just the beginning of the Elfen asserting themselves and doing some things that need to be done.”  With that Adian clapped Mordinne on the shoulder one more time and then turned away to find the Queen.  

He found her talking to Elindar, the Home Guard Commander, responsible for the defense of the Kingdom, and another one of the Legates dressed in black robes, with her hood thrown back revealing stunning red hair.  The Commander and the Legate turned as Adian Riftbreaker approached, shock on their faces as they recognized him.  They stopped speaking to the Queen as he approached, nodded to him quickly, and both turned away on other business.  

        Adian nodded to Queen Elliana as he came up beside her.  “Congratulations My Queen, on the first victory of many.”  The Queen’s gaze rested on her Commander and the Legate for a moment longer, and then she turned to Adian.

        “What you showed us tonight,” she began, hesitant, “what you showed us, taught us, it saved my army from destruction.” Then she looked him straight in the eyes.  “Thank you.”

        Adian returned her gaze, drinking it in, purposefully forgetting about everything else for just a moment.  He let the moment pass, but would always remember it.

        “Use it, remember it, My Queen, you will have need for it in the future when I am not near.”  The words had finally come out, the ones he didn’t want to speak.

        “Not near?” Elliana asked.  “Speak, what do you mean?” Her voice took on a hard edge at his look.

        Adian tried not to sigh, and failed.  “Even though I did not display a large amount of power, nonetheless I did expend enough to probably catch the attention of whoever is allied with these Orcs.”  Adian saw realization dawn on the Queen’s face.  She definitely had a quick mind, he thought.  “Leaving now will accomplish two things.  First the unknown ally will concentrate their resources here in your Kingdom looking for the source; and two, with them being distracted looking for me here, it will leave me free accomplish my main task.”   The Queen nodded her understanding, disappointment plain on her face.

        “So you leave tonight then?” she asked, her face now impassive.

        “Tonight? No My Queen, tomorrow will do just fine!”  He smiled at Elliana, lost once more in a time long ago.

        “Good!”  Elliana answered firmly, holding her hand out royally for him to assist her.  “Then tonight we shall all grieve for our dead and celebrate our living.”  As her Home Guard Knights fell in behind them, they began to make their way back to their mounts.  “There will be Time enough for…Tomorrow.”

Chapter Eleven

        On a pale horse rode the man in black. One could tell the rider had been a long time on the road.  He had dust in his black hair, and his eyes were shaded with fatigue.  His mount was gallantly trying to maintain the trot of the last few miles, but the rider could tell his poor steed was reaching its limit.  Fortunately for them both there lay a city ahead, which was good, because his head was heavy and his sight was dim.  He shook his head, leaned over to his saddlebags and brought out a small flask.  He took a quick shot of the whiskey inside, and it successfully returned him to his senses.  

He entered the city at dusk, usually a time when folks about town cheerfully greeted one another as they relaxed and went about their leisure after a hard day of work.  In some other cities people would be headed to the local taverns to drown their sorrows or celebrate their good fortune, or simply to quench their thirst brought on by a day’s honest labor. Some would be headed to a friends or relatives home to pass the time and enjoy their company; and in the larger cities perhaps even on their way to a play or some sort of festival marking the birth of this or the death of that, such is the pulse and breath of a city as the sun sets, releasing all from their duties brought on by the sun’s rise.

        But not so in this city, the man realized as he had to coax his reluctant mount onto the city streets from the outlying fields.  He slowed his mount to a walk, to rest his companion from the hard ride they had just made, but also to take stock of this strangely subdued city he had just entered.  Certainly there were citizens of the city making their way about town, but the closer full darkness came upon them, the more furtive and anxious they seemed to become.  Suddenly realization came upon the rider, and he sighed, truly saddened that it had already spread out this far into the surrounding lands.  He had seen scenes like this dozens of times, but not so far out here removed from the central cities of the Kingdom.  

        Their numbers must be growing, he thought, which worried him because it had been said for centuries that those creatures of the nightmare realm were confined only to the oldest and largest cities surrounding the capitol city of Cypria itself.  A few hours of darkness were all that those mortals were allowed to claim as their own, to roam about and enjoy their cities.  After that, until the sun rose the next morning, it was no longer their city.  Oh some still did defy the night’s masters, tried to deny them their province granted to them by some say no less than the King Himself.  For how could such a thing happen in the very capitol and King Gregor not be aware of it?  Of those who did defy, those who did try to deny them full control of the night, most did not survive long enough to encourage others to follow their lead.  The rider himself had been asked several times by his own men and by citizens alike how such beasts could be left to roam free and terrorize and dominate the night.  He had been ordered to say that no such creatures existed, that no positive proof could be found, even though he knew full well they not only existed, but they did have the blessing of the King himself.  A people could not meet and plot and plan intrigue if they could not gather by night.  The Havoc, as far as the rider could tell, served the purpose of keeping the people afraid of gathering and moving about by night.  If pressed further by people not accepting such an obvious falsehood, he had threatened them with charges of sedition or simply turned his back on them and ignored them.  So the Havocs possessed the night and all that it encompassed, and the inhabitants of the larger cities and the capitol had succumbed to the temptation of trading in their freedom of the night for the benefits of the day.

        Arlen shook his head sadly, watching the confused and frightened inhabitants almost running for cover as darkness overtook them. He surmised that the Havoc were only recently come upon this new feeding ground and that the citizens had not yet surrendered to inevitable reality of life in King Gregor’s realm of Cypria. The Kingdom had been steadily growing in size for the last thousand  years, a slow but steady inclusion of first it’s neighboring lands, then colonizing more distant lands and claiming all land that lay in between.  The last hundred years or so though had seen a much more aggressive stance by the kings of Cypria, expansion now coming by force of arms as often as by development and treaties.  

        Arlen had always been a history buff, and his favorite area of study had been the kingdom of Cypria itself.  At first he had been forced into studying it by his tutors, but as the years went on he had actually developed a love for it.  Cypria had been in existence for over three thousand years, a shining light of stability and security and freedom in a land and times full of chaos, corruption and violence.  Time and again Cypria had stood against those who would see it pulled down and destroyed; its people stalwart and brave in times of trouble.  Of course Cypria had seen its share of mistakes and done its share of evil, for no nation or kingdom that had mortals in it was free from such downfalls; yet Cypria had never given up trying to be better, and that was the thing Arlen loved most about it.  

        He had taken a special interest in the history of the last thousand years; something he had kept to himself, as he had learned the hard way in court it was best to keep personal information about your hobbies and passions to one’s self.  As he delved deeper into the history of the last thousand years, and looked at the cycle and patterns of growth and conquest and social structures, he had slowly and reluctantly developed a theory.  It was as if at the beginning of the thousand year period, someone (presumably the King then, Theon the First) had set up some grand design and plan for expansion and conquest and all the kings since had been following the same plan.  The order and direction and timing of the growth in the last thousand years he had thought then was just too perfect to be coincidence.  

        Of course, since he had been blessed (more like shackled) with the Truth, he knew a lot more about the why and the how, although not everything had been revealed to him…yet.  He had been on the road for months and he could sense he was near her.  Just a bit further, and one journey would come to an end, but the more important one would be just beginning. He didn’t know much about her yet, so sometimes he wondered if she even had a hint of what was about to come, of how her life as she knew it would cease to exist.  Right after that thought he would worriedly speculate if she had the fortitude to survive it, or even the will to try.  Uncertain and dangerous times lay ahead for her and anyone who chose to aid her.  He chuckled to himself, drawing strange looks from the few remaining city folk brave or foolish enough to still be on the streets.  

        Arlen quickly sobered as the frightened looks brought him back to the present and his current predicament.  He needed to find a place to rest before it got too much later, or he’d be fending off the Havoc all night long; and as much as he wouldn’t mind ridding the world of some of the nightmare spawn, he wasn’t going to go seeking them out as tired as he was after the long push on the road.  With all the people frightened out of their wits by the appearance of the Havoc however, he knew he would have a hard time finding an inn that hadn’t either already closed or would just outright refuse to take a stranger in.  

        He turned his exhausted mount towards what he presumed was the merchant district of the city; he would be most likely to find a willing innkeeper there.  The city was larger than he had thought at first, so it took him a while to find and make his way to the merchant district, and the night had taken a firm grip of the city by then, not a single person was in sight.  Arlen knew it was more than likely quite safe this time of night still, the Havoc had not increased in numbers enough yet to dominate the entire night.  The inhabitants of the city however were not willing to bet their lives on it, so they were all well inside their homes safe and secure, they hoped.  

        His fears turned out to be well grounded, for as he went from inn to inn, tavern to tavern, no one would unbar their doors for him, a stranger out in the night filled with terrors that would come rushing in if they were to open their doors to him.  Finally he gave up, upset but not really blaming them.  They were rightfully terrified of what was happening to their city, to their way of life, and no one seemed to want to help them.  Eventually he found a stable attached to an inn that was built in such a way as to offer some protection during the night and some cover in the morning so he could slip away before the stable hands came to attend to their duties.  He picked out and empty stall and claimed it as his for the night.  He made sure he spent enough time stripping down, feeding and brushing out his mount; she had seen him on his way for several years now, he wasn’t about to let her down on his part.  He could see her visibly relax under his ministrations, and his heart warmed up in the chilly night to see her so content.  Once he was done with her and she was all settled in, he went to his saddlebags and pulled out some cold rations.  He had hoped to relax with a nice fire tonight, a hot meal, maybe some pleasant conversation, and possibly a nice glass of wine or some stout ale to wash it all down with, and then maybe a melody or two from his fiddle.  Ah well, he thought, at least I’m not out in the open freezing.  He finished his ration and washed it down with some water out of his pack.  Using his saddlebags as a pillow, he lay down in the hay near (but not too near) his horse and wiggled around till he was semi comfortable.  He was a little agitated and thought he would have a hard time falling asleep, yet within moments he was fast asleep and snoring softly.

        The night wore on for several more hours, darkness tightening its grasp on the city, chill breezes promising the caress of the grave.  Now indeed the Havoc were about, though not many in numbers yet, they owned the streets and the alleys, wandering, hunting, not really needing the nourishment, just eager to destroy and rend and devour mortal flesh.  Not far from where the wanderer and his horse slumbered there stood a warehouse, large, though mostly empty at the moment, awaiting its next shipment of goods to be spread across the lands.  Upon closer look, it was not really empty; there was something present in abundance: shadows.  Perhaps more shadows than could be accounted for by the few material items present, if one looked closely enough they seemed to have a gentle movement about them.  As if waking from a long deep sleep they slowly, lazily, stretched out their sinewy limbs, gradually taking on more purpose, spreading over the nearby crates, engulfing them in darkness.  Swirling, stretching, they flowed across the floors, climbed the walls and enshrouded the ceilings, making this place their own, staking out this small parcel of the mortal realms as belonging to another place.  A place where dread reigned supreme, where mortal folly only fed it and made it stronger, a place few, if any, ever escaped.  

        In one particularly empty corner the living shadows gathered just a bit more enthusiastically, drawn there by some unseen command, some desire, or some compulsion.  With each passing moment the shadows gathered more quickly, forming a web like lattice of even deeper darkness stretching from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, and now alarmingly (to anyone foolish enough to be watching) starting to pulsate with an ominous power.  

        Dimly, looking into the center of the web (were one so foolish as to still be there) a vague figure could be seen, striding purposefully forward, a quick steady pace meant to cover a lot of ground with each stride.  As the web of shadows in the corner gathered more power about itself, the figure became more and more distinct, until finally it coalesced into the definite shadow of a humanoid wearing a hooded cloak.  Suddenly the shadowy web reached a crescendo of power, and the figure stopped in its tracks.  It extended both its arms forward, and as if parting a curtain before it, moved the web of shadows aside, and stepped out into the warehouse.

        Satisfied, the figure grunted as he looked around the warehouse.  He drew back his hood to get a better look, revealing  a handsome Elfen face, other than the scar under his right eye, which would never seem to heal not matter what efforts he put into it.  Pointed ears parted the golden blond hair falling to his shoulders, sharp green eyes that missed nothing, and long straight nose crowned his usually charming face.  

        He nodded his head in satisfaction as he fully stepped out of the corner, making a sharp gesture with both arms back behind him which both fluffed out his cloak and blew apart the shadowy webs, all power drained from them.  This was much better than horseback, the Elfen thought, although it was a bit restrictive since he could not bring any other living being with him through the dread realm, as it was permitted by his master that only he could traverse the shadow kingdom to cross great distances more quickly than any mortal mount could take him.  It was a neat trick and one he had used many times over the centuries, although some of his master’s missions still required him to use the more conventional types of transportation.  

        He took a quick walk through of the warehouse, his Elfen vision making more than adequate use of the moonlight shining in through the barred windows high upon the warehouse walls.  He found an appropriate spot towards the center of the main warehouse floor, usually kept cleared for the movement of goods.  Pacing out the distance required for his purpose, he double checked the dimensions, and then looked above him at the rafters built overhead.  He smiled a slow evil grin, malice and disdain twisting his handsome features into something grotesque and not of this world.  He absently licked his lower lip as he nodded one last time and spun around on his heal.  He strode towards the main warehouse doors, easily locked and fortified from the inside he noticed in approval, and pushed them open upon reaching them.  He stood absolutely still for a moment, relishing the smell of the night; the smell of fear and submission.  He heard the distant howls of the Havoc hunting in the night and once again nodded in satisfaction and anticipation bordering on excitement.  Breaking out of his reverie he quickly looked about and got his bearings, and then set off towards the necessary part of town.  He had many components to gather for tonight, and he looked forward to every moment of it.

        Some time later, Arlen awoke with a start.  The hairs were raised on the back of his neck and his heart was beating fiercely.   He staggered up groggily, reaching out to his horse to steady himself.  She was already awake, having sensed something as well, as any good horse would.  He shook his head trying to clear it, the feeling was almost nauseous, smothering, and totally evil.  After a few disoriented moments he was able to center himself and concentrate on what he was sensing.  He closed his eyes and turned his head this way and that, opening up to whatever would come to him.  His head stopped mid-movement as the evil hit him like an ox kicking him upside his head.  He opened his eyes and quickly grabbed his swords and mounted his horse in one fluid movement, urging her out of the stables before he was even fully seated bareback on her.  She took off like a shot, guided by his urgency and his knees.  She could smell the evil, and it terrified her, but she loved and trusted her rider and so she would bare him to the gates of hell if she had been aware of such a thing.  

        The echoes of her hooves sounded out like boulders crashing down a mountainside in the dead stillness of the city night.  They streaked across the city streets, each moment seeming like hours to Arlen, praying he would reach there in time, anger already forming behind his eyes. He should have sensed it sooner he thought, he had been pushing himself too hard lately both spreading the Truth of what was happening and searching for her, and had been too deeply asleep.  He cursed himself for a laggard even as he and his horse rounded the last street corner and saw the warehouse.  He could feel his horse shudder beneath him as she skidded to a halt, the pure evil and horror emanating from the warehouse momentarily freezing her in her path.  He knew if he asked her to she would charge right through those doors, but even as angry as he was with himself, he would not ask that of her.  

        He launched himself straight over her head and shoulders, tucking and rolling as he hit the ground in front of her, and broke out into a sprint straight for the closed and no doubt barred and locked warehouse doors.  Just before he reached the huge doors, he pulled out one of his swords: a stark white bone hilt worn smooth over the centuries of use, of what creature Arlen had no idea, with a blade darker than the night around them, forged long ago in another world, he did know one thing it could do.  Right as he was about to slam head on into the doors, the dark blade pulsed with a mighty black flash, and the doors burst inward as if kicked in by an angry mountain giant, the bars holding it closed from the inside splintering and flying inward like arrows shot from a dozen archers.  

        Arlen froze for a moment at the scene before him.  Painted on the center of the floor of the warehouse was a square outline, seemingly made of pure silver.  He could sense the power of the outline for what it was: a summoning square.  What he saw next made him growl in his throat like a wounded lion.  Hanging above each corner of the square, their feet about four feet above the floor itself, hung a person.  Four people, what looked like a family, parents and two small children, a boy and girl, no older than eight and ten years old, strapped and hung by their wrists to the rafters above.  They had all been stripped naked, and swung slightly around as they dangled from their ropes.  Arlen saw with horror that each had been cut down their inner thigh, how deep was hard to tell, but blood was flowing freely down their legs and pooling onto the floor below them, hitting exactly the corners of the square, set at the cardinal points of north, south, east and west.  He could tell they were all still alive, and thankfully the children had already passed out into blessed oblivion, unaware of what was happening around them.  The children had no other marks on them; however the parents were not so lucky.  The father was badly beaten; it was obvious he had put up a fight, even if he didn’t stand a chance.  His left eye was already swollen shut, and Arlen could tell his left arm was broken and it looked like his hand was crushed as well.  The poor wife however, is what really struck Arlen.  The fear and horror in her eyes as she looked at him as she spun lazily on her ropes pierced him to his soul.  There were bruise marks on her throat and neck, and as she spun around more he saw blood slowly dripping from her backside as well.  

        Fury ignited within him in a white hot explosion and he roared out with a bestial cry of rage and rushed the figure standing next to the square facing the captives, just now beginning to turn around at Arlen’s entrance. Arlen got just beyond arms reach when the figure turned fully around to face him. Arlen froze in his tracks, staring into that handsome yet evil face he knew so well.  

        “Loric.”  Arlen said flatly; he couldn’t imagine being any more furious at the sight before him, but seeing Loric standing before him took him to the heights of anger he had never experienced before in his life.  He almost lost his vision behind a curtain of anger and hatred, barely able to maintain control, standing rock still and steady but inside shaking and about to erupt like a long dormant volcano.  

        “Arlen!” Loric replied, with his twisted evil smile. “How wonderful it is to see you again! The last I heard you had been attacked and murdered by thieves in the back alley behind a whorehouse! Did you neglect to pay your bill by chance? Well never mind that, but fancy seeing you in one piece and here above all places!”  Loric had already drawn out his fine Elfen long sword by the time he had finished speaking, but Arlen hardly even noticed.  

        The anger and hatred Arlen felt at that moment threatened to change him forever.  He stood on the brink, the point of no return, of selling his soul for the death and eternal torture of this man before him.  He felt a Presence then and there, offering it to him, promising in no uncertain terms the total annihilation and eternal torment of the one who slew his mother and destroyed his father’s spirit.  Arlen could feel himself resisting, but then he saw again the scene before his eyes he had shown his own father: Loric carelessly twisting his mother’s neck, breaking it so effortlessly, and tossing her aside like a used tissue.  He opened his mouth to accept the bargain and trade away his soul and everything he had stood for all these years.  

        The sound of a pitiful sob broke through his walls of anger and hate, slamming into his heart like a sledgehammer, temporarily stalling his acceptance of the terms of Loric’s destruction.  He shook his head and found the source of that heartbreaking sound.  The little girl had woken up; she found herself dangling naked and bleeding, her parents and brother strung up with her above the floor. Now Arlen noticed the floor beneath the family, within the square of silver on the floor.  It was splitting.  Literally splitting and cracking up into chunks, flames of red orange fire licking up from below, bubbles of molten earth like lava pushing up through  the cracks, swallowing the floor within the summoning square.  

        Arlen could hear the cries of Havocs, not coming from outside, but from below the flames and magma under that poor family.   He realized then that Loric had been the one responsible for all the Havocs released into the mortal realms, at the behest of his master.  He had come back to this city to release even more, to add to the people’s despair and fear of the night.  

        Arlen raised his black sword to strike, to deal the blow that would end the world of Loric’s evil while damning his own soul, when the little girl sobbed again.  His head snapped around to look at her and their eyes locked.  She was trying to be brave, but the tears ran freely down her face, her lips were trembling, and her eyes, her eyes were full of loss.  Through the eyes of a child he was spared.

        His walls of anger and hate shattered as if made of glass.  The white hot geysers bursting forth behind his eyes disappeared in the wave of a child’s tears.  Peace and calm settled upon his shoulders like a favorite cloak, and the Truth was shown to him.  He heard and felt the Presence that had offered him Loric’s destruction wail out in anger and frustration, quickly dwindling into nothingness, as if it had never been.  

        Arlen turned once again to look at Loric.  He still had that same grin on his face, but it faltered when he saw Arlen’s look upon him.  Arlen took a step back, and nodded at Loric.

        “I know you Loric,” Arlen said, as if recognizing him for the first time.  Loric’s brow creased in confusion.  “I know who you are and how you came to be what you are today.  I know what you think you know, and I stand here now to tell you that you have been deceived.  You shall not succeed in your efforts here tonight, but you will not tell your master of this, just as you did not tell him of the girl babe you left behind that night you took the boy from the orphanage.  Just as you did not pass to him the warning the Ancient One gave you about them being your downfall.  Just as you will not tell him that I live, as he had given the order himself that I was to die and it was your responsibility to see to it that I did.  So many secrets you keep from your master Loric, yet he keeps even more from you, even ones more sinister and horrible than you could imagine.  Think back to that night Loric; that night that made you who and what you are today, that night you traded your soul for vengeance.  It was not all as it seemed, but you are familiar with doing things like that too, aren’t you Loric?”  

        Arlen had regained his center totally now, and was preparing for what would come next.  Loric snarled at him, raising his sword up on guard in front of him.  He slowly paced by the side of the summoning square, and took a deep breath of the sulfur smell now filling the room, calming him.

        “You are too late, my dear Arlen, to stop the summoning, for they are already on their way and even the destruction of the square will not stop their arrival now.  And they will be so hungry when they get here; you see that is the only reason why these pitiful humans are still alive, their only worthy act in life will be to serve as the Havocs first meal in this realm, but only the first of many.”  He smirked in satisfaction and triumph.  “So you can choose to fight me here and now and your beloved human cattle will be devoured by the Havoc, or you can try to save them while I depart here to further my master’s wishes.  Either way I win Arlen, as always, I win.”

        Arlen stared at Loric’s face for a moment, a face so handsome transformed into something so ugly and horrible.  Then he laughed.  Loric’s sneer dropped off his face in shock.  For a moment he looked like a confused little boy who couldn’t find his favorite toy.

        “You jackass, Loric,” Arlen said, “You think to give me some ultimatum?  Some horrible choice I have to make? Do this or lose that; whichever I choose you win?”  Arlen raised his eyebrow in question at Loric, who now looked thoroughly confused, but still on guard.  “You see, I am not totally without a few of my own tricks up my sleeve, let me show you one now.”

        With that Arlen pulled forth is his other sword.  As dark a hilt as his other was white, as white a blade as his other was dark, he drew it forth and held it up for Loric to see.  

        “You see, these incredible swords have come into my possession, and I can tell by your expression you recognize them.”  For the first time a look of uncertainty crossed Loric’s face as he did indeed recognize the swords held before him: Nox, the dark blade, and Lux, the light.  One more thing he would not be telling his mater about, no doubt.  Arlen smiled and the black hilted white blade burst forth with a blinding light, making Loric stagger back and cover his eyes with his off hand, but still keeping his sword at the ready.  One day the telling story of the two blades would make quite a tale.  

        “Now look around Loric,” Arlen continued, “no more shadows, no more doorways into the realm of dread through which you can escape.”  Loric looked out of the corner of his eyes, now definitely angry, as all the shadows had vanished in the burst of light. “Perhaps now that you are trapped here we should fight to the death and I can free this poor family as well; because I do not think after you have spent so much of your power summoning these nightmares here you would have enough left to defend against me for very long.”  Arlen took one more step backwards and brought both of his swords to the ready position.

        Now it was Loric’s time to have white hot sheets of anger wash over him.  What Arlen said was indeed true.  It had taken a lot of his power to perform the ritual summoning; and while he did not doubt he could still defeat Arlen even in his weakened state, it was best not to take unnecessary chances if at all possible.  Being forced into a fight like this was not advisable.  He began looking out of the corners of his eyes for a possible avenue of escape or distraction.

        Arlen could see what Loric was thinking, so he straightened up and moved his swords from the ready position to guard, shaking his head.

        “Now Loric, do not be distressed, for this is truly a lucky night for you.”  Loric focused again on Arlen at these words.  “Now is not your time to face judgment Loric;  that will only come once the full Truth has been made known to you, then you will face your consequences and decide your fate.  Think long and hard on this Loric, you have been deceived, but it is not an excuse for the evil you have wrought since then, and you will be held accountable for that, no matter what you decide.”  Arlen’s face was grim by the time he had finished speaking, locking gazes with Loric.

Loric saw that Arlen had relaxed his stance and did not seem to be readying for an attack.  He looked over Arlen’s shoulder at the destroyed warehouse doors, calculating the angles and speed necessary to escape.  Arlen grunted and stepped aside.

“Begone Loric;” Arlen said dismissively, “I have work to do here.”  He took another step back to give him plenty of room to leave.

Loric looked at him for several moments, his right eye twitched once, creasing the scar left behind so many years ago.  Part of him wanted to stay and fight, to show this sniveling dirty human who was the true master; but the larger part knew his odds were even at best and he hadn’t lived this long by playing even, with anyone.  

Loric spit at the ground before Arlen’s feet, and taking one last look at the summoning square and the humans hung like offerings over it, he proudly marched past Arlen, not looking back even as he passed through the warehouse doors.

Arlen heard his horse neigh in disgust at the stench of Loric as he left the warehouse, and he couldn’t help but love his horse just a little bit more then.  The stomping footsteps faded away, and Arlen turned again to look at the mess Loric had left behind.

He quickly strode to the summoning square and ran his boots through the silver, disfiguring and breaking the power of the summoning square.  It turned out however that Loric had not been lying about it being too late, for even as he was destroying the square, howls filled the warehouse as four fully grown Havocs, deep dark green in color, emerged from the fiery floor, thrusting aside the molten chunks of concrete and timber that had once been a sturdy floor.  No others could follow them into this realm now that he had destroyed the summoning square, but that still left him with four hungry Havocs.  Arlen took the few moments it took for the Havocs to push their way out of the nightmare realm into the mortal one to regain his center.  By the time the four demons had clawed their way out, Arlen was ready for them.

The Havocs immediately sprang for the tasty human morsels dangling above them, desperate to rend into mortal flesh and feel the life drain out of it.  Arlen sprang into their midst and slashed the neck of the nearest one lunging for the mother, the white blade cleanly slicing through its throat and taking its head off in a splatter of black blood, covering the mother and Arlen alike with its smelly nasty substance.   The Havoc died mid howl, its body convulsing mid leap and flopping to the ground before it realized it was dead.  The other three immediately turned away from their prey and sprang onto Arlen simultaneously, landing on him and their sheer weight forcing him down to one knee.

Arlen felt the Havocs thrashing into him, their claws ripping and tearing at him, drawing blood which made them frenzy even more.  He didn’t feel any pain for now, but knew that would change soon if he didn’t do something.  He thrust out with his shoulders and cleared the Havocs away from his arms, and with a mighty heave he struck his blades together in front of him, the white and black clashed against each other, two opposite powers forged long ago, made to work together yet opposing each other always.  There was a great explosion as the swords met; the forcing together of such primal opposites releasing energy not meant to be withstood.  The concussive force of the blast threw all three of the remaining Havocs away from Arlen; fortunately for him they took most of the force, leaving only his eyebrows singed and his face slightly burned.  

Before they could recover, Arlen leapt onto the one closest to the dangling family.  It lay upon its back temporarily stunned from the explosion, its legs twitching feebly.  He landed on its chest, sharply edged plates of armor and flesh, and drove both swords into its neck.  Pulling his arms across each other, he decapitated the Havoc, bringing it out of its daze just long enough to rage at its death.

Arlen felt what had to be a charging horse hit his back as one of the Havocs plowed into him and knocked him off the dead one onto the hard concrete.  He was on his stomach, with his arms pinned under him and could just picture the Havoc about to tear into his neck and back with his wickedly sharp fangs and claws.  He could feel however that the Havoc was not balanced well on his back, so before it could strike he savagely shook his own body back and forth, trying to throw it off balance even more.  The Havoc let out a startled shriek as it fell off his back to the side, and Arlen kept rolling until he could spring upright, thankful to have the one off his back, but now only to find that the other Havoc had recovered as well and now he face two very angry and determined demons.  

Arlen grinned.  He began weaving his swords in front of him in a pattern learned the hard way, a long time ago.  The Havocs kept away from the swirling swords as best they could while trying to gut him with their claws or tear out his throat with their fangs.  Arlen closed his eyes and felt the ebb and flow around him, opening himself up to the Truth and letting it guide him.  He opened his eyes again and advanced on the demons.  

He wove a shield of steel and death as he waded in among the demons, blocking their thrusts and punishing them for every strike aimed at him.  Ducking and dodging, rolling and leaping he danced with them as they had totally forgotten the easy prey above them and focused wholly on destroying this mortal who dared stand against them.  

Finally he caught one of the Havocs with its guard down after a fake thrust to its head with his white blade, and his black blade took the creature square in the chest.  It howled in agony, and even though it was a supernatural creature it still had to have a mortal body to manifest itself in this realm, so it was in genuine pain and danger.  It grabbed at the black blade with its claws, and as they closed about it he brought his white blade around and swung again at its head.  The Havoc was in too much pain to see the blade coming for its head, but managed to force the black blade out of its chest just in time to see the white blade connect with its neck, and then it saw no more.

Arlen kicked the carcass of the dead Havoc away from him and spun around to deal with the last one.  This one was more wary, circling around, trying to feint and find a weak spot in Arlen’s defenses.  The Havoc feinted to the left, and as Arlen moved to cover it, the Havoc spun totally around and leapt for the little girl dangling above them.  She screeched in newfound terror as the demon snatched her off the ropes and grabbed her about the waist.  Arlen snarled at the Havoc as it brought the girl about in front of it and kept her in between them as a shield.  Arlen maneuvered the Havoc backwards, desperately trying to keep the girl from harm, pulling his thrusts short, but nevertheless forcing the Havoc backwards toward the summoning area.  The Havoc was so intent on keeping the girl in between them, trying to get Arlen to stab her instead; that it didn’t notice it was so close to the cracks and crevices from which it had forced its way into this realm.  

Arlen launched an attack at the Havocs head, and just as it brought the girl up to absorb the thrusts, Arlen twisted mid thrust and sliced at its legs.  Both blades struck true, slicing each leg off at the knee.  The Havoc bellowed in pain and rage and started to fall backwards into the crevice still full of magma and fire.  Arlen dropped his swords and snatched the girl out of its grip, and held her close to his chest as the last Havoc fell into the fire and magma, thrashing about in pain.  Without its legs to thrust it back out it tried to grab onto the sides of the floor jutting out near it.  Arlen quickly yet gently set the girl down and retrieved his swords. He bent down and with two fluid motions sliced off both its arms, the twin blades passing through both arms so quickly the girl couldn’t tell which one was cut off first.  Arlen breathlessly stood there for a moment, the little girl ran up to him and clung to him, sobbing, as he watched the now helpless Havoc bobbing like a cork in the lava.  Taking a deep breath he went down to one knee and delivered the coup de grace, taking its head, and watched as both head and body sunk back into the magma, the fires from which it came, devouring it, consuming it, reclaiming it.  

Arlen sheathed his remaining sword and quickly walked over to some crates around the corner from the carnage in the middle of the warehouse floor, with the girl still clinging to him. He removed his cloak, and gently laid the little girl down on some wool packing pads that were lying about.  He whispered into her ear that it was all over now and kissed her on her forehead and told her he’d be right back with her brother and parents.  He spent the next several minutes finding blankets for the family to wrap them up in, and then gently took them all down from their ropes over the summoning square.  The summoning spell had finally worn off and the warehouse floor had slowly and achingly resumed its normal state, except for some new cracks and black blood that remained.

After he had the family safely removed from the rafters and settled in among the crates, he went looking for some paper and a pen in the warehouse office.  He found what he needed and wrote some instructions down for the father.  Odds were that Loric would soon come back looking for that family to eliminate them as witnesses to his failure.  He wrote down directions to a safe house of his in a nearby city, and the name of a friend there that could get them settled in if they wanted to stay there, or help them move on if they wanted to keep going.  

He went back to the family and the husband was just beginning to stir.  Arlen gently shook him the rest of the way awake.  The father awoke with a start and started thrashing about as if still fighting, but Arlen quickly calmed him down and in hushed tones explained what had happened, leaving nothing out.  The man looked at his wife with deep sorrow and at his daughter with wonder and told her how proud he was of her for being so brave.  The girl smiled for the first time since Arlen had seen her, and it was beautiful.  

Arlen gave the father the instructions he had written down, telling him to leave this city tonight, as soon as everyone was awake and mobile.  He told them to take whatever horses they needed from the stables he had been staying in and he would leave some money for the innkeeper to cover their cost.  

“There is plenty of coin at the safe house I am sending you to,” Arlen told the man, “I have plenty others set around cities and towns here and there, so I’ll never miss one of them.”  He smiled reassuringly at the father, even though he knew they would all be haunted by tonight’s events for the rest of their lives.  The father thanked him profusely and promised he and his family would be out of town in two hours.

“What are you going to do now sir? And we don’t even know your name and you saved us all!”  The father had genuine concern on his face for Arlen, and it touched him.

“Well,” Arlen responded, “it’s best you don’t know my name yet, you can’t give up a name you don’t know.  And as for what I’ll do now, well there is no way I’ll be able to get back to sleep tonight, so I think I’ll do some extermination around the city tonight.”   With that he shook the father’s hand and gave the girl a quick hug goodbye and left the warehouse to find his horse.  She was waiting right where he had left her, and if he read it right, a look of annoyance on her face.  He rubbed her neck for a few moments, breathing in her scent, calming down, readying himself for the rest of the night.  “Ok girl,” he whispered in her ear, “let’s cause some havoc tonight!” He chuckled at his pun but figured she didn’t get it.

That night the town’s people heard the cries of the monsters they had come to know, but they sounded different, like they themselves were in pain, and then they stopped altogether.  In the morning, as mortals reclaimed their place of mastery of the city, they found piled on the city’s center square the corpses of ten horrific creatures out of their nightmares.  They had all been decapitated, a pile of severed heads stacked neatly to one side of the mutilated corpses, bulbous eyes staring at nothing, evil twisted tongues hanging limply from lifeless mouths.  Limbs were missing from several of them as well, and they all had several wounds and gashes that had dried black blood crusted around them, the flies already dining on this unexpected but most welcome feast.  Most intriguing of all, however, there was a message on the stone of the city square.  It would encourage many, showing that yes indeed these monsters could be slain, and in the coming months it would become a rallying cry for cities across the kingdom to reclaim what was rightfully theirs.  The message, scrawled out in the demons own black blood read: The Time is NOW!

Chapter Twelve

Catti wiped her forearm across her brow, smearing away most of the blood before it could drip into her eyes again. The nasty gash just below her hairline was courtesy of a Qal’cha blade that had been intent on cleaving her skull in two.  Unfortunately for the Qal’cha warrior trying to permanently part her hairline, Cattie had barely seen it coming in time and had stepped back, receiving the bothersome cut instead of a fatal blow.  She had responded with a vicious swipe at the warrior’s knee, smashing it into splinters and felling him to the ground.  Once on the ground the Qal’cha was quickly swarmed by more of the dwarven warriors who made short work of him.  

The battle had been short, yet brutal.  After Grommel and Kang had left her in charge of the Clan’s defenses while they led the force to relieve the surrounded dwarves of the Twilight Mountain Clan, Catti had quickly set the caravans up into defensive positions, expecting a possible attack at any moment.  Over a thousand dwarves used a lot of wagons!  The largest and sturdiest had been placed in a huge circle, providing a solid ring of wood and steel to protect the other wagons positioned within it.  The wagons inside the circle had been placed in staggered formations to confuse any enemies who breached the outer circle, and they also provided excellent kill zones of cross fire from crossbowmen inside the wagons themselves.  The older and younger non combatant dwarves were sequestered in the center of all the wagons, the young and the old being their most precious individuals.  

By the time Levin had returned with the scouts and warriors as Grommel had directed, Catti had everything in place and was ready to withstand anything short of a full scale assault by a much larger force.  Scout Levin had quickly recounted the events leading up to his return, and had also delivered a message from Grommel saying as soon as he met the Clan Lord of the Twilight Mountain Clan he would return, hopefully before nightfall.  

Catti had not really been more concerned than usual when her husband went off to battle, it had become a common occurrence these last five years, and if there was one thing Grommel knew well, it was how to fight and survive and triumph against the odds.  What had been bothering her however was when she should tell him something that would definitely distract him in these dangerous times: she was once again with child.  

The attack had come shortly after Levin and his men had returned.  Scouts set out in a picket line about half a mile out from the camp had come running back excitedly reporting that a sizeable force of Qal’cha were racing directly for their camp.  The scouts estimated the force at about three hundred warriors, running on all fours at a terrific speed, weapons and shield strapped to their backs.  

Cattie had scant minutes to prepare for the attack, but by the time the Qal’cha broke through the brush that had been cleared to within one hundred yards of the camp, she had everyone as ready as they could be for the coming fight. The enemy had spread out around the camp while still covered by the brush, but their numbers only allowed them to cover a quarter of the outer wagons without being spread too thin. The Qal’cha all attacked simultaneously, howling and growling, a fearsome sight indeed.  The archers were the first to strike against the Qal’cha, launching a devastating wave of arrows once the enemy hit around 75 yards out from the camp.   At least a score of Qal’cha died before they even reached the outer circle of the camp, but once they reached the outer defenses the natural agility and strength of the attackers made defending the wagons difficult.  

Catti had thought the attack was a little too straightforward, so she sent out Levin personally to check out the rest of the camp perimeter to make sure the defenders there were not caught off guard.  She pulled in more of her warriors to help fend off the Qal’cha trying to punch through the outer wagons.  Several groups of Qal’cha succeeded in using their agility and almost unnatural leaping abilities to force their way past the first line of defending wagons.  Once inside though they faced more dwarven warriors, fighting for their home and their kin, and there are few forces in existence that can overcome dwarven warriors standing their final grounds.  After several minutes of fierce fighting the Qal’cha were pushed back outside the wagon wall, and just as Cattie was about to breathe a sigh of relief, an explosion rocked her back on her heals.  She spun around wildly looking for the source and saw a cloud of black smoke coming up from the other side of the camp, where she had sent Levin off to check.  She snarled and called those just victorious warriors to her side and they raced across camp to the new threat.

She would not let herself think of the babe inside her, or what could happen if she or the baby were hurt; her eyes watered briefly as that thought tried to surface and distract her. She instead reminded herself of her daughter Magthi huddled inside one of the inner wagons, her and the other children defenseless should their parents fail. So she ran on with her warriors, both men and women, all of them placing their lives and their loved ones live on the line to protect the Clan.  She pumped her legs even harder, with each stride pushing the images of her hurt baby farther away and bringer her closer to where she would fight not just for her life, but for those of her children.  Anger and dwarven grim determination quickly replaced fear and by the time she and the other warriors reached the scene of the explosion they were ready to destroy anything in their path.  

A gruesome sight met Catti and the other warriors upon their arrival.  Two of the outer defensive wagons had been blown apart from each other and smoldered in flames, twisted wreckage all that remained of once strong dwarven workmanship.  A group of thirty Qal’cha had broken through the lines, and Catti saw what looked to be a Qal’cha Shaman with them.  The Shaman had long strings of bones hanging from its black fur, and it wore robes instead of the Qal’cha armor.  Catti could not tell from the robes if the Shaman was male or female, but she could tell it had caused the destruction of the wagons as she watched the Shaman growl and gesture with a huge staff it held at a small group of dwarven warriors, and the ground beneath them exploded, sending the lifeless bodies of the warriors flying I all directions, most of them on fire.  

Catti saw the scout Levin leading the forces trying to push the invaders back, but he was fighting from one knee, his other leg bleeding wickedly, too weak to support him.  Several more dwarven bodies lay scattered about the wagons, and it looked like the Qal’cha were about to break the defenders and rush into the camp.  The warriors with Catti immediately rushed into the gaps of the defenders and brought some stability back to their lines.  

Catti saw that the Qal’cha shaman had a ring of his own warriors around it, armed with long spears, so far successful in keeping the dwarves away while it cast its spells wrecking havoc on the dwarven camp.  Catti looked around frantically, dodging and ducking blows, looking for something to use against the shaman.  Then she spotted a loaded crossbow still clutched by the lifeless hands of one of Levin’s scouts, Gorsch, a nice fellow, once a good blacksmith, but no longer.  She ran to Gorsch’s side and tried really hard not to sob as she knelt and peeled back his dead fingers and wrenched the crossbow from his grasp.  

As soon as she had the crossbow, she spun around, still on one knee and took quick aim at the shaman.  She saw its mouth moving, and it was raising its staff as if to cast another spell of destruction.  She waited, slowing her breathing, feeling her heart beat steady, until it had raised the staff but not yet pointed it anyone specific.  Then she let fly straight and true, the click of trigger sealing the shaman’s fate.  Just as the shaman’s spell reached a snarling crescendo, staff still upraised, her arrow pierced its left ear, and punctured a hole the size of a fist as it sliced through its head and exited the other ear.  Bits of bone and brain splattered onto the Qal’cha on the opposite side of the shaman, as its lips still moved but no sound came out of its dead mouth.  

Slowly, the shaman toppled to the side, falling onto the Qal’cha it had just made a mess on with its brains.  The shaman was dead, but the same could not be said for its staff.  The energies the shaman had successfully summoned before its death needed somewhere to go, and since they had not been directed at anything before it died, they took the path of least resistance, and simply detonated on the staff itself.  The explosion blew apart the ring of Qal’cha, flinging bits of fiery feline flesh in all directions.  The concussion knocked back the dwarves around them, but otherwise they were unhurt.  That turned the tide of the battle, breaking the back of the Qal’cha assault on the dwarven camp, and the dwarves immediately took advantage of the shift in power and surrounded the remaining Qal’cha and began to slowly but surely rip them to pieces.  

Cattie dropped her crossbow and was reaching back for her hammer, when a Qal’cha not caught in up in the dwarven counter attack spotted her and came running at her with its sword drawn, ready to cleave her from head to groin.  That was when she had barely seen him coming at her in time, and managed to step away and take his knee out from underneath him.  More dwarven warriors came up and made short work of him after that.

  It took another ten minutes of fighting, but in the end the Qal’cha were all dead and the gap sealed back up with some secondary wagons, not as strong as the first, but better than nothing.  Catti left half the warriors there and took the remaining back with her to the main assault point.  By the time she returned the Qal’cha had retreated, leaving dozens of their own dead on the field around the wagons.  No others had breached the stout dwarven wagons.

Catti took a deep breath as she slowly turned her head and surveyed the damage left in the attacks wake.  She guessed at least a quarter of the enemy had fallen in battle, their carcasses already attracting the carrion birds that always seemed to appear out of nowhere when mortals raised arms against each other.  Sadly, she saw at least a dozen of her dear friends lying dead inside the dwarven camp, some she knew better than others, but each one took a bit of her with them.  Dozens more were injured, hopefully none fatally, but she knew better than to get up her hopes.  A few of the other dwarven wagons had flames on them, but already the stoic dwarves were rushing to put them out before any serious structural damage could be done.  Cattie stood in a daze for a few moments; they had fought many battles on their journey across the lands, lost too many friends and family along the way, just to reach what they were hoping would be a safe refuge only to find more fighting and death awaited them. She allowed herself only a moment of self pity, then gathered herself together once again.  These were her family and friends, and she would fight and die all the way to hell and back for them if necessary.  She blinked away the dust and dried blood from her eyes, the dwarven grim determination taking hold of her spirit and face, as she walked forward and placed herself in the middle of the dead and dying and began to help restore some order to the chaos the battle had left behind.

It was almost dark when Grommel and Kang finally returned from their meeting with the Clan Lord of Twilight Mountain, and Catti was the first one out to greet them as they came stomping back into camp.  Their reunion was especially sweet for Catti, there was nothing like fighting for your life to help remind you of how much you loved someone.  She wanted to tell him right then and there that she was pregnant again, but she held back, knowing he needed to know the details of all that had happened while he was gone first.  Grommel went around the camp with Catti, visiting with the families of the slain and wounded, offering condolences and encouragement where he could.  He listened, nodding his head, surveying the camp as Catti told him about the battle and what had happened. He stopped her at one point, and just held her close, for several moments before letting her go and he asked her to continue.  Finally she finished her tale, new tears threatening to come out as she thought about her dead friends.  She held them back though, that time would come later.  Grommel told her what an incredible job she had done, and told her lovingly that if she hadn’t acted as she did, dozens more might have died.  She hugged him close for that, so thankful it was over.  

Since she had everything under control and as back to normal as possible by then, she led him to their tent where Magthi was waiting for them.  Magthi poked her head out of the tent as they approached, and let out a squeal of happiness when she saw him.  She burst out of the tent like a shot arrow and slammed right into Grommel’s thigh.  He laughed as he picked her up and hugged her, and together the family went into their tent, forgetting, if even for just a few moments, the horrors of the day.

After they had eaten, and played with Magthi more, and then finally laid her down to bed,  they just held each other for a while, consoling each other as only soul mates could.  He was her rock, yet she knew he depended on her in so many ways as well, and together they made it right again.  Grommel then told her of his own encounter, describing the hidden tunnel into the mountain in breathtaking detail, and the wonders of the dwarven fortress at the end of it.  He spoke highly of the Clan Lord Dalim and told her of the plan they had come up with to throw the Qal’cha off the mountain and break their siege.  

Grommel had brought back with him several of what he called “Dwarven Engineers” and he described what he had seen Garrum do and how it seemed not commonplace, but definitely not unknown amongst the other dwarves.  

“We’ve lost so much Catti,” he said as the reclined next to each other, “but now we have the chance to get it all back! Imagine what we could have done had we known about this engineering trapped back in Haylon’s mines!”  She smiled at his excitement, and made him promise that she would get to see firsthand this forgotten art.  He went on to explain that the engineers were going to create fortifications that would cut the Qal’cha off from their reinforcements and box them in and cut off any escape as well.  Trapped with nowhere to go or maneuver effectively, they hoped to neutralize the Qal’cha’s main advantage in battle, their agility and speed.  The engineers however could not create these structures unless they were right on top of the ground needed to do it, which was why it had not been tried before.  They lacked the forces to launch an attack that could secure the ground needed while still defending against the main gates themselves.  With the Whitehammer Clan forces however, they could secure the needed areas and not give up any defensive positions, and then they could launch their combined attack.  With any luck, tomorrow night should see the Qal’cha siege broken and them retreating down the mountain.  As they finally drifted off to sleep, Catti hoped fervently that was so.

Sometime during the night, Catti couldn’t tell what time it was, something woke her up.  A soft musical voice, neither male nor female, just a voice, it drifted in and out of her mind like a soft breeze on a warm night.  She cracked her eyes open and was shocked to see Grommel awake as well, sitting on the edge of their bed, looking up at glowing figure floating just a few feet in front of him.  She blinked away the sleep in her eyes, making sure this wasn’t a dream.  The tent was dark except for the light from the figure.  Her eyes shot wide open when she heard the figure speak again.

“You have done well, Gemmelson,” came the melodic voice from the creature.  It looked like it sounded, both male and female, neither male nor female, yet still beautiful.  Its eyes shone a brilliant violet, beautiful yet somewhat intimidating to Catti.  “Tomorrow you will fulfill the first part of the Duty laid upon you, you have persevered through many years of trials and hardships to bring your people to a safe haven, and they will prosper because of you.”  The warmth from the creature’s voice filled the tent, making Catti so content she almost fell back asleep.  

“I had help,” Grommel replied, looking down at Catti with a smile, so then he saw she was awake and watching them.  He didn’t seem to mind, so Catti returned his smile and sat up next to him, staring openly in awe at the creature.  The creature turned its head towards Catti and smiled, almost breaking her heart.  

“Well met Cattie Whitehammer,” the creature said, “peace be to you and your family, for generations yet to come.” It sounded more like a blessing than a greeting to Catti, so she simply nodded and smiled back at the creature.  The figure turned its beautiful gaze back onto Grommel.

“As I also promised you, you endured much pain and loss on the journey here, yet there is even more ahead of you.”  Catti saw the corners of Grommel’s mouth turn down at that, but she knew he would not deny the creature.  “Tomorrow as I said fulfills the first Duty laid upon you, yet so you cannot stay to celebrate your victory, for you must leave before the night falls and begin the journey to fulfill an even larger task.”  The creature paused here, letting it sink in what it had just said.  And sink in it did, for both of them.  

Grommel’s mouth simply fell open, confusion and hurt on his face.  Catti started breathing heavily, anger instantly brewing up deep inside her, threatening to erupt right then and there.  She bit her tongue hard to keep silent, and tasted blood trickle down her throat.  

“Tomorrow?”  Grommel asked incredulously, “We’ve reached safety but still haven’t found our own home, still haven’t staked out our own lands, we’ve just barely gotten here!”  His voice was almost frantic, yet he reigned it in at the last, regaining his composure before the creature.  The figure nodded at Grommel and Catti both, understanding in its eyes, but also a determination that any dwarf would recognize as its own.

“Your journey hasn’t ended Grommel, this was but the first step of your path into a many colored land.  I promised you pain and grief, and I would not visit it upon you so soon, but there is no choice.”  The creature’s eyes held Grommel’s and even Catti could feel the intensity of that gaze.  “There are others who need your strength, your hand of Justice, and should you leave any later than tomorrow night, you will not reach them in time.”

“What others?” Grommel asked, slowly shaking his head from side to side, still in denial.

“You will know them when you meet them” the creature said mysteriously.  Grommel looked up in surprise at this, but nodded his head after a moment. “Three of you shall gather, and then you three shall meet the one. She is the one who shall unite you all under her banner.  She is the one whose path you shall follow, just as you have led others, and you shall wield Justice in her wake, leaving none to doubt in her purpose or her authority.  This is the burden I would place upon you Grommel Gemmelson, to lay aside all you love and have fought so hard for, to face the unknown and terrifying future ahead of you, with the uncertain fate of the mortal realms at risk.”  Time came to a halt as the creature, beautiful yet now terrible to behold looked to Grommel.  “What say you Whitehammer?” It asked; the force of the all creation behind its voice.

Slowly, Grommel turned his head to look at Catti, tears silently sliding down his face.  Matching tears were in Catti’s eyes, and for one terrible moment she thought of telling him she was with child once again, to force him to stay here with her when she needed him the most.  But she saw his eyes, and knew.  As pitiful as it sounded she knew this was larger than either of them, and to keep him here for her own needs would be supremely selfish at best, evil at worst.  Forever she stared into his eyes, losing herself in them as she had so many times, and she saw the man she loved, in all his depth, all his weakness, all his love, and she knew what she would do.

Still locked in his gaze, she reached over and took his hands.  Holding her breath, she nodded once, feeling her heart break apart as she did so.  

Grommel closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh, hanging his head down.  A few moments later he squeezed Catti’s hands gently and lifted his head, eyes wide open, a fire of love so hot and bright in them that it threatened to consume Catti right where she sat.  His face then set like a dwarf will do, and the courage and power of the man she had loved so much came over it, and her broken heart filled with pride and love for this man who would shoulder the weight of the world for her.  He nodded his shaggy head once back at her, and turned to face the Hand of Justice.

“Be it done according to your words,” he said, the power of his conviction sealing those words with authority and finality.  

The creature nodded, a serene and beautiful smile now on its face, its eyes shining indigo flames fighting back the darkness of a world gone mad.  

“So be it.” And with that, the creature was gone.

Neither of them slept the rest of the night, but rather just laid there, in each other’s arms, no words needing to be spoken.  

Morning finally broke, the sun lazily lifting itself over the mountains, almost reluctant to begin its work of illuminating the land of mortals.  As the sunlight made its presence known, Grommel and Cattie stirred themselves from their embrace, rising, and walked hand in hand to Magthi’s small bed.  They spent a few moments just staring at her, and Catti knew Grommel was drinking in every feature of his beloved daughter, not wanting to forget a thing about her for the long road ahead of him.  Finally he reached down and rubbed her under her chin and she immediately woke up, groggily smiling at them both.

Breakfast was a solemn affair, yet they still managed some small talk.  Catti knew the burden of leading the Clan while he was gone would fall to her, but she kept pushing that thought away, wondering instead how and when, or even if she should tell him about Magthi’s new sibling. Part of her now didn’t even want to tell him about it, she couldn’t bear to add to the pain he was feeling about having to leave so soon and no idea when he’d be back.  She sighed to herself and together the family finished their last breakfast together for who knew how long.  

After breakfast Grommel introduced her to the dwarven engineers he had brought with them, led by a younger dwarf named Jaxom.  Jaxom blushed as he was introduced to her, Catti smiling at his reaction, which made him blush even more.  Grommel kissed Catti on the cheek and told her that he and Kang were going to prepare the warriors to move out, and asked her to keep Jaxom occupied until they returned to speak with him about the strategic placement of the dwarven engineers in their battle plan.

“Jaxom,” Catti turned to the young dwarf, who immediately blushed again, “would you do me the honor of showing me some of your engineering skills? Grommel spoke so highly of them and I’m very excited to see them for myself!” She almost batted her eyes but didn’t want to send the poor kid into a blushing fit.

Jaxom stood a bit straighter and proudly said, “It would be my honor Lady Whitehammer!”  He then bowed from his waist, partly to hide his latest blush.  Catti turned and winked at Grommel as Jaxom gestured for her to follow him to an area suitable for a demonstration.  Grommel grinned back at her and took off with Kang, headed to talk to the Elders.  

Jaxom led Catti to a relatively grass free patch of dirt about twenty yards east of the camp, still within easy sight of the sentries.  He looked around and nodded in satisfaction to himself.  His face took on a more somber and serious attitude when he turned to look at Catti.  

“I know your Clan has lost the knowledge of engineering Lady Whitehammer,” he began a bit formally, “yet I can assure you that you and yours have not lost the skill.   I would not be surprised if some of your Clan showed the ability to become engineers, and that is one of the first things we should do once you are settled into your Clanhome.”  Jaxom stopped at that, feeling perhaps he had overstepped his bounds.  Catti smiled reassuringly at him.

“I’m counting on you helping us reclaim our lost heritage young Jaxom,” she said, “I too believe we should have some that take to this engineering rather well.”

“There’s not a lot of us engineers, milady,” Jaxom said reluctantly, “it is a rare gift. However in a clan the size of yours there should definitely be at least a couple!”  Catti nodded, wondering, running people through her head who she thought might end up showing some affinity for it, to test them first.  

“Here, let me show you some small things,” Jaxom said, the eager young dwarf once again.  Catti chuckled and motioned for him to proceed.  Jaxom took a quick look around the open space of dirt they were standing in, nodding and mumbling to himself.  After a moment of that he closed his eyes, and then knelt down on one knee and touched the earth with his right hand, wiggling his fingers into the dirt.  He took a deep breath, and held it.  Catti didn’t notice anything at first, but then simultaneously she felt the ground and her stomach rumbling.  She got the oddest feeling in her head then, a little nauseous and dizzy, but it quickly passed.

Slowly at first, and then with more speed, the ground around them started to move. Earthen walls grew up out of the ground in a square around them, sprouting to over twelve feet high, surrounding them completely.  The walls were tightly packed earth, stable enough to support their own weight.  Impressed, Catti looked at the walls, even walking up to one of them and poking and prodding it with her fingers.  It was very solid for a wall made out of dirt.

“I’m impressed Jaxom,” Catti said, “but what good would a wall of earth do?” I’m sure it is easily knocked down?”

Jaxom nodded, “Of course Lady Whitehammer, a wall such as this would not withstand an attack by armed warriors, but it would be sufficient to repel any animals or bad weather if we were to enclose the opening above us as well.  This would be a good shelter in such conditions.  For warfare purposes we would make this out of stone.  It is a bit more difficult to draw stone out of the earth, and would require more time and effort than what I just did here, but it can be, and is, done effectively when we need it.”  Jaxom’s voice had taken on an almost instructor like tone while speaking, and Catti assumed he must have some sort of role in instructing fledgling dwarven engineers.

“How do you do it?” Catti asked.  She wasn’t really expecting an answer so was surprised when he responded.

“Well, here, why don’t you try it?  Clan Lord Grommel wanted to have everyone tested anyways, so we might as well start with you!”  Jaxom grinned at Catti’s surprised reaction.

“What do I do?” she asked, rather reluctantly.

“Let’s just see if you even have the gift, first of all.”  Jaxom said, once more dropping into his instructor’s voice.  “Walk up to one of these walls and place your hand on it, let your fingers move into the earth just a bit, to start with.”  

Bemusedly Catti approached the nearest earthen wall and laid her hand against it.  Then she wiggled her fingers just underneath the surface, gently, not wanting to dislodge too much of the earth.  “Ok, now what?” she asked, looking back at Jaxom.

“Ok here comes the moment of truth,” he said grinning.  “Try to concentrate on the feel of the earth on your fingers, gradually stop thinking of anything else other than how that feels; nothing else is important while you are trying to connect with the earth beneath you.  Go deeper and deeper into how it feels, lose yourself…”

Catti couldn’t hear Jaxom anymore, she was totally entranced, she could feel every grain of earth touching her fingers, and it was almost overwhelming.  She started to panic, her mind felt like it was being buried alive beneath tons of earth, but gradually she pushed that aside and it was more like her mind was moving freely through the earth.  She could feel the warmth of the earth around her, pulsing with the life beat of the planet itself.  It was a comforting feeling, being wrapped up in the embrace of the earth, and she could tell that if she just knew how to do it properly, she could ask the earth to do things for her, like Jaxom had done earlier with the walls around them now.  

How long she was in that trance, she didn’t know, but she finally broke out of it when she felt someone placing a hand on her shoulder, jolting her back into her above ground existence.  She shook her head to clear her mind and eyes and found Jaxom with his hand on her shoulder, looking worriedly at her.  He quickly removed his hand when he saw she was herself again.

“Lady Whitehammer?” he asked.  “Are you ok?  You went pretty deep in there; I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost.”  Catti, still dazed a bit looked at Jaxom with a question in her eyes.  “Sometimes if you go too deeply for too long, it’s as if you go into a coma, your body forgets to take care of itself and you can really do yourself some damage.”

Catti nodded her head, then the reality of what she had just done hit her.  

“Jaxom, I did it!” she cried excitedly, grabbing him and spinning him around in a circle.  Jaxom blushed horribly and Catti almost laughed out loud, but then she let him go so he could regain his composure.

“Indeed Lady Whitehammer you did!”  Jaxom said happily.  Then he looked thoughtful.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said in his instructor’s voice, “I am not needed by your husband for another three hours, why don’t we explore this talent of yours, see if there is anything we can teach you quickly.”  Catti’s eyes lit up at the prospect, while she had been connecting with the earth she had temporarily forgotten all about the events of last night and Grommel having to leave so soon, and she welcomed anything that would help alleviate that pain.  Plus the feeling was truly wonderful, and she was curious about what else she could do with it.

“Now, let us both place our hands upon the wall Lady,” Jaxom resumed as he walked to the wall and motioned for her to stand next to him.  “Now, please if I may?” he respectfully placed his left hand on her shoulder again, but left it there this time.  “If we have some sort of physical contact before we go in, we can stay aware of each other and it will make it easier for me to show you what to do, and what not to do!”

This time Catti found it much easier to let go of her thoughts and get immersed in the feeling of being one with the earth.  With Jaxom’s guidance she saw things she didn’t see the first time, connections within the earth: connections the earth had with water, stone, minerals and even seeds in the ground not yet come to life.  Gradually he was able to show her how to manipulate some of the smaller things, like a farmer tills the earth from above; she was tilling it from below the earth, where smaller actions had larger results.  

Eventually they had to end their session; the three hours had come and gone so quickly, yet when they did pull out she was extremely tired.  Jaxom nodded at her reaction and informed her that communicating with and manipulating the earth like that could take a physical toll on the engineer as well, which was why it was dangerous to explore on one’s own until they grew in skill and experience.  Catti thanked Jaxom profusely, earning yet another blush from him.  By then Kang had come by to collect Jaxom, so he quickly dismissed the walls surrounding them and he left with Kang to help with the final preparations for the battle.

Catti spent the next hour wandering through the camp in the midst of preparing for battle.  She visited with the wounded, paid another visit to the families of the slain dwarves from yesterdays fight, and in general helped rouse the camp where she could.  In the back of her mind though, three things fought for her attention: the coming battle, the wild and wonderful discovery of her engineering gift, and the fact that Grommel would soon be gone and she still hadn’t told him of her pregnancy.  The hour passed by in a blur, and sooner than she thought the call to arms rang out through the encampment.  

Within short order the dwarven soldiers, archers and scouts were all mounted up and ready to move out.  Catti was stationed with archers this time; she had put herself with them instead of the warriors ever since she found out she was pregnant.  Once all the elements were formed, a single horn blast signaled them to move out.  Catti looked around as they rode out of the camp; there was a bit of a fanfare, those left behind shouting out their support for the friends and family and loved ones, and many a mug of ale raised in blessing as the dwarves rode out to battle.

Traveling on their Auxian, it did not take very long for the dwarven forces to reach their designated forward camp.  Here they dismounted and set about on their final preparations to begin the advance on the Qal’cha.  Grommel called in the cohort leaders and drew out the battle plans in the earth.  Catti snuck her way into the briefing, and absently wondered if she could make a better map with engineering than what Grommel was drawing with a stick, but decided now was not the time to find out!  

After the final orders had been issued, all the leaders were dismissed back to their cohorts, but Catti stayed behind.  Grommel and Kang were talking about some strategy or other until he had the feeling someone was staring at him.  He turned and saw Catti, and he smiled at her and reached out with his left hand since his right clutched Aetrius.  She moved to him and gave him a stout dwarven hug, refusing to let go for several moments.  He didn’t resist and they stood there, to Kang’s embarrassment, until they felt they had said everything they needed to say with that one last embrace.  

Catti broke the contact and kissed him on the cheek.  As she turned around to leave she winked at Kang, to which he nodded, coughing as he did so.  She met up with the archers moving to their positions along a ridge overlooking the chosen sight of battle.  They had to crawl on their hands and knees the last several yards so the Qal’cha would not see them below.  The scouts had already eliminated any Qal’cha sentries and scouts that had been up on the ridge previously.  As they spread out there was a small but quiet ruckus as several make shift catapults were drawn up alongside them, the engineers having spent some time forming nicely sized boulders to hurl down on the camp below.  

From her vantage point she could see the Qal’cha down below, their camp set up in an easily defensible formation, set in the middle of the intersection where the northern and southern roads met with the eastern  main road that lead up to the entrance of the Mountain Twilight Clan’s stronghold.  With the strong fortifications around the entrance to the Clan’s stronghold, they were in no danger of being overcome, however the Qal’cha were enough in numbers to prevent any kind of trade or travel into or out of the stronghold, and like Clan Lord Dalim had said their main force was too large for the dwarves to simply over run without risking the other entrances to the Clan Home that were also under siege.  

Catti had not paid much attention to the battle plan overall, she just knew her and her fellow archers were to rain down death upon the Qal’cha camp and keep as many of them out of the fight for as long as possible until the Whitehammers could strike.  She saw another contingent of archers further south along the ridge, just above the southern part of the intersection, just out of range of the Qal’cha camp, and she realized the dwarven engineers were there also.  A picture of what the engineers were going to do began to form in her head then, and she nodded her head in approval.  

A single trumpet blast blew out of nowhere, signaling the beginning of the attack.  As one the archers all along the ridge stood and raised their crossbows and fired down into the camp, as the catapults were drawn back and released their deadly loads onto the unsuspecting enemy camp. Havoc broke out in the camp below as arrows and boulders came flying and crashing into them, cutting them down where they stood and crushing them without mercy.  To the Qal’cha’s credit they began immediately to return fire, but their accuracy was hampered by the fact that huge boulders were crashing down on their positions and making it difficult to get a good shot at the dwarves.  

Before the Qal’cha had a chance to launch a full attack on the archers on the ridge, the earth to the north of their camp heaved up and cracked, opening up a twenty foot wide crater in the middle of the road.  Whitehammers came charging out of the hole, a fearsome sight all wielding their hammers and shields, roaring out their battle cries and at their head was Grommel, wielding his huge hammer Aetrius easily with one hand, his shield in the other.  Moments later on the eastern road to the Clan Stronghold, the ground erupted again just outside of the Qal’cha camp.  Now dwarves of the Twilight Mountain Clan came pouring out charging, with Dalim at their head.  The two dwarven forces slammed into the Qal’cha, threatening to immediately break their lines and crush them.  The Qal’cha, however, were fierce warriors and rallied quickly.

Catti realized that the engineers must have made tunnels from hidden along the ridge to right under the road, and when the time was right they had collapsed an opening where the dwarves could launch their surprise assault. Nodding in appreciation, Catte and her archers and the catapults continued to shoot from up on the ridge, adding to the mayhem down below.  As she was reloading she saw the archers south of her move off the ridge and advance on the southern road, bringing the dwarven engineers with them.  The archers took up a defensive position alongside the western side of the road while the engineers hunkered down in a line behind them.  Catti watched for a moment as the engineers joined hands up and down the line and all kneeled upon the ground.  Catti fired again down into the camp and as she reloaded again she saw that the Qal’cha were distracted enough by the attack along their north and east that they did not see the dwarves alongside the road to the south.  

After Catti fired again she felt the ground tremble beneath her.  She looked and saw the engineers all but laying face down in the dirt, when suddenly they all stood up and raised their joined hands as one.  The ground at the southern edge of the Qal’cha camp split as a huge stone wall rose up over thirty feet in the air, running from the ridge the dwarves were on all the way to the east a hundred yards to slam into the Twilight mountain defenses themselves.  The Qal’cha panicked for a few moments and threatened to fall apart as they saw themselves being boxed into a corner.  They tried to rally but now they were fighting with their backs against a huge wall and it removed their ability to maneuver their forces around quickly and efficiently, and took away any escape route as well.  Qal’cha hated fighting in confined spaces, and their desperation quickly grew as they were pushed back further and further into the corner of the wall and ridge.  

Catti fired again, hoping this would soon come to an end.  This time between shots she looked north along the ridge without knowing why.  She froze.  Charging down the northern road was a sizeable force of Qal’cha, running at their full frightening speed, headed straight for the rear of the Whitehammers.  They hadn’t made it to the crater in the road yet, but while it was twenty feet across, the road was fifty feet so they could easily go around it, or probably just jump over it at their speed.  Quickly she looked for a scout to send down to Grommel, but none were nearby.  So she did the only thing she could think of.

“Archers!” she called out in a hoarse voice, “cover me!”  She dropped her crossbow and took off running along the northern edge of the ridge.  The archers turned and saw the approaching Qal’cha and started firing even they were too far away at the moment for any effect.  Catti stopped at the edge of the ridge by one of the catapults, reaching down she grabbed a length of rope and quickly wrapped and secured it around one of the stout legs of the catapult.  Not even checking to see if it was secure she jumped off the side of the ridge and repelled the thirty feet down the side, slamming into the ground, knocking the wind out of her for a moment.  She regained her breath and started running to the crater, stopping as she reached the dwarven side of it.  The Qal’cha coming down the northern road could see her now and if anything they started running faster.  Catti knew she had maybe ninety seconds at best to do what she had to do.  She dropped to both knees, and punched both her fists into the earth, sweat from her forehead mixing with the ground.  Fear and discipline galvanized her to instantly push all thoughts out of her head, all thoughts except for her need from the earth.  She felt an intense bonding with the earth, even more profound than she had with Jaxom helping her.  She told the earth what she needed, and it started to respond.  

The crater the Whitehammers had erupted from began to crack open wider, the ground itself moaning as it slowly started stretching towards the ridge to the west and the mountain to the east.  It was taking too long though, Catti knew, she only had maybe twenty seconds now before they got to her.  All rational thought fled her then, as she reached down, too far down, into the earth and into herself.  With a primal cry of anger she felt something rip in the earth itself, something horrible, a rending, and a violent shredding of the ground beneath her.  Catti felt herself falling into an abyss in her mind, she knew she had asked too much, pushed too hard, but the cost was worth it.  Just as she was about to vanish into the depths, she felt a quickening in her stomach, no it was her womb.  A wave of consciousness came forth from her unborn child and joined with her, strengthening her and steadying her just before she slipped into the dark.  Together they finished what she had started, and then in amazement and in wonder and love, she passed out.

The archers on the ridge watched in amazement as the Qal’cha force came charging towards Catti, with the crater slowly expanding.  Just before they reached the northern end of the crater, some prepared to simply leap over it while others split off to the right and the left of it.  Right at that moment Catti let out a horrible scream and the crater immediately ripped apart, shooting across the entire road, cracking open further north as well, opening up a deep and terrible chasm, the earth itself crying out in pain.  The Qal’cha shouted out in terror and confusion as they fell into the chasm, falling, crashing against the sides, ripped apart by the boulders and rocks along the walls, finally slamming onto the ground over a hundred feet below.

Their screams almost brought the entire battle to a halt.  Once the Qal’cha saw what had happened to their reinforcements, their will to fight evaporated.  After that it was a route.  They wouldn’t surrender, but they tried to escape by clawing their way up the ridge, or pushing their way through the dwarves, some even tried to scale the thirty foot wall behind them.  Subduing the Qal’cha was a brutal effort, not much different from fighting them.  

Grommel and Kang were conferring with Dalim about how to best mop up the Qal’cha forces and where to hold them captive until they could use them as hostages to force the other Qal’cha tribes to retreat from their assaults on other dwarven clans in the area, when a scout ran up to Grommel and whispered something in his ear.  Grommel’s face turned deathly white and he excused himself right away and took off running to the dwarven medical triage area.  He skidded to a halt when he saw Catti lying stretched out on a cot, a dwarven medic sitting anxiously next to her.  

The medic looked up at him and his eyes widened.

“How is she?” Grommel asked, afraid of what he would hear.  He left his mind blank until he heard the answer.  He inadvertently let his breath out in a sigh as he saw the medic nod his head encouragingly.

“She is fine now, Lord Grommel,” the medic answered quickly and professionally, “She’s breathing steadily now and appears to just be asleep.  She had a mild concussion but doesn’t seem to be in anymore danger.”  Catti’s eyes started fluttering open upon hearing Grommel’s voice.  “And one last bit of good news Lord Grommel,” the medic said smiling, “it appears that her…” He stopped abruptly and grunted in pain.   Grommel looked down and saw that Catti had reached out and gripped the medic’s hand and was basically crushing it in her grip.  Catti smiled up at Grommel, then turned to the medic, very slowly and with one final squeeze, letting go of his hand.

“Thank you Madrin,” Catti said softly, “for taking such good care of me. I’ll take it from here thank you.”  Madrin shook his hand looking at Catti oddly, and then looking at Grommel, then back at her. Suddenly his eyes opened wide and he nodded in understanding and smiled at them both.

“I’ll just be goin then,” he said, still smiling as he left.

Grommel looked quizzically at Madrin as he left.  Dismissing that from his mind he focused again on Catti.  He rushed to the chair and sat on it, grabbing her hand and engulfing her in a bear hug, never wanting to let go again.

“Ah dear, Catti,” Grommel whispered into her ear, Jaxom told me you had some small affinity with engineering, but I had no idea!”  He pulled back from his hug and looked with wonder into her eyes.  “You are incredible, if it weren’t for you, we might not have won.”  He hugged her again, almost crushing the breath out of her.

Catti giggled a little oddly, and she pulled herself away from him just enough to look at him in the face.  Grommel marveled again at how lucky he was to have such a woman that loved him so much.  She took a deep breath.

“Grommel,” she whispered, “I know you have to leave tonight,” Grommel raised his eyebrow, something big was about to happen, he could feel it.  “But before you go, there is one more thing I need to tell you…”

Chapter Thirteen

Safe and comfortable in the darkness, it was the warmth that woke her up.  Slowly she blinked her eyes, looking around at the grassy hillside on which she had fallen asleep.  She was nestled in the grass, the sun’s gentle heat not only baking into her from above, but radiating back again from the grass, wrapping her in a cocoon of security and contentment.  She closed her eyes again and breathed in deeply, relishing the smell of a warm summer afternoon full of fragrant flowers and cozy grass.  Lazily she opened her eyes again and luxuriously stretched out, the grass tickling her bare feet as she moved.  

Her chores were done for the moment, so she had snuck away to her favorite spot to play and relax: the hillside overlooking her family’s farm.  Eight years out of her ten she had lived here, so it was really the only home she ever knew, and she loved it dearly.  The chores were not fun, but little by little she was beginning to realize that the food she ate, the home she lived in, and even some of the clothes she wore were only possible because of the chores she and her parents did.  Still, though, no matter how much she loved milk, she hated milking the cows!  She had spent most of the morning milking them today, but her mother had teased her with the promise that her father would be returning home today, and he’d promised he’d bring some of that wonderful coco powder back with him from the city.

She lounged for a few minutes longer, then reluctantly got to her feet, brushing the grass and dirt off of her britches and shirt.  She wiggled her toes in the grass one last time, and then set off at a run down the hill towards her home.  Her long black hair bounced in its braids off her shoulders as she ran.  She used to almost lose her footing running down the hill when she was younger, but years of running up and down the hillside, and other things her parents seemed intent on teaching her, had made her more surefooted and agile.  She could beat most of the boys her age now in the foot races that always seemed to happen whenever the villagers and farmers got together for festivals and celebrations.  

After a few moments she could see her front door, and their dog Servo saw her at the same moment.  He was a big burly dog, with long yellow hair and a broad head and long ears and she loved him very much.  As soon as he caught sight of her his ears perked up and he took a stance in the dirt.  An instant later he took off from the porch, bounding his way up the hill to meet her.  Once he reached her, as always, they ran down the hill together

Her sharp blue eyes had already spotted the dust cloud coming down the road from the village by the time she had reached her home, only slightly out of breath.  She knew what that meant and rushed inside to wash up before her father got home.  Her mother was inside already, also washing up; she had been sharpening some of her knives and the oils always got all over her hands.  The girl ran up to her mother and slammed into her with a bear hug around her waist.  

“Mama,” she said excitedly, “papa is almost here, I can see the dust!” Servo barked and ran circles around them both.

“Yes, baby girl, I can see the dust too.” Her mother said calmly, but the gleam in her eye gave away her own happiness.  The girl knew her mother was a very serious person, not given to frivolity very much, yet there were some things and did make her smile, and made her happy, and her father was one of them. Proudly she knew that she herself was one of them too.

Her mother finished cleaning herself first and then helped her daughter get the dirt stain out of her shirt.  When she was done, she held the girl at arm’s length and smiled at her.

“Now, go and run to papa and see who he’s brought to see you!”  She leaned over and kissed her daughter on the nose, turned her around and sent her off with a pat on the rear.  Her daughter let out a shout of happiness as she bolted out the door, and just for a moment, the mother caught a glimpse of the woman she would become, if allowed to, and a small tear crept its way into the corner of her eye.  She quickly brushed the tear away, sighed, and took up the daggers she had just sharpened and slid them back into the sheaths around her waist and boots.  If there was one thing she had learned in the last ten years, it was to never be caught off guard, all their lives depended on it.  

The girl had run no more than twenty feet out of her front door, Servo at her side, when a wagon came over the rise on the road, pulled by Dusty, one of their horses.  The girl stopped in her tracks and waited for the wagon to come to her, mindful of her father’s lesson on how and why to not spook horses.  It had its blinders on, but she knew her papa would be proud of her for not running up and taking the chance anyways.  She even made poor Servo sit and behave himself.

She was right, her papa was smiling broadly as the wagon pulled up alongside her, and she could see the approval in his eyes at her caution.  She was so happy to see him, he had been gone for over a week and she had missed him sorely.  Then she looked next to her papa and was even happier as she saw who he had brought with him.

“Papa!” she cried out, “Uncle Mikael!”  Now all restraint gone she leapt up the side of the wagon and jumped in to her father’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, tears of happiness slipping out even though she wanted to be a grown up and keep them all in.

Her father handed the reigns over to Mikael, with a look and a smile, and then wrapped his own arms around his daughter, hugging her right back.  He laid his cheek down up on the top of her head as he hugged her, and he could still smell the sun and flowers in her hair, and he knew exactly where she had been and what she had been doing.  

“Ah, Celi,” he said as he pulled her back to look at her.  “I’m sorry I was gone so long this time, so I had to make it up to you by brining Uncle Mikael back with me!”  He reached up and wiped away the tears from her eyes, both of them smiling as he did so.

“Uh-humm,” Uncle Mikael said, interrupting them.  “Since I did come all this way just to see this wonderful young woman, would you be so kind as to let her out of your hairy paws longs enough to hug me?”  The girl laughed again and gave her papa one more kiss on the cheek and then launched herself at Uncle Mikael.  She almost knocked him out of the wagon, she hit him so hard.  Laughing, he dropped the reigns and grabbed the side of the riders’ seat with his free hand, since his other was now wrapped around her waist

“Ah, dear Cecilia, you are even more beautiful and graceful than I remember!”  Now papa was laughing along as well, and by then her mother had come outside too, taking in the scene before her with a serious look, but then smiling seeing Uncle Mikael hanging half off the wagon seat with Celi almost dragging him off the side.  Her smile got even larger when she saw her husband, returned home safely once again, to her.  

Celi’s father brought the wagon to a halt just by the front door of their cottage, and no sooner had Dusty stopped than he was out of the wagon seat and in the arms of his wife.

“Graci,” he whispered into her ear, “It’s good to be home.”  His strong arms wrapped around her, crushing her in his embrace.  

“Josef,” she whispered back into his ear, “you have been gone too long!  There are a lot of chores that need to be done around here, I suggest you start tonight!”  Josef pulled his head back with a grin on his face.

“Chores, eh? Well I’ll try my best!” Graci punched him on the arm and they both started laughing.  

“Eh, what’s that you kids are talking about over there?”  Uncle Mikael had just managed to climb down from the wagon with Cecilia still wrapped around him like a parka.  She was giggling the entire time, daring him to not drop her.  Josef and Graci had the good grace to not repeat themselves.

Celi could feel the strength in Uncle Mikael’s arms as he easily held her steady while he climbed down from the wagon.  She thought it was odd that one who looked so old could still be so strong.  Uncle Mikael looked old, but he never acted old.  He always seemed fit and in good health for one as old as he must be.  He had short white hair, but it wasn’t a white that was a lack of any color, it was like the white was as vibrant and strong as any other color, just white.  And his eyes!  She always loved looking at his eyes; they never seemed to be the same color for very long.  She would look at his eyes once and they would be blue, an hour later she’d look again and they would be green, or brown, or even yellowish.  One time she could have sworn they were violet! Sometimes he would catch her looking at them and he would just give her the quirkiest grin, and then his eyes would change again!  

Uncle Mikael laughed as he set Celi on the ground, and then started making his way towards her parents, gently running his hand down Dusty’s flank as he walked by her.  Celi noticed Dusty seemed to stand a little straighter and easier after that. Just another of the odd things about her Uncle Mikael; she knew he wasn’t really an Uncle but an old friend her parents, and he’d always done strange things like that for her to file away in her head to puzzle over later.    

Celi watched as her mother finally let go of her father as Uncle Mikael reached them, and as always she noticed how respectful she appeared towards him.  Almost as if he was her father, rather than an old family friend.  Uncle Mikael would have none of her formalities though and simply took her up in a hug that lifted her off her feet, and when she finally laughed, he set her back down.  

“Well now,” Mikael said, “Let’s go catch up on lost time, oh and by the way, I’m famished!”  They all laughed at that.

“Papa, I’ll take care of Dusty and the wagon,” Celi volunteered, “I promise I’ll do it right.”  Josef raised an eyebrow at her, but then nodded, smiling.  Celi had only recently learned how to properly groom and stable a horse and was still a bit intimidated by the size of the horses when it came to taking care of them.  With Servo at her side however, she led Dusty off and was determined to show both her parents and Uncle Mikael that she was old enough to do it right.

About thirty minutes and a few bruises from falling off the step stool later, Celi and Servo emerged triumphant from the stable and she wearily made her way to the house, the smell of some kind of wonderful food leading her on.  She got to the front door and made sure to wipe away most of the horse hair from her clothes, and made sure any bruises were covered up by her clothes.  She bent down and rubbed Servo behind his big floppy ears, and he promptly sat down staring up at her.   She told him to stay, and she promised to bring him out something later to say thank you for keeping her company.  He wagged his tail on the porch and licked her face.  Giggling, she wiped the dog slobber off her face and went inside for dinner.

Dinner tasted as good as it smelled, chicken and dumplings and carrots on the side.  Celi devoured hers, and as she went to put up her dishes, snuck a small portion onto an old dish for Servo.  Her parents and Uncle Mikael were now sitting comfortably in front of the crackling fire in the fireplace, talking in low tones, intent on their conversation.   Celi snuck out the front door to give Servo his promised reward.  Once outside, however, she couldn’t find Servo.  He would usually just be lounging on the front porch, the warmth seeping out from the front door more than enough to keep him warm on chilly nights.  

Celi stepped down off the porch, looking for Servo.  She still couldn’t see any sign of him, but she wasn’t too worried yet.  Servo would sometimes make rounds of their farm, scaring off any foxes or other predators that might be looking for an easy meal.  She didn’t’ stray too far from the front door however, her parents had done a very good job of teaching Celi to be cautious about wandering around the countryside during the dark.  Reluctantly she made her way back to the house.  Once back safely indoors she set Servo’s treat aside, covering it with a cloth, hoping he would return before it spoiled.  

Seeing that the adults were still deep in some boring conversation, Celi went to her own room and lit the small lamp next by her bedside.  It lit up her room reasonably well, containing a bed, a small writing desk, a chest at the foot of the bed, a chair next to her nightstand, and some bookcases along the walls.  Her father had made all the furniture in the room, and once again she marveled at how beautiful they were: simple but elegant in design, masterfully carved and assembled, they reminded her of the sturdy oak trees from which they were made.  She walked up to the bookcase and removed one of her favorite books from it, a story of some children who accidently enter into a wonderful world filled with magic.  Talking animals, evil queens, heroic children come to save the day, so superbly woven together all the while delivering a bigger message: that hope, truth, justice and love can conquer all.  

She took her book and sat down in her chair, quickly flipping through to the book to find her place.  She always memorized what page she left off on, she hated the thought of bending down the tip of a page. It just seemed awful to hurt a book like that.  Her parents had insisted that she learn to read, as well as know basic arithmetic.  It was unusual for children other than the children of the rich to know how to read and write, let alone know their numbers as well.  Her parents though had seen fit to teach her all sorts of things that she thought were unusual.  Not only could she read and write, but she had a basic first aid understanding, could (barely) shoot a bow, knew how to set up basic traps and snares, could identify several types of edible and poisonous plants and flora, knew basic survival techniques in the wild, and to top it off, her mother had just started showing Celi how to handle a knife!  She hadn’t cut herself yet, but her mother promised her that she would eventually.  

She found her page and began to read.  Quickly enough she had lost herself in the story and lost track of time, adventuring in her imagination across frozen landscapes and lush rich grasslands and soaring castles.  She had already read this book twice, but she found that each time she re-read it she found something she had missed, or made some connections she hadn’t made before, and she just simply loved the story so she wanted to experience it again.

Suddenly a fierce howl broke the silence in her room.  At first she thought it was just her imagination focusing on what she was reading, but then it happened again, only there were three howls, and her heart stopped as she heard Servo’s unmistakable growl and barking added into the mix.  She dropped her book and shot out of her chair, running for her parents.  Just as she came out of her room she caught sight of her parents and Uncle Mikael rushing out of the front door ahead of her.  She saw Mikael had a thick staff in his hands, and both of her parents had their longbows in their hands with a quiver of arrows slung across their backs.  

Celi ran out after them, for some reason not calling out to them, just running after them.  It was even darker now, there was no moon out tonight and there were some clouds out blocking the stars; she could barely make out the ground beneath her and almost twisted her ankle as she tripped on something unseen as she wildly rushed after her parents.  She almost yelled out but she stifled it at the last second.  She could barely make out her parents and Uncle Mikael ahead of her now, and she thought she saw Mikael turn his head back behind him at her stifled yelp.  She knew now that if her parents saw her out here with them that they would make her turn around, so she was desperately hoping Mikael didn’t see her.  

Uncle Mikael didn’t stop or say anything, however a faint white light suddenly grew out of the top of his staff, and he held it up higher as they ran forward.  Celi knew from her parents that a faint light was best so that it wouldn’t ruin their night vision, but would still show enough of the ground so that they wouldn’t trip over anything.  Well she knew that Mikael had seen her, but at least he hadn’t told her parents, yet.  They kept running, and Celi dropped back just a little more, trying to stay far enough back that they wouldn’t hear her, but close enough to use the light coming from Mikael’s staff.  Of course she hadn’t stopped to think yet how Uncle Mikael had light glowing from the top of his staff, her only concern being what was happening to Servo.  

Another howl cut through the night, this time much closer.  As they ran on Celi began to hear just such a horrible mix of growls and whines and yelps and howls, all growing louder as they ran, with each stride fear and horror growing in her heart for her beloved pet and friend.  She tried to hold it in but still sobbed, thinking about Servo as her parents and Mikael left the road and turned towards the pasture where the milk cows and their calves spent their nights.  

The sounds of a fight now were so loud she knew they were close.  It all sounded so real, so final, like nothing she had ever heard before, she knew that whatever was happening was brutal and horrible.  The adults came to an abrupt halt in front of her, and she barely had time to stop herself before she ran smack into them.   She skidded to her own stop almost on top of her father, but his attention was not on her.  

The scene that unfolded before them was indeed as horrible as she feared.  Blood and fur were everywhere.  The first thing Celi saw was one of the milk calves with a bloody wounded leg, a huge gash on the back of its calf and huge claw marks on its back, also bleeding nonstop.  She caught her breath as she saw Servo, covered in blood, in a fight to the death.  Three huge wolves had found their way to the pastures, a very uncommon thing around here; wolves were not normally native to this part of the land.   Servo had one of the wolves pinned beneath him on the ground, his jaws locked in a death grip on the wolf’s throat.  Celi tried to scream but she couldn’t, the other two wolves were just ravaging poor Servo.  One was almost totally on his back with its jaws clamped on the back of his neck, and the other was savagely biting at Servo’s sides, ripping off flesh and muscle with every bite.  Servo was a huge and powerful dog, but even Celi in her childhood worship of her pet and protector knew that he was doomed.  

Before she could draw in her breath for a real scream, two arrows appeared out of nowhere, one in the shoulder of the wolf on Servo’s side, and one right in the heart of the wolf on Servo’s back.  She shook her head and blinked and then there was another arrow in each wolf‘s body, the one on top shot through the eye, the one on the side shot in the back of the head.  The wolf with the grip on Servo’s neck let go and both wolves howled out in agony.  Celi looked up at her parents just in time to see each of them at the same time, in perfect unison, draw another arrow out of their quivers and like they had been doing this all their lives they took aim and let fly at exactly the same moment.  The arrows flew true, one taking the wolf on top through the throat, the other arrow piercing the lung of the wolf below.  

Servo heaved himself up then, ripping the throat out of the wolf he had pinned down, spraying blood everywhere as he shook himself.  The wolves fell off to the sides, already dead but not realizing it yet, last desperate agonizing breaths gasping from their bloodied jaws.  Celi watched in horror as simultaneously the wolves took one last shuddering breath and stopped moving, and Servo gave a little shake himself and collapsed on his side.  

Now finally she could scream.  And she did.  Then she started crying as her parents rushed up to Servo, shoving the wolves out of the way to reach him.  Uncle Mikael came up to Celi, and she turned to him in horror and threw herself into his arms and sobbed uncontrollably into his shirt.  He stroked the back of her head and shoulders, not saying anything, just holding her and letting her cry.  

“Servo,” she heard her father say, sadness and pride in his voice, “you mad, crazy, brave, wonderful bastard.”  Now she heard the tears in his voice as well, and that made her cry even harder.  

“Josef!” she heard her mother exclaim, “Look, he’s breathing! The poor baby is still alive!”

“What? Incredible!”  He was alive Celi thought excitedly, but then why did her father sound even sadder now?  She heard her father sigh, a bitter sigh, one she had only heard a very few times in her life.

In the silence broken only by her own sobs and the gaspingly ragged breathing of Servo struggling through the waves of pain to survive, Celi heard the unmistakable and final sound of a dagger being drawn out of its sheath.  Finally it dawned on her why her father was so sad to find out Servo was still alive.  The horror of what was about to happen shocked her out of her own tears and crying.  She tore herself away from Uncle Mikael and spun around, seeing her father kneeling over poor beautiful, gallant Servo, his dagger about to deliver the final blow to put her best friend in the world out of his misery.  

That was a moment she would remember for the rest of her life.  Something inside of her changed in that instant.  Changed in such a fundamental and irrevocable way, that even at the age of ten years old she knew how monumental and permanent it was.  Staring at the scene of her father poised to end Servo’s life in mercy, she knew, just knew in her heart and in her mind that she could save Servo; that she could…fix…him.  It wasn’t the kind of thought a child has imagining they could do anything they wanted, she knew as positively as the sky was blue that she could.

She bolted towards her father, expecting at any second to feel Uncle Mikael’s big hands quickly clamping down on her shoulders to hold her back from the gruesome killing grounds.  But those hands never moved, Uncle Mikael just watched with a proud but sad look on his face as he watched Celi rush towards her fate.

“Father! No! Wait!” She cried out as she barreled in between her father and Servo, her father almost inhumanely quick in moving the dagger out of his daughter’s path.  Celi laid on the ground next to Servo, placing her face on the grass right in front of his; staring  into his eyes she could see the love and pain in them, and the begging for release from the pain.  She would give him that release.  

She reached her right hand from where she lay and gently placed it upon his ravaged neck; she could feel the cold clammy blood matted into his fur, some of it seeping through her fingers as the slid them up to the wicked wound itself.

“Celi!” Her father cried out in horror, “what are you doing! Dear gods girl, you can’t do anything for him! He’s too far gone!”  Josef began reaching out to Celi to drag her away and shield her from such a terrible sight, one that a child should never see.  

“Wait!” A voice thundered out.  Josef and Graci turned in shock to find Mikael next to them, a stern but gentle look now on his face.  “Leave the child to do what she must, what she can, what she will.”  Her parents stared at him dumbfounded, then looked down at their daughter again, who was totally unaware of what was happening above her.  It was if they were seeing her for the very first time.  Then they understood.  They silently, sadly, rose to their feet and stood next to Mikael.  

Celi was oblivious to what was going on around her.  All she saw was Servo’s eyes; all she heard was his labored breathing.  All she felt was the fur and blood and flesh beneath her fingers.  She stared into his eyes, as if she could convince him to not feel the pain anymore.  She could see him slipping away.  Poor brave Servo, he didn’t deserve to die like this.  

She felt the something warm on his neck.  Comforting, purposeful, living warmth full of promise and hope and truth.  It took her a moment to realize the warmth was coming from her own hand.  Slowly the warmth spread from her hand to his neck, slipping deep into the torn tissue and muscles, like a soothing balm smoothed over burnt skin.  She was frightened at what was happening, until she saw some of the pain fade from Servo’s eyes.  She took heart with that and decided right then and there that no matter where this path would lead her, it was one she would gladly walk down.  

Rather quickly then the warmth spread deeper into Servo; Celi could tell it reached Servo’s damaged lungs when his ragged breath began to even out, sounding less like a death rattle and more like a living creature.  She could feel Servo getting stronger and stronger beneath her touch.  She could see it in his eyes, just moments before filled with pain and death, now once again looking upon her with that soulful and wise gaze she loved so much.  She lost track of time as the warmth spread throughout his entire body, her body locked into that pose, lying on the ground next to him with her hand on his neck.  

Finally Servo broke the spell by blinking.  Celi blinked too, and shook her head.  She was dizzy.  Dazedly she got up on her knees and to her astonishment Servo’s body, although still covered in his own shed blood, was free of all his wounds!  She cried out in delight as Servo rather drunkenly and wobbly gathered his legs beneath him and stood up, his tail wagging happily.  She started crying again, and threw her arms around his neck, his healthy fur soaking up her happy tears.  

Standing behind her, her parents and Mikael just stared, mixed emotions on their faces.  Uncle Mikael still wore that bittersweet look, both happy and sad at the same time, but her parents looked like they had just lost something very dear to them, sadness and wonder the only expressions to be seen.  Mikael noticed this and motioned for them to move away from Celi and Servo a short distance out of earshot but definitely within bowshot.  

In a daze Josef and Graci followed Mikael, once they stopped all three turned to stand and look upon Celi and Servo again.  

Mikael nodded his head once.  Josef and Graci turned their heads towards him then.  

“What just happened Mikael?” Josef asked, now fear finally creeping into his voice and mind.  Graci was looking around nervously, as if expecting another attack out of the darkness.  She stopped suddenly and turned a sharp gaze on Mikael.

“Did you know this would happen?” she asked suspiciously.  The soft light from Mikael’s staff glinted off the sharpness now in her deep brown eyes.  

Mikael nodded again at both of them.  

“I knew something would happen, soon, and I thought it would be best if I was here for it.  Not to interfere mind you, but just to make sure it went smoothly.”  His gentle voice and calm manner did a lot to quickly calm the parents down and clear their minds once again.

“As to what happened Josef,” he continued, a faraway look on his face, “Cecilia has done what I once told you long ago, when you first accepted her into your life, would happen.”  Here he looked directly at Josef and Graci, a loving but firm look on his face, all traces of the sadness that neither of them had seen earlier vanished.  “She has taken the first step down a long and treacherous path.  She will need you now more than ever, to guide her, to teach her, to love her, to protect her until she is ready.”

“Guide her? Teach her?” Josef asked incredulously, “we know nothing of what she just did; you know we have no knowledge or talent in such things, how are we to guide her?”  Frustration was evident in his voice, he was a man of action and did not like being given a task he didn’t feel like he could accomplish, especially with someone as precious to him as Celi was.  Graci laid a hand upon his arm, softly calming him down once again with a mere touch.

“You need not know anything about such things Josef; that is not why I brought her to you and Graci those many years ago.”  Josef and Graci couldn’t help but smile at each other when they remembered that fateful night Celi was introduced into their lives.  Mikael nodded again at their memory.

“I brought her to you because you can teach her; teach her to use whatever gifts she has honestly, bravely, and without prejudice.  No matter the gift, I know you will teach her to respect it, to harness it wisely and to let it grow within her, and to share it when the time comes; and it will come.”  He turned to them both and placed a hand on each of their shoulders, staring deeply into their eyes.

“Show her how to survive, teach her how to trust, you’ve already shown her how to love! Teach her to be a good person; she’s off to a great start so far.  In the end that is all we can ask of any of you.”  The soft light from his staff had faded away and now seemed to be coming from Mikael himself, making him seem even more ageless than he usually did.  

“I trust you, I believe in you, and I love you both dearly.”  His smile and words brought tears to their eyes and firmness to their hearts.  They both nodded back at him and Josef reached up and grasped Mikael’s arm.  Graci and Josef looked at each other, an unspoken decision made once again as it was long ago.  Josef leaned over and kissed his Graci on the cheek and turned back to Mikael.

“We tell you again as we did ten years ago: we will not fail our Celi, upon our lives, our honor, and all we posses we will stand by her and guide her and love her and lay our lives down for her.  This we swear.”

At his words the clouds did part as if in answer, and the starlight on this moonless night lit up the sky with a million affirmations of their promise.

“Mama, Papa,” Cecilia’s excited voice broke through to them finally, “Servo’s going to live! He’s ok!  I don’t know how I did it but I did it!”  The three adults walked quickly back to Celi, Josef and Graci and Mikael all smiling at her and her dog.  Concern shadowed her face then.

“You aren’t mad at me for following you are you?  Or for fixing Servo? I’m sorry papa I just couldn’t let him die like that I’m sorry!”  Fear again began to creep into her, the severity of what she had done finally sinking in.  

Both Josef and Graci knelt down and hugged Celi, almost smothering her in their hugs.  Then they started laughing and it was that laughter that finally put Celi’s fears to rest for good.  Soon all three of them were laughing and Servo started barking and jumping around them wagging his tail, knocking into his humans with it.  

“It’s ok baby girl,” Graci said soothingly, “you did exactly what you should have done.”

Josef and Graci stood up with their daughter Celi, and their dog Servo, and turned to make their way back home.  Only then did they realize that Uncle Mikael vanished into the night.  Josef and Graci looked at each other with a knowing grin, and the family continued on its way, the light of a million stars guiding them home.

Far away, in a land not of his own, the demon sat in his stolen castle, in his stolen body, looking upon his stolen kingdom.  It was just now dusk here, while the stars of late evening shone for Josef and Graci and their daughter, and their brave pet.  His lands stretched so far across the world that even their homeland now fell under his power.  He did not possess the entire world, but he was nothing if not patient, and was proud of what he had accomplished in a mere thousand years.  

He was only momentarily content with his progress, as always, but tomorrow was another day, another step forward, another brick in the wall.  He took a deep breath, enjoying this human body, more than most he had used in the past.  It just seemed to suit him better, like a well made outfit crafted by an expert tailor, it fit him just right.

He was interrupted in his appreciation of the human he was wearing by a sudden feeling of dread.  Something had just happened.  Something bad…for him.  He closed his eyes and cast out his considerable senses, searching for the source of his discomfort.  He couldn’t find it, it had happened too quickly for him to get a fix on it.  What he did get however, was a taste of it.  It seemed…familiar.  That disturbed him greatly.  After a few moments of his imagination running rampant on him, he calmed himself down, rational thought taking over again.  It would most certainly happen again, but then he would be more open to it since he knew what to be aware of.  Then, then he would pinpoint it, and like all things within his grasp, it would be his.  He was in no hurry after all, for he was nothing else if not patient.  

Chapter Fourteen

        She stumbled in the darkness.  She didn’t know exactly where she was, only that she had to get away, there was something horrible back there, something too terrible to even register in her mind as real.  Her legs turned to water just thinking about it, and she almost fell again.  She could almost make out where she was, she thought it was some kind of corridor, the walls were close around her, squeezing her in, and she would rebound off the walls on either side as she ran wildly, blindly.  Her arms and legs were covered in scrapes and bruises from hitting the walls; they were rougher than she thought they should be, but she didn’t know why she would think that.  

        Suddenly, from somewhere far behind her, came a blast wave of flames and heat, rushing up to consume her, devour her, seeking her, to bring her down into itself and finally drive her into oblivion.  Desperately she ran even harder, the flames licking at her heels, but she still ran blindly, even with a wall of flames behind her she still could not see what lay ahead of her, or between what kinds of walls she ran.  The frustration brought her to tears that steamed away as soon as they appeared on her cheeks.  

        Ever so slowly she could feel the flames and the heat gaining behind her, she knew she had only moments to escape before it consumed her.  Up ahead she saw a light, she could tell the walls fell away and it was open beyond them.  A new surge of strength erupted in her legs and lungs, all thought was swept away and she just simply ran.  Her mind had now totally shut down and she didn’t even feel the wall of flames behind her anymore, all that she knew of reality was that she had to run for some reason, that she couldn’t stop; it was the only way to save herself.  

        Finally the walls fell away around her; she had reached the light!  She stopped running, not knowing why this was so important.  She stood there, panting, and as she drew in deep breaths to refill her lungs, a new smell made its way into what little awareness she now had.  She knew that she recognized what the smell was, but she couldn’t put a name to it.  It was a crisp, salty smell, a comforting smell, a wonderful smell.  It brought back memories she couldn’t see, reminded her of times she still couldn’t recall, confusing her even further, making her dizzy and happy all at once.  

        Her mind was trying to reassert itself, trying to gather itself and resume control of her body, but it couldn’t quite manage it.  Even with the light all around her, she still could not see or identify anything real around her.  Without remembering why, she turned to look behind her, her feet shuffling weekly as she turned on wobbly legs.  There was some kind of warmth this direction, and slowly her mind and her eyes became more focused; slowly they both clawed their way back to the forefront of her consciousness, and then finally, she could see.

          And with that sight, she was undone.

        Celi awoke in a sweat again, panting heavily, totally exhausted.  She had been having dreams like this for six years now, ever since she discovered her healing talents on that night so long ago.  About two years ago she had finally managed to stop screaming herself awake at all hours of the night, now she just woke up in a drenching sweat, sometimes panting like she had just run down the hill to her home.  She absently wiped her arm across her forehead, wiping away the sweat and the last images of her dream at the same time.  She had long ago stopped trying to figure out what they meant, she had eventually learned to endure them and wait for them to end, so she could wake up, wipe off her sweat, and go back to sleep.  

        Her parents had always been really good about rushing to her side when she woke up screaming all those nights, and while she was grateful for them doing it, it embarrassed her and she was thankful she had finally learned to somewhat control it and realize they were dreams while she was having them.  The nights waking up in a soaking sweat were much more preferred than the nights waking up screaming in fear and terror.  She had described them to her parents, and even Uncle Mikael on some occasions, but they had not been able to tell her why she was having them or what they might mean.  

        Sighing, she laid back down, beat her pillow a few times, rolled over and went back to sleep.  She slept soundly for the rest of the night, and woke up with Servo licking her face, the smell of grass on his breath.  He was nine years old now, a bit old, but still spry and youthful acting.  For several years after the night she had healed his mortal wounds, Celi had been secretly healing away the effects of aging from Servo as they would appear.  Finally her father had realized that Servo didn’t seem to be aging much, and figured out what she had been doing.  She denied it at first, of course, but he just looked at her with that look, and she broke down in tears, admitting it.  

Her father had told her she had good intentions, but it wasn’t fair to Servo to deny him his natural life cycle.  That turned out to be one of the biggest lessons she learned from her parents about her gift.  It was one thing to heal a person or animal of an ailment or injury, to return them to their natural state of being, but it was quite another to alter, change, manipulate or disrupt peoples or animals natural cycles.  People and animals grew old and passed on for a reason, and if it wasn’t meant to be that way, then it would be somehow different already.  She had to learn to trust the natural order of things and that even though she had a wonderful gift, it wasn’t meant for her to act like some kind of god, twisting and changing things to suit her own whims.

The idea to use her gift to bring herself wealth and power and prestige had crept into her head every  now and then, especially when she had travelled to town with her parents and had seen the wealth that some flagrantly displayed for others to see and admire and envy.  That had been another valuable lesson she had learned: there were different kinds of wealth in life, some people had the material kind, some had the spiritual and emotional kind, and some lucky people managed to get both, but the important part was how they got that wealth.  There were several ways to do things, to live your life, to strive for whichever kind of wealth, and you had to rely on what you were taught and what you in your heart believed to be just and right to guide you in achieving it.  Her parents may not have had her type of “gift”, but they had their own kind, and knew how to pass it on to her.

She squinted her eyes and looked up at Servo, reaching out to scratch him behind his ears.  He responded by threatening to drool on her; she could see it starting to form around his muzzle.  Quickly she jumped out of bed to avoid the slobber shower.  Having successfully avoided his mucus attack, Celi got dressed for the day, brushed her hair rather carelessly and then left her room, servo padding noisily behind her.

She found her parents already up and breakfast already made.  This was unusual because it was usually Celi’s job to make breakfast.  She loved her mother dearly, but she was not the best of cooks.  Truthfully she was awful, she had no idea how her father had survived all those years until she had been old enough to cook.  She had grown up thinking food was a necessary evil to be endured because you had to, until she discovered it was just her mother’s cooking that was evil.  Then she felt sorry for her father even more, he had to endure it for many more years than she did.

She hesitantly took a seat, wondering if Servo was hungry enough to eat all of her breakfast when her parents weren’t looking.  They smiled at her, and she returned the smile, but something didn’t seem right.

“Good morning Celi,” her father greeted her, ruffling her mostly still messy hair.  Her mother got up from her seat and leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

“Good morning baby,” her mother said as she sat back down, a gentle yet sad smile on her face.

“Good morning, papa, mama,” Celi replied slowly, looking back and forth between her parents.  She eyed them suspiciously; a seed of worry sprouting tenuous roots into her imagination.  “Is everything ok?  I mean I usually make breakfast, no offense mama, I wasn’t late to get up was I?” She looked out the window, and thanks to her parents teaching she could tell by the position of the sun in the sky that it was just past dawn, her usual waking time; she had not overslept.  

Papa smiled reassuringly.  “No Celi, everything is fine, your mother and I are just a little nervous, is all.”  Now she could see that sad smile on his face too; and while she believed him that everything was ok, she knew something was about to happen.

“Ok then, well, what’s going on?” She didn’t mean to sound demanding, but it came out that way.  “You two look like you just lost your best friend.”  Then she had a terrible, thought.  “Uncle Mikael? Is he…”

“Uncle Mikael is fine dear.” Her mother quickly reached out a strong hand and laid it on top of hers gently.  “No one is hurt dear, but it actually does have something to do with Uncle Mikael, something we’ve wanted to talk to you about for a few years now, but your father and I agreed we would wait until you were more mature and able to handle more emotional feelings.”  She removed her hand slowly, and laid it back in her lap, almost meekly, which sent another danger signal to Celi, if there was one thing her mama wasn’t, it was meek.  

“It’s like this Celi,” her father said, drawing her attention away from her mother, “there is no easy way to say it, and you know us, we’re not very subtle, so here it is.  We’re not your natural parents.  We’ve had you since you were a month old, we’re the only parents you’ve ever had, and you’re the only child we’ve ever had, this is the only family any of us have ever known, your mother and I were both orphans, as you know, so when we saw the chance to be a family, we took it.”  He rushed out his words in one long breath and then clamped his mouth shut.

Celi’s vision dimmed.  Her head swam, and she felt nauseous without even eating any of the breakfast.  She shot out her hands and gripped the edge of the table, squeezing as hard as she could until it hurt, to keep from passing out.  She heard distant voices, but couldn’t make out anything else they were saying, everything was flowing all together, until all she could hear was a roaring in her ears, the blood rushing to her head.  

She could feel panic setting in, but at the last moment she remembered more of what they had taught her:  taking deep slow breaths when you thought you were going to pass out, concentrating only on her lungs and the muscles needed to draw in and exhale out breath.  As she was doing that she deliberately slowed down her own heart beat from its frantic pace, easing the push and flow of blood to her head, calming herself down.  So even as she found out these were not her natural parents, the things they had taught her had once again saved her from hurting herself.  

One thing Celi shared with her would be father, she was not very subtle.  The first decision she made in her foggy mind was that she would decide right then and there before she spoke whether or not to accept these two before her as her parents.  She would not waste her time wondering and fretting about it for days or weeks, crying herself to sleep, she had had enough of that caused by her horrible nightmares over the years, and she didn’t want to go through that again.  Her second decision was that her hands were cramping from holding onto the table so tightly, so she slowly let them go, flexing her fingers as she, like the woman who said she was her mother, gently laid her hands in her lap.

With those thoughts, her vision cleared somewhat, and as her eyes struggled to focus in on the figures in front of her, it was if she was seeing them for the first time.  This man sitting before her, not very tall, not very handsome, brown eyes and dark blond hair, with just a hint of grey on the temples now, always with a serious look, always ready for anything.  Strong capable hands, steady in the face of danger, yet gentle and warm when he would hold her. She knew he was stubborn; sometimes that was good, sometimes it wasn’t.  She knew he could be incredibly fierce in times of need, unrelenting in doing what he knew needed to be done.  She saw how he could be narrow minded, quick to judgment, and tended to act on impulse rather than thinking things totally through.  Yet she also knew his heart; those rare times when he would open up and she could see what he really felt about the world, about life, and about his love for his wife, and the love he had for his daughter.  This man in front of her, she knew he was a good man.

Her gaze drifted from the man before her to the woman across the table from him.  Such a beautiful woman, in a graceless moment she wondered how such an ordinary looking man had won the heart of such a beautiful woman, but only for a moment.  Quick and agile, she was full of surprises and always seemed to be learning something new or displaying some skill or knowledge she never let on she had.  She had a vivid imagination, although sometimes she let it get the better of her.  She was a dreamer too; she had such beautiful dreams of what life would be like for her daughter, some of them unrealistic to be sure, but she still clung to them.  She was always able to make her husband laugh and smile, when she thought he was getting too serious or whenever she just felt like it.  She had in common with her husband though that fierceness that came out when her loved ones or ideas that she held dear were provoked or came under attack.  Celi hated to admit it because it negated some of her self pity and anger, but as with the man across from her, she had to admit this was a good woman that sat at the table with her.  

She thought back over the years, to some of the times they had made her mad, punished her for something she had done, withheld things from her she thought they should tell her, wouldn’t let her do the things she wanted to do when she wanted to do them.  She had grown up thinking those were things parents just did, but now she had to ask if it was because they were not her real parents, as if real parents would somehow be magically different.  She felt her heart harden towards these two, and her mind was threatened again with a storm of emotions that could pull her under and drown her.  Just then though, like a lifeline thrown to one lost at sea, she heard a voice, a familiar voice, strong but gentle, full of wisdom yet ageless say: If they did not love you would they have bothered to make sure the good times outweighed the bad? Would they have taught you the things they did, protected you the way only they could, and provided for you a life for which so many others would give anything to have had?   Rise above your own self pity and pride, and see the love these two have for each other and for you; you are one of the lucky ones.

And so she decided.  She didn’t say a word; she stood up slowly, letting her hands fall down to her sides.  She drew in another deep steadying breath and stood up a little straighter, just like she had been taught.  Josef and Graci also stood up, Graci looked worriedly at Josef, who simply nodded to her; they had done what they had to do; now they would have to live with the consequences.  Celi saw the worry and fear on her face and knew she had decided correctly.  She shot around the table and embraced her mother fiercely, the tears finally coming, falling nonstop onto her shoulder.  

She felt her mother sob in return as they held each other, rocking back and forth, her mother gently stoking her hair like she did when she was a child.  Celi felt rather than saw her father come over to them and wrap his powerful arms around both of them, and while she knew there were no tears in his eyes, she knew there was a heart inside that had almost been impossibly broken and she shuddered to think that she would have been the one that did it.  He kissed the top of her head, that one simple action absolving her of any fear or guilt.  

Just then the front door burst open and a figure walked in.  Celi huddled up in her mama’s and papa’s embrace, heard a familiar, wise, ageless voice.

“Hello, everyone!” Uncle Mikael said, “I was traveling nearby and thought I would pop in and say hi.  I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

The chamber was dark, like they both liked it.  The king in the stolen body looked down at his servant, a human hating Elfen who long ago pledged his eternal service to him.  They were in a circular stone chamber, underground, hundreds of feet below the surface of his stolen castle.  The King raised his arms to either side and softly began chanting, ironically the vile words and phrases being sung out by a rich and vibrant voice, another gift of the stolen body.  This was one of his favorite bodies, he would hate getting rid of it soon, but it was inevitably aging and had to be replaced.  

As he chanted, a small glow of reddish light appeared in the center of the floor, barely illuminating the size of the room, roughly forty paces in diameter.  The ruddy light also uncovered the set of intricate runes and symbols etched into the stone surrounding the light, the symbols marked out in pure gold and silver, twinkling wickedly in the fiendish light.  Quickly the light grew stronger, igniting into a fire now, bringing with it the smell of sulfur, stinging the ears and eyes nicely.  Now the flames fully revealed the King’s Elfen, known as Loric to some, standing opposite the King, across from him on the outside of the circle of runes surrounding the disturbing flames.  Lastly the flames revealed the final items in the chamber.  Six bodies hung upside down from long chains, forming a circle above the King and his servant, their heads dangling several feet above the tallest tips of the flames.  

Nobody would be rescuing this family; Loric smirked to himself, for it was already way too late for them.  He had had them snatched from one of the many districts made up of the mostly homeless who no one would miss.  Once again he thought how handy it was to have such a large homeless population so readily available.  Their blood was flowing freely and quickly from their slit throats, dripping onto the floor to be channeled by the runes into the center of the room…into the ever growing cruel flames from another place.  

The King’s chanting grew stronger and louder and quicker as the final precious drops of blood finally sped to the flames and were hungrily consumed; the flames seemingly alive now leapt even higher and reached out to the very bodies of those who were sacrificed for its hunger.  With a triumphant shout the King brought his hands together in a powerful clap, the sound of thunder echoing throughout the chamber.  The flames leapt up towards the ceiling far above them, totally consuming the human offerings, and then collapsed suddenly upon themselves snuffing themselves out.  As the flames departed however, something was left behind.  

It blinked.  Looking towards the King it bowed its head in submission, ready to do its masters bidding in exchange for being freed from its eternal prison.  It already knew what its master wanted, and it was ready to hunt.  

Chapter Fifteen

Uncle Mikael stayed with Celi and her family for a full seven days.  Josef and Graci were not expecting him to stay so long, but gladly they all made room for him.  Celi was especially happy he seemed willing to stay put in one place for so long.  In all her memory he had never remained more than a day or two in their home, and she never tired of him being around.  She would corner him and make him tell her stories of all the places he had been, all the things he had seen, for he seemed to have been everywhere and seen everything!  She started asking her parents for the most remote names of places around the world that they had ever heard of, and when she would ask Uncle Mikael about them he knew as much about them as he knew about the largest kingdoms and empires.  

Of course the first thing Celi had cornered him about was what he knew about her birth and her natural parents and how she had ended up with Josef and Graci (it felt awkward calling them that for the first time and she didn’t like it).  He had been reluctant at first to give her many details, but he finally gave in and told her a few things.

“Now in those days,” he had begun one night, making himself comfortable in the chair next to the fireplace in the front room, “the Kingdom of Cypria was consolidating its recent conquests, wiping out and mopping up the many rebellions and uprisings of those who refused to bend to their will and give up their own sovereignty; it was a bloody time indeed.”  Here for a few moments he had paused, looking far away into the past, lost perhaps in the sadness of the times; judging by the look on his face there was some personal sadness there as well.  He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present.

“Well, there was this one particular Kingdom, called Antigador, which had become a thorn in King Gregor’s side.  The patriots there refused to roll over and accept Cyprian rule so easily, and Gregor found himself sending more and more troops to quell the uprisings and rebellions that seemed to crop up every week.  Finally he had had enough, and sent his most trusted Marshal, Loric, to crush the kingdom once and for all.  Loric brought with him creatures out of nightmare, beings called the Havoc, that ravaged Antigador by night, as his legions of soldiers ravaged it by day.  The Antigadorans didn’t stand a chance once Loric was set loose upon them.”  Here Mikael paused again, this time a severe visage upon his face, a stern look that made him appear different than the loving Uncle Mikael Celi had come to know.  He took a deep breath then and his face had softened.

“The place you were born Celi, the kingdom that gave birth to you, was wiped off the face of the earth.  Every city was razed, every town and village and farm was destroyed piece by piece and plowed under.  Almost every citizen, soldier, merchant, mother, father and child was hunted down and slaughtered.  Only a precious few escaped the genocide, and they to this day will not say anything about what happened there for fear of being exposed and then hunted down by Loric and his demons once again.”  Here Mikael turned his sad eyes upon Celi; there were no tears, but Celi could see the depth of the pain in his gaze.  Then surprisingly he actually smiled and pointed a finger right at her.

“You were one of the precious few.  I was in Antigador doing what I could for those I could, and I came upon you and a few others right after your village had been burned to the ground.  I snuck you and the others out of the kingdom and spread you out around into kingdoms and cities far away from there.  I had thought you safely tucked away, but I had to intervene one more time on your behalf, and so I brought you to your parents now, and asked them to take care of you for a short time so I could find a permanent home for you.”  Here he leaned back in his chair and chuckled at the memory.

“However by the time I came back to fetch you, those stubborn mules would not give you up, despite the consequences, so I left you with them, confident they would provide well for you.  They were young, but wise, and I knew they could teach you a lot.  I am happy to see I was correct.”

Celi had sat in silence for several minutes after Uncle Mikael had finished, staring off into space as she tried to digest what she had just heard.  She tried to picture Mikael running around a burning kingdom trying to help those doomed people, her own doomed people.  She tried to picture the faces of those poor souls as they saw their homes and lands destroyed right in front of them, not able to stop it no matter how valiantly they tried, until all they had left to give were their own lives.  She tried not to, but the tears came anyways; tears for all those lives snuffed out needlessly, their heritage and legacy both wiped out, their own unique touch upon the world gone forever.  

Celi had sighed then, and brought her mind back to the present, and as she had focused back in on Uncle Mikael she saw him then in a whole new light.  The comfortable and jovial seemingly old man was still there, but beneath that she had then known lay layers of iron determination and courage and sheer willpower she had never imagined before.  She had tilted her head then, studying his face as he was then dozing by the fire in the overstuffed chair.  That night had ended with her quietly getting up off the rug at his feet, and using the skills her parents had taught her she silently padded off to her room, to climb into her bed and dream the dreams of those whose lives were snuffed out before they could come true.  

On the day Uncle Mikael was to leave, Graci prepared a huge breakfast of bacon and sausage and eggs and cakes and biscuits with her special gravy.  Not much was said during breakfast as they were all too busy stuffing their faces to talk, and if they were to talk it would only lead to the fact that Uncle Mikael would be leaving soon.  After breakfast, Celi volunteered to clean up the dishes, servo sniffing around waiting for her to drop some leftovers onto the floor, so the others went outside to enjoy the morning sun.

Josef and Graci were about to sit in the porch chairs when Uncle Mikael motioned for them to follow him as he stepped down off the porch and started walking down the path from their front door.  They followed him in silence as they wandered down the path, drinking in the sights, the smells and the sounds of the early morning nature around them.

Finally Mikael came to a stop next to a small stream that ran a hundred yards or so away from their home, the comforting sound of water rushing over the rocks and pebbles filling the air.  The three of them stood there in companionable silence for another few minutes, Josef and Graci waiting patiently for Mikael to begin.  

“I have to leave today,” he began softly, “but before I go I wanted to let you know a few things.”  Josef and Graci looked at each other and then back at Mikael, unconsciously reaching out and holding each other’s hands.  “I’d like to say that there is one more chance for you to back out, but I can’t, and it wouldn’t matter anyways because I know you would refuse it, as you have every time I have offered it.”  He looked them both in the eyes.  “As of now your fates have been sealed.  It is time; I must withdraw my protection that has hidden you these many years, and the enemy will now be able to find you easily.”  Josef felt Graci’s grip tighten, and he returned it.  “It must be done this way, for Celi to be able to do what she needs to do, and I thank you for your trust and faith; this could not have been done without you.”  He reached up then and placed a hand on each of their shoulders as they stood before him.

“It is not for me or mine to have actual offspring, but I have to tell you and I think you know that I have loved you as if you were my own children.”  He smiled affectionately at them, and tears sprang unbidden from Graci’s eyes.  “I have watched you grow in so many ways, and you have surprised and delighted me every step of the way.  I want you to know I am very proud of you, and all you have accomplished.  Cecilia is a wonderful person, and a lot of that credit goes to you.”  He squeezed their shoulders one last time and then let go.  

“She has the tools she will need now, all thanks to you.  You didn’t know if you could do it, but you refused to give up even when I gave you the opportunity to do so.  Your love and courage will be her shield when she needs it, and in her moment of deepest despair your sacrifice will call out to her and give her the chance to save herself.  It will be her choice of which path to follow, but you have given her an option she didn’t have before.”  

“I will leave you here, and as you make your way back home I will say my goodbyes to Cecilia.”  He smiled at them again, a smile of hope and love, and this time even Josef had tears in his eyes.  “Be not afraid,” he said as he stepped away from them, raising his hand in farewell, “when we see each other again your trials and duties will be complete, your fight will be fought, your race will be finished, your faith will be kept.”  His voice drifted off into the wind as his body faded away, leaving Josef and Graci holding hands by the stream, both smiling and crying at the same time.  

Celi was just finishing cleaning up the breakfast dishes when she heard the front door open and Uncle Mikael walked in.  She looked behind him expecting to see her parents following him but was surprised to not see them.  He smiled at her as he came in and shut the door behind him.  Celi set aside the dishes and wiped her hands on a towel as she smiled back at Uncle Mikael.  

“I’m sorry to interrupt dear,” Uncle Mikael said still grinning, “but I have to leave now and I wanted to say goodbye.”  Celi stuck her lower lip out, although she knew it was about time for him to leave.  

“I will miss you Uncle Mikael!” she said as she crossed the room and gave him a big hug.  “When will you be coming back?”  She noticed Uncle Mikael’s face cloud over for a moment when she said this, but it was quickly replaced by a reassuring smile.

“I think maybe you should come see me next time. How would you like that?”  He chuckled and gave her a pat on the back as the hug ended.  

“Oh that would be wonderful!”  Her face lit up at the thought of venturing out to see him, she had hardly ever even been past the nearby village and the idea of a trek to see Uncle Mikael seemed perfect.  “I’m sure mama and papa know the way, maybe soon we can come see you!”

Mikael smiled for a moment, taking in the surprise and happiness in Celi’s eyes.  He reached out and took her hand and patted it softly.  He struggled to keep the smile on his face, but could tell that Celi knew that something was bothering him.  Then with her hand already in his, he closed his eyes a moment.

Celi felt something pass between Uncle Mikael and her at that moment, but she didn’t know what it was or how she knew it.  She looked at her hand as Uncle Mikael let it go, wondering at what had just happened.  

“What…?” she began curiously.

“Don’t fret little one,” Uncle Mikael interrupted, “when it comes time for you to come to me, you will know the way.  That was just my little way of making sure you get there.”  Then he winked at her as he turned back towards the door.  He paused as he reached for the handle and turned his head back towards her.

“Remember what you have been taught little one,” he told her, his look very serious, almost earnest, “you are getting older and will not always have your parents to lean on, but they have taught you well, and you are stronger now than you have ever been.”  He nodded at her then, opened the door and slipped through it, shutting it quietly behind him.

Celi stared at the closed door for a few moments, not really knowing what to make of what had just happened.  Questions were whirling about in her mind, demanding answers from her Uncle who was no longer there.  A tendril of worry began to wind its way into her thoughts, seeing connections of what he had said that painted a picture she did not want to see.  She blinked her eyes several times, trying to get her wild thoughts under control.  

Breaking out of her worried trance, she ran to the door and threw it open, to call out to her Uncle, to ask him to come back and explain what he had meant.  When she opened the door however, he was nowhere to be seen, only a bright sunny morning greeted her, the promise of a new day coming into fulfillment.  She frowned then in frustration, but then she caught the sight of her parents coming over the rise.  They were walking hand in hand, smiling, laughing, not a care in the world.  She smiled at the sight, her frustration and worry for the moment forgotten, and calling out to Servo to come with her, she ran out to meet them.

Many miles away from Celi and her family, although a little too close for comfort if they had only known, the hunter drifted indolently in the warm air currents above a small provincial village.  Its apparent lazy attitude was at odds with its internal frustration and mounting anger.

  For several months now it had been seeking its temporary master’s prey, and several times it had thought success was close at hand, only to find a false trace, a dead end, and wasted precious time.  It didn’t take long for it to realize that it was being mislead and misdirected.  At first it thought its temporary master had set it up for failure, a small part of a bigger plan for some power play among the demon hordes in the Abyss.  Things like that were common, but the hunter knew its own status, who its true master was, and that it was only with the permission and order of its true master that this demon lord could summon it and send the hunter out to do its bidding.  

The hunter’s true master was not one to be trifled with, for he and his brothers sat at the right hand of the Bright One, and to use their lieutenants so frivolously and wastefully would be to invite certain devastation.  No, it wasn’t the demon setting up the hunter, it was a Power deliberately protecting what the hunter sought, twisting the trails and confusing the clues and traces the prey left behind.  The hunter snarled at the thought of The Other taking a hand in this business, it did not bode well for its success, but the hunter was tenacious and ruthless and would not be denied its prey.  

 The hunter had been bound in torturous confinement for centuries at the Master’s orders, for not being able to control its more base and bestial nature when the situation called for restraint and patience.  The hunter knew its Master only allowed the demon lord to summon it as a test for both of them.  To determine if the hunter had learned its lesson and to learn how much trouble the demon lord actually was.  

So the hunter clamped down on its own frustration and continued the search, wanting so much to just drop down into that village and destroy all of them to take the edge of its anger, to delight in the rending and tearing of the soft flesh and bone, the taste of blood on its tongue, and the warmth of the flames that would consume them all.  A dry raspy sound rattled out of the hunter’s throat, a sigh, if demons did such things, and it contented itself with the fantasy of what the village below would look like when it was done if it had had its way.  It could smell the fumes of flesh and feces and tears combined with the smoke and flames of wood and bone, such a wonderful mixture, a pungent yet sweet smell, a promise of things yet to come.  

Something tickled at the hunters senses as it circled the village.  Something to the East, a residual of power spent, an inkling of a suggestion of a taste, not much to go on at all, but this hunter had survived and prospered for so long by not taking anything for granted.  Slowly the hunter changed its course and headed East, probably to find nothing once again, but patience was a virtue it was told.  Yes it had learned its lessons very well.  

Chapter Sixteen

The weary traveler sat down at the table with a sigh.  This last stretch had seen him in the saddle for over six hours nonstop, but he had wanted to get into town around mid-day so it was worth the push, although his horse might have something to say about that.  He stretched his legs out under the table that sat on same wall as the front entrance, tucked away in the right had corner as one came in the door. It sat nestled next to the fireplace, which had a low fire lit to help take the bite out of the wintery chill that seemed to come out of nowhere over night.  

He resisted the urge to stretch out his arms as well, contenting himself with twisting his neck from side to side until he felt the gratifying pops stretch down his spine.  He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his head back against the wall behind him, willing his muscles to relax, inch by inch over his body, coaxing them to let go of the tension, release the pent up stress, to slowly take in the oxygen he was deeply breathing in and just loosen up.  

He sighed one more time and opened his eyes, somewhat more relaxed, more than he had a right to be, really.  This was it; this was the beginning, the beginning of the end perhaps, but the beginning of something nevertheless.  All those years ago, that strange old man had touched him and changed his world forever.  The Truth, he had said, you shall know the truth.  Knowing the truth doesn’t mean you’ll be able to handle it, he thought wearily.  Once he agreed to let the old man show him the Truth, he knew there was some ultimate goal, some path he would be set upon to which all his journeys would lead.  Whether or not he would still be alive at the end of it however, he had no clue, and to be honest he wasn’t sure that part mattered so much anymore, as long as at the end he knew that he had remained true.  

The fact the he hadn’t seemed to age at all in those years confirmed that he was in for something strange, to put it mildly.  As the years had gone on he had developed peculiar abilities as well, and had acquired certain objects that one wouldn’t associate with a normal life; two particular swords coming to mind and the story of how he had received them.

It was about five years or so ago when he had caught his first glimpse of where his path might lead him.  By one way or the other he had been led to a particular mining valley; he knew he had to sneak in but wasn’t sure why at that moment, only that he had to do it.  He had long since learned to trust those feelings, they had never once led him astray and he knew from where those feelings came.  After sneaking into the mine, he was shocked to discover an entire clan of Dwarves held captive down there, a secret which had been kept well away from those above the surface for centuries.  He was more than happy to show them the Truth of how they had been duped and enslaved, and had thought that was the end of it.  

As he was leaving though, he impulsively told that one dwarf, Grommel, that they would indeed meet again.  He wasn’t sure at the time why he had said it, but he knew enough not to doubt it.  As the years had passed after that meeting, he began to see patterns in some of the situations in which he found himself, a feeling that several things were tied together somehow, that there was no such thing as coincidence.  

At first he had the notion to resent being led along like a puppy on a leash, but he quickly realized that was foolish and dishonest.  He knew when he agreed to let that old man show him the Truth that his entire life would then be different, and that he may not always understand the why or the how of things.  He had barely survived the revelation of his own truths at the old man’s hands, and he wasn’t about to dishonor that gift with his own selfish and pride-hurt whining.  Actually as time went on he began to enjoy all the twists and turns his adventures brought, like he was putting together a giant puzzle, piece by piece, move by move; sometimes the pieces were covered or upside down or hadn’t even been placed upon the table yet. The fascination of seeing something being made whole out of nothing was a constant source of comfort to him, which helped a lot on those long lonely roads, hours and days spent alone traveling between his tasks, perhaps another piece of the puzzle lying just ahead to be found and mulled over and analyzed and painstakingly fit into the larger story just so.  He had chosen this life of his own free will, not because he thought it would bring him anything, but because he knew it had to be done, and he would not be the one to say no when Need called out to him.

So it was with a bitter-sweet smile that he opened his eyes once again to the world around him.  The warmth of the fire was finally seeping its way into his bones, banishing the last of his tension at what was about to come.  He knew this was to be the beginning of something wonderful, yes, but he also knew it would be the end of something as well, and although he did not know precisely what it would be, he knew it would be tragic.  Somehow those two things, wonder and tragedy, often seemed tied together in so many ways in life.  

He ordered a meal and an ale from the bar maid as she came by to tend to the fire, and enjoyed a few moments of watching the folk in the inn around him, eating, drinking, laughing, telling stories, playing cards, taking a break at mid day from the rigors of ever day life.  He was lost in thought when two individuals came through the front door.  They appeared as any two ordinary men weary from a mornings work, looking for some relief before heading back to the grindstone to finish out their day.  He, however, knew differently.  Disguises and Illusions held no sway over him, one of the unique gifts granted to him as the Bearer of the Truth, so he instantly knew these two travelers for who and what they were.  

He smiled as he stood up; so now it truly begins, he thought.  He was surprised that his stomach could still feel butterflies at a time such as this, but he could not deny their existence.  He stood there in silence as the two men paused for a moment as they entered the inn, seeking perhaps, a place to sit.  He noticed how they took in the whole room: entrances and exits and positioning of tables and obstacles and people, all in the blink of an eye they did this, these men who were not men.  He waited until they turned their gaze once again in his direction, this time more intently, and he smiled as the shorter of the two raised his eyebrows in startled recognition.  He nodded his head towards that one and motioned them over to his table.  The taller one looked to the shorter one with a question in his eyes, and the shorter one answered with a nod.  

The two made their way slowly towards the man behind the table in the corner, and when they arrived the three of them stood staring at each other for a moment, taking each other’s measure.    Finally the man behind the table smiled once again at the shorter of the two newcomers.  

“I told you we’d meet again!” he winked at the shorter one, who smiled in return and nodded at him.  Then he turned to the taller one and held out his hand.  

“Pleased to meet you,” he said as the taller one reached out to shake his hand, “my name, as your companion knows, is Arlen Nash, and I’ve been waiting for both of you.”  

Chapter Seventeen

Grommel sat patiently upon his Auxian, Breeze, nestled comfortably among the trees of a small forest overlooking a small village near a small creek that lead to a small lake.  It was rather peaceful and tranquil here, he thought, although not the sturdy walls of stone and earth he preferred, it would be a decent place to settle down if one were forced to always live above ground.  He had become used to the sounds of the forest during his Clan’s travels over the last several years, but after a while the constant singing of the birds and chirping of various critters scurrying about beneath his feet tended to set his teeth on edge, and he would yearn for the relative peace and quiet of the subterranean halls and caverns.  

He waited in silence; Breeze stood stoically, barely fidgeting beneath him, somehow knowing silence was important.  Grommel wasn’t hiding exactly; he just did not want to draw any attention to himself.  The western human kingdoms, namely Cypria, had officially banned any non human race from entering their borders several hundred years ago.  At first the penalty for being caught inside the borders was mere expulsion, but it had escalated over the generations to an instant death penalty for the non human and any humans who gave them aid or shelter.  So of course it was only natural that his journey would land him in Cypria, albeit a small, mostly forgotten corner on the southeastern fringes of its territory.  

The Kings of Cypria had over the centuries convinced the humans that most if not all of their problems were related to the non human monsters roaming about the rest of the world, and with non ending propaganda being fed to them constantly, most of the humans of the western kingdoms believed it.  Fortunately not all of the humans of the west were like that, but the overwhelming majority was, and those who were not most definitely did not share their views with many, for fear of retribution.  So even this far removed from the center of the Kingdom, Grommel was wary of showing himself to any humans.  Slowly he passed the time in quiet contemplation, thinking of what he had left behind.  Catti, Magthi, his Clan, and now one more on the way!  He smiled again at the memory of Catti lying there on the cot, telling him he was going to be a father again!

As he sat there, his mind a million miles away, but his gaze focused upon the small village just on the other side of the nearby creek, a particular smell caught his attention.  Just a whiff, a suggestion, a tease of a scent, it came and went for a few seconds, and then was gone.  He forced his muscles to relax as his hand slid down to Aetrius and he unclipped it from his saddle.  He nonchalantly pulled Aetrius up into his lap, holding it loosely in his grip, just in case.  A small breeze kicked in again for just a few seconds and he caught that smell again.  Dwarves had an excellent sense of smell as a result of lifetimes spent underground where the slightest change in smell could mean the presence of anything from some horrible flesh eating predator to a pocket of lethal gasses.  His mind raced to place that scent, he had smelled it before, he knew he had, but it wasn’t something he had smelled below ground, and it was definitely a forest smell, and yet not.

Finally he remembered: Elfen!  He clinched Aetrius firmly in alarm, yanked his shield off his back with his other hand and urged Breeze forward to the edge of the forest. There he spun Breeze around and assumed a defensive position, his shield up and Aetrius ready.  He had only met any Elfen once, several months ago during his journey across the lands to this place.  They were not hostile to him, exactly, but they were in an agitated and tense mood.  They only spoke with him because he was a single dwarf, alone in the forest, and they would know why he was so far from his home.  He told them he was on a great journey set upon him by the powers of Justice and he would not let anyone or anything detain him from his path.  They in turn told him something truly frightening.  The Elfen marched to war…all of them.  

Grommel let his senses roam the forest before him, alert for any sign of trouble.  He didn’t know of any Elfen tribes this far west near the human kingdoms, but that wouldn’t mean one wasn’t traveling from farther south and had decided to try and skirt the kingdom.  He caught sight of something ahead of him in the distance; it looked like a single rider upon a horse, coming slowly towards him.  Another breeze blew and carried the Elfen scent again, directly from the rider’s direction.  Grommel looked around for any signs of being encircled, looked behind him quickly to make sure he was not being surrounded.  Testing the scent again, it was faint enough that it probably only came from this one Elfen approaching him, so his tension eased up somewhat, but he was still wary of even a single Elfen, perhaps especially because of a single Elfen, wandering so close to the Human Kingdoms, and towards him specifically.

As the rider closed the distance between them, Grommel was able to draw some conclusions.  First of all the rider appeared to be male. The Elfen male were much broader of shoulder than the females and the rider definitely had the male broad shoulders beneath his dark hooded cloak.  Second, Grommel could tell the rider was completely at ease, no sign of tension or anxiety showed in his posture upon his mount, and the mount itself seemed no more anxious than taking a stroll through a protected glade on a sunny day.  Finally, and most importantly, as the rider came closer and Grommel could now see his face beneath the hooded cloak, he could detect no animosity in his expression or countenance.  The Elfen cradled  a long, thick white staff in the crook of his left arm, but other than that Grommel saw no signs of other weapons.  

The Elfen rider halted about twenty feet away from Grommel; the Elfen mount itself was much taller than Grommel’s Auxian, though not quite as broad as Breeze however.  Its deep black color was almost mesmerizing to behold, eddies of blue and deep purple swirling through its coat, catching the eye and imagination, leading and drawing you deeper and deeper into the mysteries and wonders of the Elfen and their world, promising to reveal all, if only you stayed and explored and searched a while longer.  

Grommel was no fool however, and after a moment of surprise and wonder he shook his head and reluctantly pulled his eyes off the mount and looked to the rider.  Said rider nodded his head in approval at Grommel’s reaction and timely triumph over his mount’s peculiar attributes.  Grommel grinned at the Elfen, and surprisingly, the Elfen returned the grin.  

“Well,” Grommel declared, “if you are here to challenge me, then let’s get on with it! If not, then let’s quick gawking at each other.  Either way I would know your name before we go any further!”   Grommel looked the Elfen straight in the eye, waiting for the tell tale look before an attack.

The Elfen grinned again.  “Peace, noble Dwarf,” he replied, a deep rich melodious voice passing from his lips.  The Elfen reached up with both hands and pulled back the hood of his cloak off his head, revealing hair as black and mesmerizing as his mounts, though it was only shoulder length.  Deep green eyes challenged Grommel to look deeply into them without losing his wits as well.  “I see you are sitting here, waiting for something or someone,” he continued, “and I believe that someone is me.”

Grommel raised an eyebrow at that, prepared to tell the Elfen he must be crazy, but then he paused before the breath could be gathered to say the words.  He had been hesitating before leaving the forest, although he could not exactly say why.  He trusted completely the avatar of Justice that had sent him on this journey, and he knew that this place at this exact time was precisely where he was meant to be.  So he knew it was no accident that this Elfen appeared here as well.  

“Perhaps, friend Elfen,” Grommel replied bluntly, “but if you are who I am waiting for, I’d know now if you follow the light or have ill in your heart.  Speak plainly and truthfully and save us both our precious time.  I have travelled too far and for too long, leaving behind too much to have my time wasted with words that say one thing yet mean another.”

“Well and succinctly said friend Dwarf,” the Elfen replied, nodding his head once in acknowledgement of Grommel’s point.  “You are as quick to the point as any Dwarf I have known, and since I approached you, I shall reveal my name first.”  Grommel nodded his approval and consent for the Elfen to proceed.  

“I am called Adian, and I bring greetings from the hand of Queen Elliana, Keeper of the Covenant, Heir to the Riftbreaker, Speaker for the Dead and Queen of Eldeire.”  Adian executed quite a nice formal bow from the back of his horse as he completed his introduction, which left Grommel a bit bemused.  And something else struck an odd note in his head; his name maybe?  Something important he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but not critical at the moment he hoped because he couldn’t pin it down anyway.  Otherwise, as far as Grommel could tell, this Elfen seemed genuine enough and certainly impressive enough to be taken quite seriously.

Grommel nodded back, satisfied and willing to trust him, somewhat, for now.  “Then know this Adian,” he replied as formally, “I am Grommel Gemmelson, leader of the Whitehammer Clan, friend of the Twilight Mountain Clan, and I hold Aetrius, Hand of Justice; for I am come to wield Justice in the name of those who can no longer exact it for themselves.  I am sent to those who cry out for righteous retribution, and I deliver upon their foes the judgment they have earned and placed upon themselves.  Will you travel with me then, knowing this?”

Adian studied Grommel intently then for a few moments, sensing an occasion of great importance about to transpire.  He looked Grommel squarely in the eye as he made his reply.

“I come as the last Hope for my people, Grommel Gemmelson, as they embark on their final crusade I have agreed and come to represent them and lend my Hope to your cause and make it my own.  I know that our cause is just and its conclusion will determine the fate of not only the Elfen, but that of all the races of this world.”  Adian nodded his head again, “Yes I would travel with you Bearer of Aetrius, and make my Hope your own.”

Now both of Grommel’s eyebrows went up in wonder.  It all seemed to fit, and it felt right, fitting with what the avatar of Justice told him about this journey.  If he was to travel with this Elfen, then so be it.  Still though there was something that nagged at the back of his mind about this Elfen, something he felt he was supposed to know, but didn’t.  Ah well, he’d figure it out soon enough he was sure.

“Then let us travel together, Adian, and see what lies beyond this forest.  I know we are meant to travel to that small village past the creek, but I am not thrilled about showing myself to these Western Humans, and I’d think if there was anyone they hated more than dwarves it would be an Elfen!” Grommel chuckled at that thought.  

Adian had casually closed the distance between him and Grommel while they spoke, and now they sat on their mounts side by side, Adian facing the village, Grommel still facing back into the forest.  Adian held out his hand, and in Dwarven fashion Grommel reached out and they grasped each other’s wrists, sealing their companionship, and perhaps the fate of their own races.

“As far as revealing ourselves to those misguided enough to think we mean them harm,” Adian said, drawing his hood up over his head again, “I have an idea. “   He closed his eyes for a moment, and before Grommel’s eyes Adian’s form…changed.  He was an Elfen one moment, then bam, a human the next.  He kept his intense black hair and smiled at him with his mischievous green eyes.  Grommel looked with approval at Adian’s new look.

“Not the best looking human I’ve ever seen, but you’ll do.” Grommel laughed.

“Ah, well then take a look at yourself then, good Dwarf, you might be surprised.” Adian retorted, grinning.

“Hmm?” Grommel said, and then almost fell off Breeze as he looked at his hands and saw that his wide, strong dwarven hands were gone, replaced with the somewhat smaller hands of a human.  Grommel quickly patted himself down as he looked down at his legs as well.  He groaned as he realized what had happened.  He turned dangerous eyes towards Adian, his grip tightening on Aetrius.

Adian laughed, raising a hand in forbearance.  “Peace, Grommel, I have not actually transformed you into a human, no I would never do that to a proud dwarf!  No, it is all an Illusion, although the illusion is so complete that even you yourself see and feel and smell the body of a human instead of a dwarf.  I give you my solemn vow upon my descendants that you remain a true Dwarf, but the rest of the world will see you as a human.  I doubt the Queen of the Elves Herself would be able to penetrate the illusion, and as long as you remain within a mile of me the guise will remain strong.  Any distance past that and it will begin to falter, and could fall away at any moment past that.”  

During Adian’s little speech Grommel had time to calm down and regain his composure.  He reached up to his face; at least he still had a beard, albeit a much shorter one.  He took a deep breath and nodded towards Adian.  

“You’re lucky I can’t see what you did to my face!” Grommel huffed at the Elfen, “I’d hate to accidently drop Aetrius on your head…repeatedly.”

“I agree, that would not be a good thing, but do not worry! You are, mostly, as handsome and, almost, as tall in appearance as I am.  We will not be scaring little children in the street as we ride by, but I doubt the maidens will be throwing themselves at us either.”  Adian nodded down at Grommel’s Auxian, “And your worthy mount has had a bit of a lift as well!”

Grommel then realized he seemed to be sitting up higher in relation to Adian than a moment before and in shock looked down at Breeze.  Thankfully Breeze was left mostly intact, just a good deal taller and a bit narrower than he was before.  Grommel patted Breeze reassuringly on the side, not sure if Breeze could tell what had happened or not.  Breeze snorted, not sure what to make of the different weight he felt, or the disappearance of the dwarf smell he was used to.  But he trusted his rider implicitly so remained calm, and the movements of his rider and his mannerisms as he directed him still seemed the same so he was reassured somewhat.

“Alright then,” Grommel said, flexing his hands a bit, adjusting, “let’s head down into the village and see what there is to see.  I feel this is where we are to meet the others, and it’s best to get on with it quickly!”

“Again I agree,” Adian nodded his human head.  He clicked his heels into his horse’s side and gently set him off down the slope, out of the forest, into the clearing that lead to the creek and the village sitting beyond.  Grommel turned Breeze around and followed, quickly catching up to Adian, and they remained abreast of each other as they quickly covered the distance to the creek.  

They crossed the creek easily, the water being only a foot deep at the spot they could tell was used most often by the humans.  Several minutes later they were guiding their mounts through the middle of the human village, and as Adian had predicted they were accepted as any other humans would be.  

Grommel spotted an Inn and nudged Adian, directing his attention towards it, and they both headed there.  Outside the Inn they tethered their mounts outside like humans did, and pretending to brush the dust of the road off their clothes, walked into the Inn.  They looked around for a spot to sit, unobtrusively, until Grommel’s eyes spotted someone in the corner that he knew.  His eyebrows shot up in surprise, someone he had not expected to ever see again, even though he had said they would.

The man in the corner beckoned them to come join him, and Adian looked to Grommel, who nodded his head in response.  They made their way to the man, and then they stood there for a few moments, Grommel looking at a man he had only ever met once, but who had made such a profound impact on his life and on his Clan’s.  

The man winked at Grommel.  “I told you we’d meat again!” Grommel smiled at the human and nodded his head in agreement.  Then the man turned towards Adian, “Pleased to meet you,” he said as Adian reached out to shake his hand, “my name as your companion knows is Arlen Nash, and I’ve been waiting for both of you.”  

Chapter Eighteen

The morning after Uncle Mikael left found Cecilia and her parents loading up into their wagon and headed to the village.  Celi was a bit wistful.  She was always sad when Uncle Mikael left, she wasn’t sure exactly why; but every time he left she felt like something fulfilling had been taken away, leaving an uneasy hole in her consciousness that took several days to return to normal.   This time was no different, and she sat gloomily wedged in between her parents on the riding board, jostling back and forth over the uneven path leading to the village.

She was so gloomy that it took her most of the way to the village to realize that her parents had barely uttered a word since they had left home.  Usually they chatted all the way to the village: some small gossip, prospects for the coming merchant season, which townspeople might need Celi’s gift of healing when they got there, those sorts of things.  This time however, there was almost complete silence.  Not the tense silence of the few times Celi had seem them argue, but something different, a silence she could not put a name to, and it bothered her.  They would look at each other and smile over her, and once papa even pulled momma towards her and kissed her on the cheek, smushing Celi in between them.  

Celi wanted to start a conversation, something to get them talking, but anything she said was met with short answers or just nods or smiles from her parents.  Eventually she just gave up and slumped in between them in defeat for the rest of the journey.  Fortunately it wasn’t much longer before they crossed the bridge over the creek that opened out onto a more even and wider path that lead straight to the village.  It was just a few minutes from the bridge to the village, and the closer they got, the better Celi’s mood became.

Her parents had been taking her here once a week for the last three years now, to treat any of the villagers or travelers who needed her special kind of help.  At first the villagers turned them away flat out, almost turning ugly on them, only the many years they had spent among the townspeople as friends and neighbors saving them from some bad repercussions.  They kept coming every week though, and after a few months the fear and distrust turned into curiosity.

  Then one time when they came they found someone waiting for them:  the innkeeper and his wife with their youngest child Beth.  Beth had been coughing uncontrollably for several days and had woken up that morning with a horrible fever that would not go down no matter what they tried.   There had been an outbreak of the killing fever in a village two days ride west of them, and they feared their Beth had come down with it, so they exchanged their fear of Cecilia for the fear of their daughter’s life and literally begged her to help their baby the moment they came into the village.  

The innkeeper, Milton, and his wife Peggie led them into the Inn and straight to their own room where Beth tossed about in a fitful sleep, the sweat pouring off her brow already staining the covers and sheets around her.  Celi’s breath had caught in her throat then, just looking at her she knew poor Beth was doomed to die if she wasn’t tended to immediately; the fever had progressed so much in so little time.  She had hesitated for a moment then; other than bringing Servo back across the threshold of death several years ago, she had never treated someone in such serious need of her healing.  Some cuts and scrapes, maybe a broken limb, an occasional light fever, those had been the most serious ailments she had treated with her gift.   Now though another living human was going to die if she didn’t act quickly.  

The thought of Beth’s parent’s grief if she died then jolted Celi into action.  She had pushed everyone away from the bed and knelt next to little Beth, placing one hand on her head and the other across her chest above her heart.  Quickly she had let herself fall into a semi trance, as her parents had taught her (and had taken her several months to master) and let her senses spread across Beth’s body.  She found the source of Beth’s fever quickly, something wicked had settled into her lungs and had proceeded to assail and weaken them, while at the same time spreading to other parts of her body, causing a massive infection in her chest.  The illness had spread to her heart and it labored bravely but futilely to keep the precious life fluid pumping through her young arteries.  She should be dead already, Celi had thought, but by some miracle little Beth held on to life (a trait that would become prominent in her years to come) and refused to give in.  

Just then Beth had opened her eyes and looked up at Celi.  She had been in too much pain to speak, but her eyes told Celi all she needed to know.  Celi smiled then at Beth, bent down and kissed her on her almost painfully hot forehead.  Beth had sighed then and closed her eyes again.  Celi had then straightened up and closed her own eyes.  Slowly she let whatever it was she had inside of her that cried out to heal others slip into Beth’s body.  She could feel it start as a warmth in her own chest, spreading to her shoulders and arms then to her hands, and then into Beth where it had immediately gone straight to her lungs and heart, attacking and destroying the cause of the deadly fever within moments.  

Celi felt Beth convulse a bit under her hands, giving one big shudder that had almost sent her parents off into a fit of wailing.  Then Beth sighed and settled into a deeper, more restorative sleep.  Celi kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, thanking whatever it was that worked through her, thankful for her gift and for little Beth’s life.  As it turned out several of the villagers had then come down with that same fever and Celi and her parents had had to stay in the village for several exhausting days to treat everyone who had been infected.

Since that time Milton and Peggie had built a special set of rooms for Celi and her parents to stay during their visits to the village.  They had built two rooms attached to the kitchen back behind the Inn itself.  The front room had a bed (with several changes of linens available) and several chairs where Celi actually treated anyone who needed her help on her visits.  The back room had two beds, a table and some chairs for her and her family to rest in and stay the night if needed.  The front room had two entrances; one connecting to the Inn’s kitchen, and a main front door.  They kept a pretty regular schedule so the villagers could depend on them arriving at certain times, and, no surprise, there was a small line of villagers waiting alongside the wall of the Inn that led back to their rooms.  

Josef brought their wagon to a halt just outside their rooms, and all three of them jumped nimbly down from the riding board.  They didn’t go directly into their rooms, they liked to spend some time with the villagers in the line, exchanging hugs and greetings and whispering harmless gossip into each other’s ears.  After a few moments Milton and Peggie came out from the Inn, and the hugging and greeting started all over again.  

After several minutes, Celi and her parents finally made their way to their rooms and got settled in.  They stashed what they brought with them into the back room, and Josef and Graci took up positions in the front room.  Sometimes they would sit in the extra chairs, but more often than not they would stand or lean against a wall.  Celi used to think that was just because they were restless and impatient, but over the years (and several survival lessons later) she had come to realize they had taken up defensive positions around the room, best suited to simultaneously protect her and launch an attack if necessary.  They were very serious about it when she had asked them about it, stressing that as word of her gift spread (as there was no way to stop it) they could never be sure who would one day step through the front door.  They had never had to draw weapons yet, and other than the obvious sword attached to Josef’s side, there were no other weapons visible.  Celi however, knew better.  

Once they were ready, Josef moved towards the front door and opened it to the first villager, Heminglow, a tailor, who had come down with some aches and pains in the joints of her hands and wrists.  Josef and Heminglow greeted each other warmly, and Josef showed her into the front room, shutting the door behind her.  It had become common knowledge that if the front door was open then Celi was available and ready to receive someone, otherwise she was either with a patient, resting, or simply not there.  

So the late morning and early afternoon passed for Celi and her family, with an unusually large number of people needing help.  Some were strangers who had come from neighboring villages, or travelers who had heard of her gift on the road and come to see what she was all about.  Her parents however were very strict about who could see Celi, and if you came just to gawk you were quickly turned away.  Only folks who actually needed her gifts were allowed past Josef and Graci’s vigilant protection.  No one had anything too serious however, so by the time the line had finally dwindled down, Celi was still relatively fresh.  She had found over the years that the more grievous injuries or sinister afflictions would leave her weary, sometimes exhausted, after attending them.  As the last villager left the front room, leaving the door open behind them, Celi stood up and stretched her shoulders and arms out, yawing just a tad and smiling at her parents.  

Josef and Graci were returning her smile when Celi heard several footsteps coming onto the small porch in front of the door, and at the same time her parent’s eyes left hers and looked over her shoulder, to see who the newcomers were.  Celi blinked in shock as her both her parents eyes instantly went from loving and happy to stone cold deadly; and before she could even turn around, Graci reached forward and grabbed Celi by the shoulder and pushed Celi past her onto the bed.  Celi also heard her papa drawing his weapons, his favorite sword from his side, and another slightly smaller sword he had hidden strapped to his back underneath his tunic.  

It all happened so fast that by the time she recovered from being thrown onto the bed and had a chance to see what happened, momma had already slid two throwing daggers into each hand, held ready and steady at each side, standing on the balls of her feet, facing the newcomers, her face set in stone.  Celi looked to her papa, but he was totally focused on the three men who stood just inside the doorway.  Papa’s face was set in a grimace, both weapons held at the ready, pointed straight at the man in front, closest to them.  Both her parents stood between Celi and the strangers, and despite her growing fear she still moved around on the bed to get a better look at them and what was happening.

There she saw the three men standing in the doorway, a dark haired blue eyed man in front, with a taller man with almost mesmerizing jet black hair, and the third was the shortest of the three with wild dark red hair and a luxurious beard.  None of the three had any weapons out or had any sinister airs about them.  As a matter of fact they all looked as surprised and shocked as Celi felt.  The man in front had his right hand out and down to the side in a submissive gesture, but his left arm was wrapped up in a make shift sling held closely to his chest.  

“Peace friends,” he said quickly, “we have no ill will towards anyone here!”  He certainly sounded sincere to Celi, but she wasn’t about to say anything at the moment.  She then saw him catch himself and take a closer, more intense look at her parents.  Then she saw a flash of recognition play across his face, and Celi’s heart almost stopped beating.

Chapter Nineteen

Arlen, Adian and Grommel sat for a moment around their small corner table in the Inn’s front room.  At first they were quiet as they sat there looking at each other, wondering what to say.  Finally, Grommel snorted.  Arlen and Adian both looked at him questioningly.

“I thought the Queen of the Elfen herself couldn’t see through your disguise, Mr. Wizard.”  Grommel smirked at Adian, jabbing an elbow into the Elfen’s side (it wasn’t until later that Grommel realized that might not have been such a good idea).  Adian grinned and opened his mouth to retort, but a small cough from Arlen stopped them both.

“The only reason I saw through it, my good Dwarf, is because I am only allowed to see the Truth.” Now it was Grommel’s and Adian’s turn to look at Arlen questioningly. “No matter how much I wish to avoid it sometimes, it does not consider my feelings, but reveals things as they truly are to me, among other things; so I’m afraid no spell or illusion or self delusion can hold sway over me.”  Arlen grinned sardonically, “It’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“No doubt.” Adian answered. He took a quick look around the room.  “Hold a moment please, before we say anymore.”  He closed his eyes and placed his left hand in the center of their small table.  Grommel and Arlen looked at each other, and Grommel nodded and mouthed the word “Wizard” to Arlen.  Arlen chuckled as Adian pulled his hand back and opened one eye to glare at Grommel.  

“Now we can proceed,” Adian declared confidently.  “We can say what we need to say now, without fear of being overheard or eavesdropped upon,” here he grinned, “even by the Queen of the Elfen Herself.”

“Well now that’s reassuring,” Grommel began, “Ouch!” he bellowed, jerking his foot out from beneath Adian’s boot heal.  Adian looked around at the bar room, no one had reacted to Grommel’s outburst.

“See, it works.” Adian affirmed, nodding at Arlen.

“No doubt.” Arlen answered, grinning.

“Enough of this, then” Grommel said, wiggling some life back into his numb toes.  “Obviously we’ve all been meant to meat up here, in this town, at this time. I know we are to add one more member to our crew, but I don’t know who that is. Do any of you?” He asked that question, looking around at the others for an answer.

Both Arlen and Adian shook their heads in a negative.  Adian spoke up first.  “I know that a great, ancient, malignant enemy has broken through into this realm and  was summoned to this world.”  Anger shot through his eyes, his face hardening.  “And I will not abide my People’s destruction at its hands.  Nor any of your peoples,” he said, looking at both of them, “I have fought them before and I know their ways, I bring the Hope that they can be stopped, and that we can yet preserve this world from its destruction.”

“Them?” Arlen asked, leaning in closer.

“What you call Demons,” Adian answered.  “They have staked a claim to this world. After I fought so hard to defeat them and banish them, some fool went and summoned them back, giving them access to what had been denied them by force.  If left unchecked, like they have been for over a thousand years now, they will push this world past the brink of being able to save, and it’s a quick road to ruin from there.”

Arlen’s eyes glazed over for a moment.  “A thousand years you say? Oh,” he said softly.  “Oh,” he said a bit more loudly.  “Oh no,” he whispered then.   He shook his head and he focused his eyes on Adian.  “Now it makes sense,” he said.  “Now it all makes sense, all the years of steady decline in our Kingdom.  And you Adian,” Arlen smiled at the Elfen knowingly, “now I know you, and welcome you back, for if ever there was a time we needed your Hope it is now!”

Grommel raised an eyebrow at Arlen questioningly.  “What have you seen Arlen?” he asked his friend.

“Grommel,” Arlen replied, “I do not think Adian here introduced himself properly to you earlier, so let me do the honors.  Sitting next to you is Adian Riftbreaker.”

Grommel blinked.  He blinked again.  If there was one Legend any of the other races knew of the secretive Elfen, it was that of Adian Riftbreaker.  How he had rebelled against his demonic masters and led his people to this world; making his last stand with his remaining few stalwart companions.  With all his friends lying dead around him, in his rage he slew the last of the masters that had pursued them here, and destroyed the rift that had allowed them entrance to this realm.   Then he had fallen down onto his knees, and plunged his staff into the top of the hill upon which he stood.  Having done that, he closed his eyes and expired.

“Ah.”  Grommel said.

Arlen grinned as he watched the emotions of disbelief and then wonder and a dash of awe play across Grommel’s face.  Then the stoic dwarven calm settled upon him and he nodded at Adian.

“I’m glad they drudged you up then, we’ll be needing the best we have to offer before all this is done, I’m sure.”  Grommel finished and snatched his mug of ale off the table, taking a long pull from it.

Adian Riftbreaker burst out laughing then, a wonderfully joyful sound: a sound that infected you with cheer just to hear it.  He clapped Grommel on the shoulder, almost causing Grommel to spill a precious drop.  Arlen watched as Grommel caught himself and that precious drop of ale, and noticed too that the patrons in the Inn didn’t seem to even notice the commotion they were making in the corner, as Adian’s ward was quite nicely doing its job.

Grommel finished his pull and set the mug down on the table with a thud.  “Ok now that we all know who we are, how do we figure out who the last one is? Just sit around till someone bonks us on the head and says ‘Here I am’?”  Before anyone could answer he picked his mug up again and took another swig.

“Well,” Arlen began, “we could…”  He stopped suddenly, as he felt something happen nearby, something powerful, something important.  He could see Adian and Grommel had felt it too.  

“What was that?” Grommel asked, pulling the mug away from his mouth in wonder.

“I felt it too,” Adian replied quickly, “someone just used some incredible power, very close to us,” he looked up to Arlen and Grommel, “it felt like it was right outside, we must go look, now!”

They stood up casually, Arlen throwing a couple coins down on the table to cover their drinks, and made their way out the front door of the Inn.  The air still had the brisk early morning chill to it, even though it was early afternoon.  As they came out the front door they couldn’t help but notice the line of villagers wrapped around the front of the Inn, leading around the corner to the kitchen side.  Nonchalantly they walked past the corner and saw the line of villagers were waiting to go into a small addition built into the side of the Inn.  The door would open and a villager or two would leave, and the next in line would enter, and the door would close behind them.  

The three companions looked at each other in puzzlement.  They were standing several yards away from the last person in line, and as a passerby happened along Adian spun around quickly to face him.

“Pardon, friend,” Adian said as he casually reached out and laid his hand on the villagers shoulder, “but why are so many people lined up outside that little shack? Who are they waiting to see?”

At first the villager’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and it looked like he was going to refuse to answer him, but then Adian gave the gentlest of squeezes to the man’s shoulder, and the man blinked a few time.  Then he shook his head slightly and looked up at Adian in his human guise and smiled at him like a long lost friend.

“Why those’re what folks have an ailment,” he began cheerfully, “they’ve been waitin for Celi to come and cure ‘em.” He nodded his head at his new friends.

“Cure them?” Adian asked, “Cure them how?”

“Who knows?” the villager answered happily, “we’re just glad she’s one of us, an’ she takes care of us when we need ‘er. ‘Er and ‘er parents are good right folks, and she’s saved many o’ us. Why she took away my lil’ boy’s snake bite last month, it was all festered and pussin’ up something nasty like!”  

“We have to meet her,” Arlen said to his companions, “she might be the one.”

“Well ya wont make it past th’ front door if’n yer not sick or hurt!” their new friend interrupted them.  “”Er ma and pa wont let no one past that front door lessin they truly need Celi’s help. If’n you don’t, they’ll be throwing you back out with some cuts and bruises, an’ then you’ll be needin her help, hah!” The villager laughed heartily at his own joke.

Adian thanked his new friend for his help; the villager simply smiled and tipped his hat to them and sauntered off on his way.  Adian turned and looked at Grommel and Arlen.  “Well we need to get in there and see her, any suggestions?” he asked.

Arlen sighed.  He motioned for them to follow him, and he led them back in front of the Inn, and continued across the entrance and around the corner of the other side all the way to back behind the Inn, out of sight of the rest of the village.

“Ok,” he said, as he raised his left arm and held it straight out to his side, “one of you needs to break it.”

Grommel frowned and opened his mouth to tell him they could think of something else; but suddenly there was a blur of motion next to him and he heard the simultaneous whoosh of something long and heavy moving swiftly in the air and a loud sharp CRACK.  Arlen took a step back as Adian’s staff appeared out of nowhere and in one smooth motion had cracked his forearm neatly in two.  Grommel saw the pain in Arlen’s eyes, but he didn’t utter a sound.  

“Thank you,” Arlen said through clenched teeth.

“Anytime!” Adian answered.  He whirled his staff back around and to his side and it disappeared somewhere beneath his cloak, as if it had never been there.  

“Here, take this,” Adian said as he reached into a pocket of his cloak and pulled out a length of cloth.  “Use this as a sling until we can see her.”  Arlen nodded his thanks as Adian wrapped it around his neck and gently slung it under his broken arm and cradled it against Arlen’s chest.

“Ok,” Arlen said taking a deep breath to hold back the pain, “let’s wait till the line is done, then we’ll go in last. Let’s go back inside for now, I could use a drink!”  Grommel shook his head in wonder as he followed his companions back into the front room of the Inn.

They spent the next couple of hours inside, waiting for the line to clear out, and kept themselves busy by exchanging stories of how they had gotten to this point, and what they expected to happen next.  Every so often one of them would get up and go stretch his legs outside, and come back and report on the progress of the line.  Eventually the line was down to its last villager, and once that person had gone inside and the door closed behind him, Adian came back inside and motioned for the others to join him.  They all remained outside and after ten minutes that last villager came back out of the door and walked away smiling.  

They waited a few moments longer, and then they all made their way to the door.  They stepped up onto the small porch, their boots echoing dully in the afternoon air.  Arlen was first inside with Grommel and Adian on either side of him, but they all drew up short in surprise as they found themselves faced with a man and a woman with drawn weapons facing them.

“Peace friends,” he said quickly, “we have no ill will towards anyone here!”  He had his right hand out and down in a peaceful gesture, and his left arm was still held closely to his chest by the sling.  The last thing they needed now was a brawl inside this small hut.

But then he took a closer look at the two adults, and suddenly he knew who they were, and he looked down at the girl, all grown up now, and remembered what she looked like from so long ago, an adorable little baby then, and a beautiful young woman now.   Slowly he nodded his head, and couldn’t help but grin.

“I knew then, so many years ago,” he said softly, nodding his head, “that I was doing the right thing, even though I knew that if anyone ever found out it would mean my death...”  Slowly the man and woman who’s names he could never forget lowered their weapons just a fraction, enough to not be immediately threatening, but enough to bring back to bare if necessary.

“What’s the story here Arlen?” Grommel asked gruffly, “I’m not liking having weapons pointed at me without knowing why!”

“Once, long ago in another lifetime,” Arlen answered, his voice taking on the storytellers cadence that Grommel recognized from his own many nights sitting at his Gran’s side listening to her stories of old, “when I was a different kind of soldier, beholden to a King who I did not know then was not a King, I was a Captain of a regiment sent to track down and capture and kill some war criminals.  We were looking for a man and woman who had refused to lay down arms when their lands were subjugated, and had reportedly been causing quite the problem for local commanders.”  Arlen saw the girl’s eyes shoot up in surprise at the beginning of his tale, and he realized then that they had never told her anything about her younger years.

“They were very resourceful and incredibly hard to pin down, but after weeks of chasing them, I finally had them cornered in an old abandoned house.  I went in under a truce to speak with them, to try and get them to surrender peacefully.  Of course that was a ruse on my part since I fully intended on seeing them both dead.” He winked at the two facing them then, and although their weapons did not go any lower, they did soften their expressions somewhat.

“After such a wild chase I wanted to meet them face to face before their final sentence was executed, to see what kind of people could lead me on such an adventure against such huge odds for so long.  Imagine my surprise when I went in, alone, to find our two friends Josef and Graci here, but they were not alone.”  Here he looked directly and the girl and spoke directly to her. “You were practically a newborn babe, so tiny and precious, I was dumbfounded that they had not only been able to elude me for so long, but to do so with an infant in tow!”

Arlen paused and looked back at Josef and Graci.  “After seeing the three of you trapped inside that small hut, knowing all three of you would soon be dead, something snapped inside of me.  I couldn’t do it.”  He looked again at the girl, as if telling the story to only her now.

“I saw there was trapdoor in the front room that led down to the basement.  I asked for them to trust me and drew a knife and asked for Josef here to bare his arm for me.  He did as I asked and I drew my knife across his arm, drawing out a lot of blood.  I pulled out my saber and let the blood drip down and over it, coating it.” Josef nodded at recalling the memory. “Fortunately the basement itself was made of stone, so I told them to hide there until we had gone and that I would take care of the rest.  I went outside with my bloody saber and told them that I had dispatched you both myself, and to burn the house to the ground.  Once the house was on fire I quickly took my men and departed, hoping you could get out before you were overcome by the smoke, but I knew it was a better chance than you faced before.”

“I never really knew if you had escaped, but I hoped you had. I see you did.”

By the end of his tale, Josef and Graci had finally lowered their weapons and the confrontational look in their eyes had been replaced…by something else.

Josef nodded towards Arlen.  “We waited until we heard the sounds of your troupe leaving before I climbed out up into the fire first, to make sure you had.  We didn’t escape unscathed or unburned, but we lived.  For that you have our gratitude.”

“But,” Graci continued, finishing his thought for him, “how are we to know that you haven’t come back to finish the job?”  Arlen smiled at the defiance in her voice that he remembered all so well.

Arlen shook his head.  “As far as I know, no one ever found out about our deception, and of course I am no longer bound to any King, and as a matter of fact, said King has had a price on my head for several years now.”  He chuckled at the irony.

“Then what brings you here, to us?” Josef asked cautiously.  Graci instinctively looked at Celi.

Arlen looked at the girl again, and knew.  He looked up at Josef, who also knew.

“Please,” Arlen said as he sat down at one of the chairs.  Adian and Grommel shifted to stand behind him again, keeping their silence for now.  “There are things I must show you, things you know that are to pass but must be shown anyways.”  He placed his uninjured right hand upon the table, palm upwards.  “Both of you take my hand please.”  Josef and Graci looked at each other apprehensively, but didn’t budge.  “Please, trust me as you did so long ago, one last time.”

Slowly Josef and Graci sheathed their weapons and stepped up to the table.  Without sitting down they both reached down and laid their hands upon his.  For several moments they held that position, with their eyes closed.  Adian and Grommel could see from behind Arlen the tears swell beneath Graci’s eyelids, and then slowly, achingly, trickle down her cheeks.  They noticed that Graci had positioned herself so that the girl behind her could not see her face.  

Finally Josef and Graci opened their eyes and looked at Arlen.

“I’m assuming you will be staying at the Inn here in town?”  His voice was gruff, but resolute.

Arlen nodded.  “We are now, until you need us.”

Graci gave Arlen’s hand a soft squeeze and she withdrew it.  “Thank you,” she whispered, barely audible, “for everything.”  Then she turned her back and started packing up their things.  

Arlen stood up.  He looked one more time at the family before him, many emotions stirring around inside his heart.  He was happy they had survived and prospered, a tad envious of the family he had never had as an adult or remembered as a child; and then sad, because he knew that something was about to change.

He turned back around to Grommel and Adian.  They had kept silent throughout the entire exchange and now looked at Arlen questioningly.  He motioned for them to follow him, and with one last look at the girl, who smiled back at him, they left the shack.

“Wait!”  The three stopped dead in their tracks and turned back around quickly.

Celi stood at the doorway, her expression urgent.  “You forgot something I think,” she said, looking pointedly at his arm.  Arlen had completely forgotten about it and laughed.

“So I had, umm, you don’t mind do you?”  He started to make his way back to the shack but Celi jumped off the porch and ran up to them.  She smiled as she reached the three of them and gently placed her hand on his broken left arm.  

“I don’t mind at all, sir” she said, not shy at all, “It’s what I do.”  With that Arlen felt warmth spread out from her hand along his broken bone, and suddenly the pain was gone.  He looked down in surprise at his arm.  Celi pulled her arm back and jerked the sling off from around his neck and his arm.  “You won’t be need that anymore,” she said confidently.  She winked at the three of them and turned back around quickly and bolted back into the shed, making sure to close the door behind her.

Adian and Grommel stared at Arlen and his arm.  Adian whistled softly.  Grommel’s eyes were wide open.  Arlen moved his arm and flexed his fingers experimentally.  

“Well at least we know who we are here for now,” Adian said.  Grommel and Arlen both nodded.  They walked in silence all the way back to the Inn, and made their way back to their table (which oddly enough was still empty even though the room itself was crowded to capacity).  Once seated and their drinks back in their hands, Grommel broke the silence.

“Why the long face Arlen?” he asked. “We’ve discovered who we are here to meet, that is a good thing!”

“Oh yes, it’s a good thing,” Arlen said, “but something disturbs me greatly about what happened inside there.”  His face was worried as he took another drink from his mug.

“How so?” Adian asked.

“Well,” Arlen replied setting down his mug, “usually when I show people the Truth, I get a sense, a feeling of what they are seeing or experiencing. Sometimes I can even see and hear the entire episode as if I were watching a play.”  He shook his head.

“Then what did you see this time?” Adian asked, intrigued.

Arlen shook his head again, frowning in confusion “Nothing.”

Chapter Twenty

“No, no, no!”  Celi cried out indignantly, stamping her foot down hard on the front room floor.  “You can’t just kick me out and make me go with them!”  She glared at her parents, her face flushed red in anger and indignation.

“Honey please,” began her mother, a hint of pleading in her voice, “there isn’t any other way…”

“Any other way for what?” Celi countered, her voice getting higher and higher.  “What did I do so bad that you want me to leave?”  Tears of anger and fear started to form at the corner of her eyes.

Graci shook her head sadly as she moved closer and put her hand on Celi’s shoulder.  Celi made as if to pull away, but Graci was much faster and shot out with her other hand, clasping the opposite shoulder.  Holding her so, Graci waited until Celi looked up at her, wincing inwardly at the look of betrayal on her face.

“Baby girl,” she said firmly yet gently, “you didn’t do a single wrong thing.”  She gave Celi’s shoulders a gentle shake.  “Get a hold of yourself dear, you’ve been nothing but a wonderful daughter all your life and now you are turning into a wonderful woman.”  She smiled lovingly at her daughter, so grown up now.

Celi’s face softened a bit at that, but the confusion remained.  She looked hard at her mother, then over her shoulder to see her papa sitting in his favorite chair, his face set in solemn stone, a deep grimace etched on it.

She shook her head in confusion.  “But why mama?” she pleaded again, “why do you want me go?”

“We don’t want you to go Celi,” her father’s deep voice cut in, startling both her and Graci, “you have to go.  Your life is in danger here, and we can’t protect you here well enough. You need to be on the move with those who can protect you better than we can.”  Celi froze at those words, not at just what they foretold for her, but the pain and anger and frustration with which her papa had said them.  He had always protected her, he was her papa and would stand before the gates of the Abyss for her, and she knew that without a doubt.  She heard the pain in his voice at having to admit that they couldn’t protect her, and that more than anything else helped to calm her down.

“Why do I need protecting?” she pleaded, “I’m just a girl, I’m not a threat to anyone!”

Graci pulled Celi into her with a hug, wrapping her arms around her as Celi laid her head against her mother’s breast.  Softly she stroked Celi’s hair like she would when she was a child who woke up screaming with her nightmares.  She closed her eyes for just a moment, a final moment.  Then Graci opened her eyes and spoke softly to her daughter.

“It’s your gift Celi,” she began, still stroking her hair, “it’s such a special gift, being able to do what you do.  We never told you how special it was because we didn’t want you to get a big head about it, but there are not many people in the entire world who can do what you do, healing others so quickly and so completely.”  Celi moved her head off her mother’s breast now and looked up at her questioningly.

“Oh, there are plenty others who can use their gift to help along healing dear one,” Graci answered her unspoken question, “but according to Uncle Mikael, who would know of such things, no one else in the whole world is as gifted as you.”  Proudly Graci smiled down at her daughter.

Celi’s head swam in confusion.  She had never considered herself any more special than anyone else with a special skill or gift or ability.  Like the Ernest the Blacksmith who could fashion any sort of tool at his forge with his eyes closed.  Or Emilia, one of her friends in the village with the most beautiful singing voice for over a hundred miles: and James, the town miller, who as a hobby painted the most wonderful pictures on his canvases.  Any number of people in town had special gifts, so she never considered hers any more special or important than theirs.  

Graci saw her confusion and gave her another gentle shake, bringing Celi out of her bewilderment.  Softly she smiled at her only child, about to be cast out into the world, hoping they had taught her enough to keep her safe and honorable with all that she would face.  

“There will always be those that fear you Celi dear,” she said sadly, “always those who will hate you just because you are different, because they don’t understand you or why you were chosen for such a gift.”  Graci heard Josef rise up from his chair and walk slowly across the room to stand beside them.

“There will always be those who wish to posses you as well, little one,” he added, “for the power and standing they think having you under their sway will give them.”  Josef nodded, more angry than sad.  “Then, most important of all,” Josef said, his eyes hardening, “there will be those who want to kill you.”  Celi’s eyes widened in shock.  “They will fear you to the point that the only solution is to get rid of you.  The goodness and light you bring into this world calls out to the Darkness we have long suffered under my child, and the Darkness will not suffer you to live.”  

Graci reached out, as she always did, and touched Josef on the arm.  He blinked, turning to look at his wife, and she smiled and nodded at him in return.  Slowly his eyes softened, filling with acceptance and determination.  He smiled at his wife, thanking her.

The whole exchange confused Celi even more.  One day she was happy and it was life as usual, the next she has to leave home because someone wants to kill her?  And to top it off she was seeing a side of her parents she had never seen before, and it frightened her.  They seemed so aware of what was happening in the world around them, when they were all supposed to be simple farmers living a peaceful life out in the middle of nowhere.

She closed her eyes in frustration and tears threatened to pour out again.  Josef and Graci saw this and wrapped their arms around her and just held her for a while.  After a few minutes Josef pulled away, and Celi opened her eyes to see them smiling at her.

“In the end, dear one,” he said, “it will all work out the way it was meant to.”

“But for now,” Graci added, “why don’t you head to bed and get some sleep.  It’s been a long day for you and tomorrow promises to be just as long.”

Celi nodded numbly, feeling the waves of exhaustion start to crash against her.  Almost mechanically she kissed her parents good night and stumbled off to her room. As she entered her room she felt the warmth and security of it wrap its arms around her, and without even bothering to change out into her night clothes, she fell upon her bed and was instantly asleep.

Graci and Josef watched as their young woman made her exhausted way to her room.  As she closed her door behind her, they looked at each other.  So many emotions wound their way into that moment: love of course, but also happiness and gratitude and satisfaction.  Josef smiled at Graci then, and leaned into her and kissed her upon the lips.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” she answered.

Josef nodded, “Even in this, we have been blessed.”

For several moments they simply held each other, no more words needing to be spoken.

“How long do you think?” Graci finally asked, breaking the silence, but not the embrace.

“One, maybe two days at most.” Josef answered softly, his eyes closed, his head resting against hers.

“We should get her bag ready, just in case.” Graci said, sighing, but still reluctant to end their moment.  Josef nodded his head against hers in agreement, but held on just a while longer.

Finally they broke their embrace, knowing they yet had responsibilities they must fulfill.  Josef grinned at his wife, with whom he had been through so much.  “I will see to the wards Mikael gave us, and make sure they are all activated and ready, just in case.”  

Graci smiled at him as he put on his coat and quickly and gracefully made his exit from their home, to make his way around their property.  Mikael knew they might someday have need for such things; so many years ago he had given them certain wards and objects to help with just such a situation.  They themselves had also made certain…modifications…to their home over the years, for a time they had always known would come.

By the time Graci had finished packing Celi’s bag, Josef had returned from his inspection.  He nodded at her.  “Everything looks good.” he said, “Is her bag ready?”

Graci smiled as she hefted the rather heavy bag over her own shoulder.  “Oh it’s ready, though it might be a bit of a work out for her to lug around!”

“Good,” Josef chuckled, “it can help build her muscles.”

Graci slid the pack off her shoulder and set it against the leg of their dinner table.  

“So what now?” she asked, looking around their home, as if it would answer her.

“Now we wait.” Josef answered for the house.  “I don’t think it will be tonight or I would have already sent her off to the village to Arlen and the others, but still, we should keep watch tonight.  Just in case.”

“I agree.”  Graci answered.  “So, let’s find something to keep ourselves occupied until morning.”  She grinned at him as he raised his eyebrows, then they both laughed and flowed into each other’s arms.

Several hours later, the moon moved into a new quarter of the sky over their farm, reluctant to relinquish its grip, knowing it had but a few more hours to hold sway over the land and its inhabitants.  So the moon was the only witness to the arrival of a creature not meant for this world, a creature short on patience, yet eager to please its two masters and regain its once lofty status.  

The creature appeared this time as an overly large raven, deep red in color instead of black; its eyes, talons, and cruel beak far sharper and more deadly than any mortal raven’s.  The creature circled the farmland lazily, testing the air, tasting it for the residue that would remain if this was the correct place.  Incredibly the air was thick with it, so much so that the creature was angered and amazed at how long it had taken it to find them.  With such an overwhelming scent of power as this, it should have found them months ago, for surely she had been here for at least a decade, maybe even more.

The creature angrily replayed the last several months in its head, the false leads, the hot trails that ended in nothing, crossing the lands from side to side in search of its master’s prey.  Grudgingly it had to accept the fact that she had been hidden most convincingly from its exceptional senses.  It had been led on a chase around the world; but now, for some reason, that protection was gone, or nearly so.  

The creature’s patience almost slipped then, it barely resisted plummeting from the sky right then and there to rip the roof off the feeble home below it, to rend and devour everything inside it that was not its master’s prey.  The creature shook its head and realized it was already half way to the roof, its form changing from that of a blood raven into something much larger and much more grotesque.

 It changed direction mid flight, shooting itself back up into the air, easing back into the raven form.  The creature berated itself for almost giving into its lust, but was also proud of itself for resisting its most primal urges and exercising patience.  Its Master would be proud.  It would not make its move until it was completely sure this was its actual prey.  It circled lower, getting a stronger feel for the type of power that had been used here, comparing it with the example given to it by his temporary master.  

The creature landed on the roof of the house, lightly for such a large creature, and two things happened at once.  The first was that it had finally gotten enough of a taste that it knew beyond any doubt this was the right place.  The second was that it felt a power ward being tripped, and without thinking, it launched itself straight up into the air as a bolt of lightning shot out of a small metal rod attached to the center of the rooftop, connecting with the tail feathers of the creature, burning them off and vaporizing them.  

The creature screamed out in anger, its rage at itself for being so stupid as to think they would not be somewhat prepared.  Its sharp senses caught the sound of movement inside the house below it, and it screamed out again in frustration.  So be it.  It launched itself even higher into the air, and with a final flap of its wings it leveled out and then sent itself into a dive aimed directly at the roof.  If that bolt was the best it could do, then the creature would just accept the pain and push through it to its prey.  

Again its form flowed into something not of this world. Its head lengthened and stretched, it’s cruel beak now three times longer and full of wickedly sharp and blackened teeth, dripping with vile ooze that hissed and popped as it made contact with the air. The blood red feathered wings twisted and snapped, feathers ripping away, revealing elongated red leathery wings beneath, impossibly sharp hooked claws attached to them at intervals.  More feathers fell away as its sides erupted and two limbs burst out of each side, all four covered in that red leathery flesh, corded with wiry muscles, ending in four sets of hands with six inch long razor sharp nails  The creature’s legs and body shifted and popped, the few remaining feathers finally discarded, settling into a form vaguely resembling that of a lion: a great broad chest with strong sturdy legs, armored completely by a fine coat of reddish green scales that sparkled hypnotically in the moonlight. A four foot long prehensile tail also covered in scales quickly grew from where its tail feathers had once been, tipped with a jagged black barb, dripping with that vile ooze.  Its wingspan was now wider than the roof of the house, its body easily twenty feet long.  

Finally free in one of its true forms, the creature screamed out in rage and victory as it plunged towards the roof of the house.  As it neared the roof it let out another unearthly scream as it reached out all of its limbs, ready to rip the roof right off of the house itself.  The rod on the rooftop pulsed as it released another bolt of lightning, hitting the creature square in the chest, blasting a small dent into its armor, wisps of smoke trailing from its chest.  The creature screamed out in pain and anger but it barely slowed in its dive.  Again the rod shot out, striking the creature another agonizing blow, and then again another, and then another, pounding the creature and punishing it terribly.  

Yet the creature would not relent; it had been re-born in the fires of the Abyss and pain had been its constant companion for millennia.  It accepted the pain, almost relishing in it, turning the pain into anger and hatred, as it had been taught to survive that way.  The creature made to slam into the roof, the bolts of lightning now a constant stream of pain, but then as it was about to connect, it slammed into an invisible barrier, crushing its arms and legs underneath its body, slamming its head into the barrier, momentarily dazing it.  Its wings lay across the whole length of the roof and past the edges, the body underneath it jerking in spasms of pain as it absorbed the point blank stream of energy from the lightning rod.  The creature raised its head, coming out of its daze, and let its body slide off the roof of the two story house, to get away from the lightning and to see how far the barrier extended.  

It crashed to the ground by the front door, and lay there for a moment, the angle of the roof gentle enough that it protected it from the punishment of the lightning rod ward.  The bad news was that the barrier seemed to wrap all the way around the house, even into the ground as far as it could tell.  The creature stood to its full length, enfolding its wings against its back, and was promptly struck again by the rooftop ward as its head came just above the rooftop.  It quickly ducked its head, and laid its hands upon the shield around the house.  It stayed that way for a moment, trying to judge the nature of the barrier.  It nodded its head then, deducing that while it was formidable, it could only withstand so much force before it gave away.  

With that knowledge it kept its head down below rooftop level and raised all four of its arms and started beating upon the invisible wall, its wicked fists pounding heavily on the protective barrier, knowing that eventually it would break through.  The vile slime oozing out of its mouth and dripping from its barbed tail hissed and burned as it splattered onto the ground outside the house.  The creature growled deeply in anticipation and lust, smelling its prey just within its grasp.

Celi awoke to the sound of a horrifying screech, full of pain and anger, a sound so other-worldly and terrifying that she cowered beneath her covers, stone cold in fear.  At first she thought it was one of her dreams, returned to haunt her again after all these years.  Then she heard another scream and the sound of lightning, and could smell burnt, rotten flesh, and knew it was no dream.  A moment later her bedroom door burst open and she flinched uncontrollably, but it was her papa come to rescue her, not some unknown monster come to devour her.  

Her father’s eyes were alight with anger and fear, and oddly a look of finality that both scared and confused Celi even more.  Without a word he reached down to Celi and snatcher her up out of her bed.  He grunted in satisfaction when he saw she was still in her day clothes. He swung her up and slung her over his shoulder and marched out of her bedroom.   Celi was too terrified to complain about being handled so.  Whatever was outside started pounding on the house, great echoing thuds bouncing off the walls and ceiling.  The house shuddered with each blow, surely to collapse with the next strike, but miraculously the walls held.  Her father carried her out into the kitchen and set her down gently by the table.  Servo stood stalk still by the front door, growling fiercely at whatever creature was outside.  

Then she saw her mother too, and she went cold inside upon seeing her.  Her mother was transformed: clad in a suit of jet black leather armor, a brace of knives strapped to her chest, dual short swords strapped to her hips, knives strapped to her boots, small pouches of unknown substances clasped to the belt around her waist, and in her hands a wicked looking crossbow with a belt that fed glowing white bolts into it.

Then she realized her father was dressed the same way, but with a huge two handed sword on his back instead of two swords at his side.  After he set her down he knelt down on one knee in front of her and placed his hands softly on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes.

“Honey,” he began, way too calm for such a situation, she thought, “I’m sorry but you have to leave now.”  She started to object but he shushed her.  “No time to argue baby, there is a creature outside sent by those who want to kill you.  It will eventually tear through our defenses that Uncle Mikael gave us, and it will slaughter you if you are still here.”  He shook his head, “We will not allow that to happen.”

Celi saw the look in her father’s eyes change once again, this time full of love for her, comforting her, reassuring her.  It would all be ok, her papa said so.  Somehow, though, she couldn’t bring herself to fully believe it.

Her mother came over to them then, knelt down next to them and grabbed Celi in a fierce hug.  Her grip was strong, unshakeable, firm, and full of love.  She let Celi go and reached down by the table leg, retrieving a large travel pack, which looked really heavy to Celi.

“I love you Celi, but you have to go now,” her mother began, “get to the village and find Arlen and his friends and they will know what to do then.  After that, find your way to Uncle Mikael, he will tell you everything you need to know.”  Celi looked at the front door in horror, as now the sound of pounding and growling could be heard just outside it.

Her mother shook her head at Celi’s look of horror.  “No baby, not that way. Here.”  She reached down pried her index finger into a knothole in the kitchen floor.  To Celi’s amazement she heard a click, and a portion of the floor popped up like a trap door.  Celi was mute with shock.  She had lived almost her entire life in this house and had never even known about that.

“How…?” she began, staring wildly at her parents.

“We’ve known a long time that something like this would happen one day, Celi,” papa said softly, “we’ve had plenty of time to prepare certain things.  Follow the tunnel and it will take you out by the creek, just a hundred yards from town.  When you get there head to the Inn and find Arlen and his friends!” He winked at her and then whistled for Servo.  Their faithful dog tore itself away from guarding the front door and padded lightly over to them.

“Servo,” papa said to the dog, scratching him fondly behind the ears, “go with Celi, and guard her with your life, as you always have!”  Servo barked and licked papa’s face.

Now it was papa’s turn to hug Celi tightly, the brace of knives digging into her skin.  She felt his warmth, and smelled his familiar scent, those things that had helped comfort her all these years, had a bit of a calming effect on her even now.  He let go of her and kissed her on the forehead.  She swallowed hard and reached up and kissed him on the cheek.  Then she reached out and did the same to mama.  

“I love you both,” she said, trying to sound brave, “I’ll get Arlen and the others and we’ll be back as soon as we can!”  Her parents just smiled at her, and without saying another word mama draped that heavy travel pack onto Celi’s back and sent her and Servo down the steps.

 Before she had taken more than three steps her father reached out with a small torch he had lit from the fireplace and handed it to her silently, but with a warm smile that gave her just a bit more courage.  She nodded her thanks to her parents then, and turned back towards the darkness with Servo at her side.  As she descended another few steps, she heard the trap door move above her, swiftly closing, locking her away from the danger above, and her home, and her parents.  She stifled her sobs and continued quickly down the steps.

Josef and Graci stared down at the trap door for a moment, even as the walls shook around them and dust fell from the roof, they saw only the piece of wood that sealed their daughter off from them.  

“What now?” Graci asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the sound of the creature’s assault of their home.  

Josef just as quietly answered, “Now we buy our daughter some time.”  He cocked his head at Graci, a wicked gleam in his eye.  

“Husband of mine,” Graci replied smiling, “I like the way you think!”

   Outside, the creature continued to beat on the walls. It could feel the wards weakening under its ferocious attack.  It could stand up to its full height now; the ward on the roof had run out of power and was no longer a threat.  The creature was so self absorbed in its success that it failed to notice the front door right in front of its midsection come flying open.  It looked down just in time to see a huge blade glowing white come stabbing out of the door and watched in self disgust as it easily pierced through its own protective scales.  The creature roared in agony as the blade slid home: a burning agony as the blessed blade rebuked its presence on this world.  Simultaneously four crossbow bolts sheathed in white light shot out of the doorway, embedding themselves into the creature’s chest.  

The creature’s mind flashed white for a moment, the pain almost too much to bear.  But it was not to be done in so easily.  Furious at itself and these puny mortals, the creature focused its rage and anger into one gargantuan strike against the wards of the house.  It bellowed out in triumph as it connected mightily with the wards and felt them finally collapse beneath its fists.  Then the creature leapt back with astounding agility, tearing the sword and the bolts out of its flesh as it did so.  

Josef and Graci stared in wonder and revulsion at the creature now standing a scant fifty feet from them.  Before their eyes the wounds they had caused it began to heal, and within seconds it was if they had never been.  The creature stretched out its leathery wings to their fullest, raised its four arms out to their length, and fixing its baleful gaze upon them, it roared out in mocking triumph.

Graci’s hand instinctively reached out for Josef’s and she found it ready to receive hers, as always.  She felt his hard yet soft hand holding hers, as it had for oh so many years.  She could feel the love and warmth his touch always conveyed, even in the most desperate of times; and if  it was at all possible she loved him more at that moment than she had her whole life.  

Josef felt the love of his life slip her hand into his, and he knew himself to be a lucky man.  Without letting go of her hand or taking his eyes off the almost mesmerizingly grotesque creature from the Abyss, he bent down and retrieved his fallen sword.  Graci deftly maneuvered her crossbow onto her left hip while Josef easily hefted the heavy sword in his right.  

They both heard the tingling of a small bell from inside the house.  The creature’s sharp senses caught it too, and it cocked its head to the side, considering.  Josef and Graci smiled in relief.  

“She made it,” Graci said under her breath.  

“Now she has to make it to the village,” Josef said, “it’s time we fulfilled our promise to her and Mikael.”  He gave her hand one last squeeze, and then let it go.

  Across the path the creature was sniffing the air suspiciously.  The prey’s smell and scent of power was still about the house, but fainter.  It cocked its head from side to side, even such small movements greatly altering and expanding its sensory range.  The hunter from the Abyss realized in an instant its folly.  The prey had fled, and these fleshy maggots had distracted it and allowed her to flee in safety.  It howled out in fury; it wings bursting into flames at its anger, sweeping back and forth as the demon shrieked its fury at the mortals who dared to defy it.  The trees behind the demon bent backwards, buffeted by the force of its beating wings.  Flames from the demons wings leapt upon the branches of the helpless trees, setting them ablaze instantly and furiously.  The demon single-mindedly bent its mighty legs, ready to launch itself into the air after the fleeing mortal.

“Demon!” Josef called out, his voice rising above the roar of the forest aflame, “you are a fool!”  The demon paused, its attention once again shooting to the mortals before it.  

“You let us trick you!” Josef called out, slowly walking towards the demon, his still glowing sword resting casually against his shoulder.  “How could they send such a stupid beast like you on such an important mission?”  The demon snarled at Josef, wanting to both fly after its prey and tear this walking dead man in half.

Now Graci followed Josef, gracefully stalking down the path, crossbow at the ready, swords at her side.  In those silent steps, she saw her whole life parade past her eyes.  Flashes of the time before Josef and Celi were brief and inconsequential.  The glimpses of her life as a wife and mother danced before her, warming her heart and strengthening her spirit.  With each step the fear of what was about to happen lessened, until there was nothing but contentment, of a life well lived and well loved.  

“Wait until your master sees what a dupe you were demon!” Josef laughed aloud.  Oddly enough he was totally relaxed and almost happy.  He had lived far longer than he thought he deserved, and the love of a family he knew he didn’t deserve.  

“We tricked you demon!” he called out, taunting the spawn of the Abyss before them.  “Maybe you should just go back to the pits from where you came, your tail between your legs!  Let your masters beat you like the cur you are!”  

The creature knew it was being baited, knew they were just trying to buy time for its prey to escape; but these mortals had played upon its weakness well, and now it was beyond caring.  It raised its four arms up in unison, and a small ball of flame grew out of the palm of each hand.  The demon roared out in anger and hurled the balls of flame at the mortal slime mocking it.  

Josef and Graci nimbly dodged the balls of flame, flowing around each other like dancers upon a stage.  Graci paused just long enough to let loose her shinning white bolts from her blessed crossbow straight into the demon’s chest again.   The demon staggered back in pain; fury obliterating any sensible thoughts of chasing after the prey.  To make it worse the human male started laughing at him again, further pushing him past any coherent thought other than annihilating them.  The demon raised its arms again and more balls of flame shot out towards them, but the pair was again too swift and graceful to be touched, years of fighting and living together as a team making it impossible for the demon to score a hit.  

Finally the rain of fire stopped, and Graci and Josef found themselves a scant twenty feet away from the demon, its foul and evil stench almost overpowering them where its other assaults had failed.  While the demon roared out again in its anger and frustration, Graci and Josef paused for just a moment to look at each other.

Josef bowed his head and grinned crookedly at Graci.  There was so much he wanted to say, but he knew no words could be enough.  Graci smiled back at him, feeling more beautiful and loved than on the day they wed.  She bowed her head in return, mischievously.

Josef turned back to look upon the demon.

“You are nothing!” he roared out in his most commanding voice.  “You are less than the scum upon my boots!  You should be caged up left to rot forever in the bowels of the Abyss for your failure!”  

A sudden flash of the eons spent in just such a cage in the very depths of the Abyss, being tormented and ridiculed by its lesser kin shot through the demons mind.  It finally snapped.

Josef and Graci stood in awe as the demon reared up to its full height and spread its wings wide once again.  The demon spoke a Word.  And the earth around them opened up, a great chasm encircling them, flames shooting out from the abyss all around them, reaching up to join each other above their heads.  

And so they stood momentarily dumbfounded inside the sphere of pure fire.  The incredible heat made them drop their weapons barely in time before they melted upon their skin.  The dirt beneath their feet began to bubble as it melted, and flowed into magma.  As their very clothing ignited, Josef and Graci reached out to each other one last time, the fear gone, the fight won, the promise kept.  The only thing they saw was each other’s eyes, the only thing they felt was peace.

Chapter Twenty one

Celi ducked as she ran, barely grazing a thick low hanging root, revealed just in time by her torch’s dim light.  She cursed under her breath as she continued running, and then felt a pang of remorse, knowing her mother would be upset with her for using such words.  She had been running non-stop with no other thought in her head but to get to the village and get help and then return home to save her parents from the horror that was assaulting them.  But now, thinking of her mother left there with her father, the two of them alone against such a terrible monster, she was almost overcome with fear for them and her rhythm faltered and she started slowing down.  

Servo barked up at her as he ran by her side, the tunnel they ran down just wide enough for the two of them.  She was startled out of her fear by his bark, and she looked down to see him snap at her heels, his not too gentle way of getting her to speed back up.  Celi set her face and picked her pace back up, pushing her fear away for now, she pumped her legs as fast as she dare in the dimly lit tunnel. Even now she was amazed at how her father had kept such a thing secret from her all those years it took him to dig it.  It was of course wet and damp and dark in the tunnel, with some tricky footing, but otherwise it was a straight and level path, even with some stepping stones along the way.  

Finally, after what seemed like forever but was probably only a few minutes, the tunnel itself took a small upward climb, the height of the tunnel gradually decreasing until Celi had to duck slightly to reach the end of it. After thirty feet or so she and Servo came to the end of the tunnel, a huge wooden door set directly above their heads, locked and barred from the inside.  

Celi could see the door was meant to swing down and inwards toward her and Servo.  She also saw how the lock, the bar, and the hinges were all well maintained and oiled, despite having been underground for so long.  She smiled proudly at her parent’s work (she knew there was no way her mama would let her papa do all this work by himself, no matter how stubbornly he protested against it!).  She looked down at Servo, who was looking up at her and wagging his tail excitedly.  She knelt down quickly and hugged her faithful hound about his neck, drawing strength from him, his familiar smell helping to keep her focused.  He licked her face as she pulled away, and then fixed his gaze directly on the door above them.  Celi took a steadying breath and reached up, easily turning the lock and throwing back the bar.  

She jumped out of the way just in time, as the door fell inward and a huge mass of dirt and small rocks fell in with it.  She coughed as she waved her hands in front of her face, trying to clear away the dust and dirt from her nose and mouth.  After a few moments the cloud of debris settled down and Celi was able to see out the door above them.  The starlit night greeted her and Servo as they stared out, and she could hear the sound of the creek nearby, even feel some spray of water gently caressing her face.  

Celi didn’t hesitate.  She reached down and took up Servo in a huge bear hug and with her well used muscles hoisted him over her head and out the low hanging doorway.  After she was certain he was safely on foot outside the door, she threw her travel pack up and out as well. Then she reached up and grabbed the edges of the hole and pulled herself out quickly and easily.  

Once back above ground, Celi took a quick look around to gain her bearings.  Her exit was actually a hole in the creek side bed, a scant twenty feet from the creek itself, covered up and hidden with dirt and stones to appear as just another stretch of earth.    She could easily see the lights of village, their warmth and security calling out to her, beckoning her to them.  Tears of relief welled up in her eyes, but her relief lasted only a moment and was shattered when just then she heard a deafening roar of anger behind her in the distance.  She spun around and saw flames light the sky where she knew her home stood.  Again she set her face, ignored her fear, and turned towards the village.  

“Servo! Come!” she ordered, and the two of them splashed across the creek towards the village, every stride taking her farther away from her parents, but hopefully closer to their rescue.

As Celi was emerging from her escape tunnel, in the village itself three others awoke at the same instant.   The three of them had been sharing a large room, for safety’s sake.  There were only two beds in the room, but the dwarf, as all dwarves did, thought humans and Elfen soft for needing cushioned beds, so he gladly laid out on the floor (although he did snatch one of the extra pillows).  

The Human, Elfen, and Dwarf sat up startled, and looked at each other for a quiet moment.

Arlen looked at the other two, seeing the same thing on their faces as what he had felt.  He nodded solemnly.  They could all feel the presence of the demon, standing out like the smell of decaying flesh in a room full of flowers.  Adian breathed in deeply, his keen Elfen senses actually able to pick up the taint of the demon.  

“It’s a powerful one,” Adian said thoughtfully, head cocked to the side as he concentrated.  “About a mile away,” he continued, “It feels …” he was cut short as the creature shrieked out in rage, the bellow audible even in the village.

“…Angry and frustrated” Adian concluded sardonically.

Grommel bounced up from his spot on the floor, Aetrius already in hand, the light from the hammer illuminating the room easily.  

“Let’s go frustrate it some more then!” the dwarf said gruffly.  He spun about and yanked their door open, and stomped down the hallway.  Arlen and Adian leapt to their feet and quickly joined Grommel in the hallway.  All three had been sleeping fully clothed and equipped, prepared to move at a moment’s notice, a moment such as this.  

Moments later they emerged from the Inn, fanning out in the street and looking in all directions, with all their senses, to make sure there was no immediate threat about to pounce on them.  Adian did not bother to cloak himself or Grommel in any kind of illusion for the villager’s sake, so it was with their own scandalous features that they took their stand.  Satisfied there was no imminent danger, they grouped back up in the middle of the dirt avenue running through the center of the village, just in front of the Inn.  

The three turned to look in the direction of the demon, off west of the village.  

“Ok,” Arlen said, “we need to get there fast, what are our options?”

“I’m your option,” Adian said quickly, “stand back!”  Arlen and Grommel each took a step back as Adian’s staff appeared out of nowhere and he pointed it at the ground beside them.  He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could they heard a voice crying out.

“Help! Please!” a woman’s voice cried out.  The three companions spun around, weapons out, ready for an attack.  Adian stopped mid-cast as he spun, his staff already up in a defensive pose, prepared to attack if necessary.  

They all recognized Celi as she burst into the lighted avenue, a large dog running at her side, barking anxiously.  Arlen relaxed his stance and beckoned for Celi to continue running towards them, as Grommel and Adian kept their guard up for anything that might be following her.  

Celi made it to them and threw herself into Arlen’s arms, gripping him tightly in fear and hope, breathing heavily from her terrifying run.  But only for a moment did she allow herself this respite.  

“Please!” she begged, pulling back from Arlen, but still holding onto his arms, “we have to go back to my house…my parents…it’s going to kill them!”  

Arlen, Adian and Grommel all looked at each other, but there was no need to discuss anything.  Arlen looked back down at Celi.  

“Show us the way child,” he said firmly.  Celi gave him a quick hug in thanks, and without a word she turned away from them, ready to take them the shortest way to her home, and to her parents.  

A screech cut through the night, victorious, brutal, and final; followed by the night sky lighting up in a blaze of flames…right where Celi knew her home to be.   Celi stopped dead in her tracks, shock slamming into her like a solid wall.  Time stopped around her.  Her ears refused to hear, her eyes refused to see, but her heart could not deny what she knew to be true.  Unaware of her own body, she fell down to her knees, tears streaming obliviously down her face.  Numbness, silence, emptiness and darkness were all she knew.

Until a voice, such a wonderfully familiar voice whispered in her ear: “It’s ok baby girl, we’re ok!”   Celi almost fell over as she tried to spin around on her knees, the world suddenly opening up for her again.  She scrambled to her feet and spun around, dazedly looking for her parents, staring puzzled; for all she saw were Arlen and his friends standing several feet away from her, all with sorrow and comfort in their eyes.  She shook her head, focused her eyes, turned her head this way and that, looking.  

Arlen stepped forward, looking over her shoulder, out to the flames over her home.  He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, causing her to shake her head once again and stare at him in confusion.

“It knows you aren’t there Celi,” he began quietly, yet in earnest, “It will be coming here for you next.  We have to get you back to the Inn, under some cover, so we can protect you from it.”  He stared in to her eyes, trying by sheer force of will for her to hear and understand him.  She blinked at him several times, finally her eyes cleared somewhat and she nodded at him.

Arlen nodded back, and before she could utter another word he scooped her up in his arms, holding her effortlessly, and with Grommel and Adian flanking him they all retreated back to the Inn.  Once inside he gently set her down in a chair, and he and Grommel and Adian rushed back to the windows to peer outside.  Celi rose from her chair and joined them, waiting to see what happened next.  

They did not have long to wait.  From the flames that raged over Celi’s home, a single large tongue of flame seemed to separate itself and slowly drift down towards the town, towards them.  As the moments passed, the fragment of flame got larger and larger, and gained speed, headed straight for the village.  Celi watched in fascination as the flame came closer and closer to the village, seemingly straight for her, hidden away behind closed doors.  Soon they all could see the flame itself separate into two flames, each moving up and down in unison.  Gradually they realized that was the shape and movement of wings.

Celi’s heart grew colder as the creatures’ form became more definable, wondering how her parents were even able to stand for a moment before such a nightmare.  A spark of pride helped warm her heart as she realized for how long her parents had fought that abomination to cover her escape.  She took that moment and vowed that for the rest of her life she would never let their sacrifice on her behalf go to waste.  

So it was with a stronger heart that she saw the creature finally reach the village.  Its wings were aflame, scattering drops of fire across the fields and grass with each beat.  It hovered for a moment over a two story house directly across from the Inn, cocking and turning its grotesque head this way and that, searching, searching for her, she knew.  It let loose a deafening roar of anger and settled down with a heavy thud on to the roof of the house.  Flames from it’s’ wings fell on to the roof itself, starting small fires all across it.  Celi’s breath caught; that was the home of Jaxton the trapper and his family.  She could hear the screams of the family inside, and after a few frightening moments they all came crashing out the front door into the street.  

Of course they were not the only ones now aware that something horrible was happening.  The whole village was awake now and those who could see the monster on the rooftop started screaming or yelling and panicking.   Some grabbed old swords or used pitchforks or axes that had only tasted wooden flesh and ran out as if to do combat with the creature from the Abyss.  Upon seeing it though, none had the courage (or insanity it might be argued) to actually try to assail it.  

The demon looked down upon the mortals scattering about the village.  It seemed to be studying them, and Celi realized suddenly it was still searching for her among them.  She shuddered to think what would happen when it did not find her there, what it would do to them.  She moved closer to the door, ready to go outside and show herself, before it took its’ wrath out on anyone else.  

She was almost to the door, but suddenly felt a solid hand grab her forearm, freezing her in place.  She looked to her right and saw a dwarf, realizing for the first time in shock that where the other day there were three humans, now there was one human, and what she thought could only be an Elfen and a Dwarf.  For a moment surprise and wonder replaced the fear and terror that had been chasing her all night.  She could only stare at the red bearded dwarf who held her with one large hand and gripped a brightly glowing, imposing hammer in the other.

“What’s the matter lass,” Grommel said gruffly, a tad self conscious, “you’ve never seen such a handsome Dwarf before?”  

“Is there such a thing?” Adian’s voice cut in.  Celi’s head spun around again, this time staring openly at one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever laid eyes upon.  Adian had the grace to slightly blush as he was not used to human’s reactions upon seeing an Elfen for the first time.  Celi was almost mesmerized, especially by his hair, which at first glance seemed to be black, but the more you looked at it, you could see so many different colors woven and blended together, that she almost lost herself trying to appreciate it all.

A thundering voice rocked her out of her reverie, crashing her back into the here and now full of fear and danger.  

“Where is my prey?” the demon roared from the rooftop, flames quickly spreading across the roof itself.  “Show yourself to me, mortal, or watch as I lay waste to this pathetic stretch of earth and devour the flesh of these useless sheep, one by one, all condemned by your selfishness!”

 With those words the demon leapt down from the rooftop, which was now completely in flames, and landed lightly yet with a large crunch on the dirt below.  Its’ long sinuous tail shot out from behind it, the cruel barb piercing the flesh of one of the villagers who had gotten too close.  Macky, the village cobbler screamed out in terror and pain as he was hoisted off the ground and whipped around to face the demon.  The wicked barb had pierced his back and burst through his chest, a thick black ooze dripping from the barb and mixing in with Macky’s blood as it stained his tunic and pooled on the ground beneath him.

Celi watched in horror as the demon reached out with all four arms towards Macky, who thankfully had passed out from the shock and pain.  The demon gripped Macky with its’ two lower arms, pinning Macky’s own arms against his body and holding him firmly.  Holding him so, the demon reached out with one huge hand and placed it completely over Macky’s poor head.  Even from across the way everyone in the Inn could hear the crunch and snap as the demon twisted and popped Macky’s head right off his shoulders in one smooth movement.  

Screams from all over the village answered the demon’s action, the villagers finally jarred out of their paralyzing fear.  It laughed out in delight at their reaction, and like an actor on stage desiring the most dramatic reaction possible, lazily tossed the decapitated head towards its own mouth.  The demon’s huge jaws at the base of its long snout unhinged enough to allow it to swallow Macky’s head whole.   The demon laughed out loud again, a truly gruesome sound, and let Macky’s lifeless body drop to the ground, blood still pumping slowly from its chest and neck.

Celi’s vision dimmed and all the sounds around her turned into a vague roar in her ears.  She knew she was fainting and almost welcomed it.  At the last second though she pulled herself out of it, telling herself she could faint later, but now she needed to get outside before anyone else got hurt.  She looked her three would be rescuers in desperation.

“Please,” she said, all three of them turning to her, “you have to let me go outside. Let that thing have me, I can’t let it hurt anyone else because of me! Please!”  Tears were openly streaming down her face now, the look on poor Macky’s face etched forever on her psyche.  

Adian was the one who answered her.  “My lady,” he said firmly yet softly, “I have spent thousands of years fighting those creatures, and the one thing I can tell you with certainty, is that it will kill each and every person in this village whether you give yourself up to it or not.”  He reached out and took her hands in his, the warmth in his wrapping around hers, banishing some of the cold fear gripping her heart, clearing her mind.  She nodded in understanding and thanks to the Elfen.

“But then what do I do?” she asked, looking out past Adian, watching as the demon raised one of its hands.  A small fireball appeared in its’ clawed hand, and the demon casually flipped it towards the home next to the one on which it had landed.  The home immediately burst into flames upon impact, the villagers screaming out and running further out toward the outskirts of the village itself.  

“There is only one path for us madam,” Adian answered solemnly.  “We will leave this Inn and bring the fight to the demon.  We shall defeat it and send it back to the Abyss, and prevent it from harming anyone else.”  Adian’s eyes hardened then, an implacable look on such a beautiful face she thought briefly.  

“So what’s the best way to kill one of them?” Grommel asked, hefting his hammer in his grip, ready to let fly from where he stood if needed.  

“You can’t kill it, “Arlen answered.  Adian cocked an eyebrow as he turned to look at Arlen, nodding his head in agreement at the human.  “For one as powerful as this, the best you can do it to banish it back to the Abyss,” Arlen continued, “and the only way to do that is to know its true Name.”

Grommel grunted, looking first at Arlen, then Adian.  Adian nodded.  “With the demon’s true Name I know how to send it back,” he confirmed, “it’s incredibly painful for the demon, and is the one thing that makes those immortal creatures wish they could die.”  

“Sounds good to me!” Grommel affirmed.  “Ok lads let’s do it.” He hefted his hammer up against his shoulder.  “Me and Arlen will get its Name, while you gather up the villagers and keep them and Celi safe.  Then you can send that bastard back to the Abyss.  Any questions?”

“A moment,” Adian interrupted.  He reached out a hand each to Grommel and Arlen, who grasped them in return.  Then he motioned for Celi to stand between Grommel and Arlen and take their hands as well.  Thus in a circle, Adian closed his eyes for a moment.  The four of them felt something like a door opening up in their minds, where they could each look out and take a peek into each others’ minds.  Celi was a little taken aback, but with a demon just outside tearing her village apart and killing her friends she wasn’t about to say anything.

“When you learn the demon’s name,” Adian said, “I will know it the instant you do as well.”  

Grommel nodded his head.  “Well done then.”  Without another word Grommel stomped up to the Inn’s front door.  Without stopping he kicked out with his foot, smashing the door off its hinges, sending pieces and fragments outwards into the street.  Celi bent down and retrieved a small but wicked and efficient hunting blade from her pack, again thankful for her parent’s foresight.  

Grommel stood just outside of the doorway, his mighty width preventing the others from showing themselves just yet.

“Demon!” Grommel bellowed with the force of an avalanche.  The demon’s head snapped around to zero in on Grommel, its eyes widening at the sight and feel of his hammer.  “The souls of those of those you have harmed cry out for an answer to your crimes.”  The demon narrowed its eyes, sensing a well known and hated aura about the dwarf.  “I am come to give voice to their cries for justice!”  In the blink of an eye Grommel’s hammer, Aetrius was let loose, screaming through the air, impacting with the loud crunch of breaking bones directly in the center of the demon’s chest.  

The demon flew backwards into the house still engulfed in flames, colliding into what was left of the structure, walls and roof collapsing in on the demon. Smoke and dust and flames converged over the demon, momentarily covering it from view.  Aetrius appeared instantly back in Grommel’s hands.  He moved out from in front of the doorway, and turned back to his friends with a grunt.  

“Okay, I think it’s distracted Arlen, I’ll keep it busy while you do your thing.”

Arlen grinned at Grommel and clapped him on the shoulder as he and Adian and Celi filed out of the Inn.  “I think you’ve got his attention.”  Arlen said.  Grommel and Arlen took off running towards the demon, Arlen drawing out Nox, its black blade nearly invisible in the darkness.  

The demon, however, recovered quickly from its surprise and had already climbed back out of the wreckage, anger and outrage plain on its demonic visage.  It had not come so close to its prey to have it be denied.  It had used up more of its power than it would have liked in destroying the two worms that stood before it while its prey had escaped, but it still had plenty left to deal with this.  So it spoke another Word.  Time stood still for a few moments as the demon relished the look of surprise on the face of its foes upon hearing it.  

At least a dozen small whorls of blackness appeared mid air around the demon, swirling and flowing, growing larger with each passing moment.  Sounds and smells began to issue out of the black vortexes: snarls and cries of rage and bloodlust, the gagging scent of sulfur and hate vomiting out of the blackness, eager to spread.  

Within the few moments it took for Celi to clear the doorway of the Inn, the black portals about the demon had already opened, spewing forth blackened, twisted creatures, dozens of them, whom she would later come to know as the Havoc.  

They brought with them Chaos, instantly spreading it upon their release.  As soon as their feet hit the ground they shot out in all directions, no organization or reason, just pure pandemonium unleashed across the village.  Some ran straight for the now fleeing villagers, chasing them down easily and dragging them down to the ground.  Others ran straight for Grommel and Arlen, trying to intercept them before they reached the demon.  And Celi watched in revulsion and wonder as at least half a dozen of the creatures ran straight for her and Adian.  

Adian grabbed Celi and pulled her with him, not away from the creatures as she presumed he would, but towards them, his white staff appearing out of nowhere in his other hand.  The Havoc screamed with lust as they saw the elfen and human running towards them, their cries and howls getting even louder in anticipation of tearing them to shreds and devouring their soft succulent flesh.  

Once in the middle of the lane, Adian pulled up abruptly, about fifteen feet in front of the charging Havoc.  Raising his staff lengthwise in front of them, Adian closed his eyes for the briefest of moments.  Celi gasped as the staff glowed with a bright bluish white light, and then she jumped back a step in surprise as the white oaken staff erupted in a burst of light, tendrils of blue energy striking out in front of them, slamming into the Havoc.  

The Havoc’s howls of lust turned into wails of pain and terror as the strands of energy hit them and wrapped around them, squeezing them and engulfing them in blue flames.  The Havoc writhed within their bonds, clawing and tearing their own flesh in their frenzy to win free.  Their horrible struggle was short lived however; within moments their cries diminished into mewling gurgles as the tendrils of light tightened around them, constricting them even further, until they couldn’t move.  Then, with the beasts totally immobilized and helpless within them, the strands of light pulsed brightly and silently exploded, a wave of ash hitting Adian and Celi in the face all that remained of their attackers.

Adian spun around to face Celi.  “Call the villagers to you Celi, they’ll come to you! The ones who don’t make it to us will all be dead in a few minutes, maybe even less.  Call them!” With that he spun around and nailed another Havoc that was charging towards them, burning it to ash instantly.

It took a moment for it to register in Celi’s head what he meant, but when it sank in she simply nodded her head and started yelling out at the top of her voice.

“To me! To me!  Everyone come to me!  We can keep you safe from the demons! Come to me!”  A few villagers turned their heads at her voice; one or two even started to run her way, but most still tried to run out of the village or just ran about in any direction too insane with fear to even acknowledge her yells.

“It’s not working!” She yelled to Adian.  Adian shot out with a bolt from his staff, incinerating a Havoc trying to chase down a villager that was trying to make it to them.  

“Keep trying, that’s all you can do!” he yelled back, spinning around non-stop shooting out bolts of energy in all directions, unerringly hitting his targets. “I’ll clear out the ones I can reach from here!”

“Everyone! To me! Come on or you’ll die!  Please come to me!”  She was screaming now, in desperation for her friends to come to her.  She watched in horror as more and more of them were being chased down and torn apart by the Havocs.

Celi caught her breath as she saw Joliette, Jaxton’s daughter, wander out of a side alley, dazed and blinking.  Most of her hair had been burned away in the fire, and tears stained her reddened face.  She clutched a stuffed bear in her arms, holding on to it like a lifeline.  Her parents and family were nowhere to be seen, probably already dead, Celi thought.  

Celi called out to Joliette, but the poor child didn’t even acknowledge her, she just shuffled farther out into the street in confusion and fear, new tears streaming down her face.  It only took an instant and then she was spotted by a Havoc.  It took off for her at a dead run, howling in anticipation and hunger.  Celi called out to Adian to burn the creature down, but he didn’t respond.  She turned to look at him and saw that he had another full group of Havoc in that deadly grip of blue light, and couldn’t let them go.  

Celi yanked the hunting blade out of her belt, and without hesitation charged towards Joliette, shouting out at the Havoc to get its attention.  Servo gave a sharp bark and took off after her, quickly catching up with her, and then passing her. Servo growled in anger, any fear of these creatures gone, his only thought to protect Celi.  He shot past Celi and with a primal howl leapt upon the unsuspecting Havoc’s back, mere feet from Joliette.  His strong jaws clamped on the Havoc’s neck, locking in a death grip from which he knew he could not let go.  He hooked all four of his paws into chinks and grooves in the Havoc’s body, anchoring himself, trying to hold on long enough.  

Celi shouted out again, this time in shock and fear for Servo as she saw him attack the Havoc.  She knew what he was offering up for her, and she choked back a sob as she ran wide around Servo and the Havoc.  Without breaking her stride she scooped up Joliette and held her tight to her chest and started running back towards Adian as fast as her legs could carry her.  She heard a loud yelp of pain, but she refused to look back.  She heard then a crunching sound, and then another, louder yelp of pain, and then silence behind her.  Tears streamed down her face but she would not look behind, did not dare give the Havoc even a moment to catch up to her.  

She ran for her life, expecting to feel the claws of the Havoc slicing down her back any moment now, to tear her legs out from underneath her, and devour both her and poor Joliette.  But it never came.  Celi stumbled up to Adian raggedly, almost dropping Joliette on the ground in her exhaustion, but managing to set her down somewhat gently among the few the villagers that had finally started to gather there.  

The group of Havoc Adian was confronting were now destroyed, and he spun around ready to blast the creature chasing Celi.  He paused then, as he and Celi both realized there was nothing chasing her.  They then looked back towards the alley, and Celi’s heart broke again that night.  

Servo lay twisted and battered, bloodied and broken, lifeless.   But beneath him lay the carcass of the Havoc; no matter what it did to the faithful hound it could not break free of Servo’s death grip.  Slowly, painfully, inexorably, Servo had crushed the unholy life out of the creature, his only thought to keep the monster off of Celi.  What Celi would never know is that while the Havoc had managed to ravage Servo mercilessly and actually kill her best friend, even in death Servo would not let go, and only moments later the Havoc had itself succumbed, its neck crushed, its throat destroyed, its wicked spark of life gone forever.

 How much can the mind endure before it finds itself Undone?  The sight of Servo lying there dead, trying to protect her, on top of everything else, brought her within a breath of losing her sanity.  She stood at a crossroads, she knew, a moment of clarity in a sea of chaos.  Something familiar also danced out at the edge of her awareness, a feeling that she had stood at these crossroads once before.  One path beckoned out to her, the one most commonly taken, the road to despair.  She set her foot upon that path then, ready to go where she had perhaps gone before.  

It was the distant feeling of warmth that finally reached her.  A warmth in her hand; it spread slowly up her arm, and into her chest.  She blinked her eyes and looked down, to find Joliette clutching her hand in fear, but also in hope.  Celi then thought of Servo’s sacrifice for her and her parents’ sacrifice for her, all done out of Love,  and her vow to never let them down.  Looking down at little Joliette clinging to her finally made Celi ashamed;  ashamed that she would take such an easy path away from what was needed of her.  She stepped back from the path of despair, and looked down the other road: to hope.  

Celi felt something Change then, and in the midst of all the death and destruction she felt a presence of Love, and it was within her.  She opened her hear to it, and where just moments before there had been only despair, the spark of Love now burned away any doubt or fears about what she must do.  She knew she had Hope, and Truth, and Justice to stand by her side and together they would do what they must.    

Calmly, with Joliette’s hand still in hers, Celi turned to Adian, his concern for her plain on his face.  She nodded in reply to his unspoken question.  “I’m here, I’m ok, let’s get back to it!”

Adian nodded at her in approval, and spun around back to face the chaos in the street.  He grunted and started moving even faster, his staff only a blur of motion as it spun around from target to target, his anger and determination focusing him, bringing him back to those days so many millennia ago when he and his friends stood against the Masters, his reflexes and instincts returning quickly after thousands of years of slumber.  Now he growled, a feral sound as his staff spun so quickly it faded from view entirely, bolts shooting out faster than the eye could keep track of, Havoc falling down in smoldering heaps all over the village.  

“To me! To me! Hurry everyone come to me or you’ll die!” Celi renewed her shouts out, her throat starting to go raw, but she didn’t care.

Finally more of the villagers took notice of Celi calling out to them and the strange creature standing with her destroying the monsters attacking them.  With a moment to breathe and think, the villagers saw Celi as a spot of safety in the chaos, and more and more of them started running as fast as they could towards them.  Adults snatched up children along the way, the able grabbed the wounded and dragged them along, flocking towards Celi, having put their faith in the one who healed them before, hoping she could save them now.  

Further down the avenue, Arlen held Nox out before him as he ran. The power of the dark blade confused the Havoc and they took no notice of him unless he actually struck out at one as he and Grommel ran towards the demon.  The demon however still had no problem seeing Arlen, as it threw ball after ball of fire at him and Grommel both, laughing as it watched them darting and spinning and jumping to avoid them, in some bizarre dance that amused the demon to no end.

Grommel had had about enough of this game.  He ground to a halt and raised Aetrius, pausing just long enough to get a good aim.  He let fly the hammer, and it struck true once again, hitting the demon on the upper left shoulder, shattering the bones beneath it with irresistible force.  The demon howled out in pain as that arm flopped backwards and then down to its side, useless for now.  In its anger the demon forgot about Arlen and focused all its attacks on Grommel, allowing Arlen to get a bit closer.  

Grommel let Aetrius fly again, slamming the demon in the midsection, pushing it back but not knocking it over as he had hoped.  Grommel realized then he had stood still for just a moment too long, as three fireballs were all racing towards him at once, larger than the ones before, not leaving him any room to maneuver away from them.  He went down to one knee and reached around behind him, snatching his shield off his back.  He slammed the point of it into the ground before him and hunkered down behind it as the huge spheres of flame screamed towards him.  He could feel the heat of a thousand fires coming towards him, eager to consume him and add his life to its own.  He raised Aetrius just above his shield, not knowing if it would help or not, but he trusted in his duty and the tools given him to carry it out.

Grommel held his breath as the waves of fire slammed into him.  He clamped his mouth shut, biting his tongue so as to not scream out as he felt the fires coursing over him, covering him, igniting every nerve ending in his body alive with pain.  He could feel the shield before him melting, the straps catching on fire and disintegrating instantly.  He held onto Aetrius for dear life, his faith not shaken a bit.  Suddenly the flames snuffed out, like someone had thrown a blanket over them, leaving only the smell of charred flesh in its wake.

Grommel stood up, slowly.  He first planted one foot in the ground, then the other.  He raised his head and stood erect, Aetrius still held at his side.  He could feel that every part of his body not covered in armor had been charred, the pain almost unbearable; but the stench was far worse.  He did not much like the smell of burnt dwarf, not at all.  His armor radiated heat like a stoked forge, but it had held, thanks to Aetrius, Grommel knew.  He looked down and his eyes widened in shock and horror.  His beard! The flames had totally consumed it, leaving him with nothing but a ragged clump of hair hanging from his chin.  He roared out in fury, all the pain forgotten.

The demon stared in amazement as the dwarf stood after the flames had somehow gone out too early.  It roared out in frustration of its own, and in its own pain and rage made a rash decision: it charged.  

Arlen froze mid stride as he saw the demon charge forward, straight for him.  Then he realized the true target was Grommel, standing defiantly before the demon, wisps of smoke still floating over and away from him.  A sword of flame appeared in each of the demon’s three remaining hands, all three drawn up in a striking position, all ready to cut the insolent dwarf to pieces.  

Arlen knew he had to time it perfectly; he would only have one shot.  He stopped running towards the demon and stayed his ground, knees bent, ready to spring forward at just the right moment.  He sheathed Nox, and left his hand hovering over Lux, waiting till the last possible moment to pull it out, for its very presence would give Arlen away.  Just a bit closer now, the demon was roaring out its rage, focused on Grommel, who roared right back at the demon, Aetrius raised before him, its bright light ensuring the demon’s attention was solely on him.

The demon charged closer, now it was right where Arlen needed it to be.  He leapt up from his crouch, simultaneously drawing Lux out.  The demon was aware of Lux’s presence immediately, but in its fury it was still too focused on the dwarf and his hammer to react in time.  Arlen swung out with Lux, connecting with the demon’s leg just below the knee.  No mortal blade would have even pierced the demon’s protective scales, but Lux was forged in another place and time, and it sliced through the demon’s armor with ease.  

Lux hummed with power as it cut through the demon’s flesh, slicing through bone eagerly, cutting through muscle and sinew as if through warm butter, carving completely through the demon’s leg.  The demon screamed out in pain and surprise as its leg fell to the ground, completely severed at the knee.  The demon lost its balance mid stride and began to topple to the left.  The swords of flame disappeared as it tried to use its arms to catch its fall.  But then it had forgotten Grommel, and that was another mistake.  Just as the demon reached out its hand and placed it on the ground to steady itself, Grommel struck.  He charged forward, roaring out to keep the pain from knocking him unconscious, and just as the demon placed his hand on the ground, Grommel swung out with Aetrius in a mighty blow, smashing the demon’s wrist, the iron like bones and cartilage shattering beneath Aetrius’ strike like glass.  

The demon crashed to the ground, stunned for a moment as its head slammed into the earth, bounced once and slammed into it again.  Grommel howled out and again raised Aetrius, this time bringing the Hammer of Justice down directly onto the demons skull.  There was a dull cracking sound as Aetrius passed its judgment on the demon.  Even with its skull shattered, the demon was not one so easily dispatched, for it still moved and tried to strike out at the two causing it such pain.

Not caring about the consequences, Arlen reached out in that moment and touched the demon right above where he had severed its leg.  Two things happened in that instant: he, and thereby Grommel and Adian and Celi, knew the demon’s true name; and his hand immediately started to burn, stung by a thousand small fires, like a thousand burning cactus needles had been thrust into the palm of his hand.  The demon, knowing it had been violated, struck back even as it lay in a dizzying cloud of pain.  Its venomous barbed tail struck out, and too late did Arlen see it streaking towards him.  He managed to jump back and avoid it piercing his stomach, but it still managed to impale him in the thigh, sending a jolt of pain wracking along Arlen’s spine.  

Arlen spun around with the barb still in his side and slashed down at the demon’s tail with Lux.  The blade sizzled as it cut into the tail, once again cutting all the way through, severing the tail now as well.  Arlen’s vision began to swim as the black poison from the barb began to pump its way into his blood.  He barely had the presence of mind to sheathe Lux, and then he grabbed at the portion still embedded in him, grasping the tail just below the barb, using his remaining strength to yank it out of flesh.  The barb came free with a sucking sound, the curved point ripping out a fresh chunk of flesh as it was pulled out.  

Arlen fell down to one knee, almost fainting from the pain.  He was bleeding profusely from the wound in his thigh, and the poison was quickly working its way into his blood to lay claim to his heart and shut it down completely.  The demon was still thrashing about, trying to strike out at both he and Grommel at the same time, in its pain and confusion hitting neither.  Arlen rose up raggedly and started stumbling away from the demon, towards Adian and Celi, his only thought to get to them and see the demon banished.  The demon lashed out in fury and struck Arlen a only a glancing blow in its insane rage, but it was enough to send Arlen crashing down to the ground.  

Arlen struggled to get up, but his legs refused to answer his call to move.  So he started dragging himself along the ground, reaching out with his one hand, pulling himself forward an inch at a time.  His vision dimmed, and he realized he had stopped moving.  He could still hear, however, and smell.  He heard heavy footsteps stomping his way, and smelled such a horrible smell; having never smelled a cooked dwarf he had no idea it was Grommel pounding up towards him.  

Grommel had been wrapped up in his own cloak of rage, and it wasn’t until he saw Arlen go down that he was able to untangle himself out of it.  Disregarding the demon, he ran out to his friend, every step a new agony now that his rage was not blocking out the pain of his burnt flesh.  When he reached Arlen he could tell the human was barely breathing, a thick black fluid oozing out of his side, mingled with blood, staining the dirt a reddish black.  Shutting out his own pain, the dwarf reached down and scooped up the brave human and slung him over his shoulder.  Grommel went down to one knee in pain as Arlen’s body weighed down on his own brutalized flesh.  

If there is one creature though that can fight through debilitating pain, it was a dwarf; and this one in particular.  Grommel broke out into a jog, every step, every bounce of Arlen on his shoulder a new hell, yet he kept one foot in front of the other, kept his sight ahead on his friends, and kept his faith in his heart.

Adian and Celi felt the knowledge of the demon’s true name the instant Arlen had touched it. By this time a considerable portion of the surviving villagers had gathered behind Adian and Celi, huddling in fear and confusion, sobbing and crying.  Celi yelled out in victory, turning from her fellow villagers to see Grommel and Arlen doing battle with the demon.  Her cry of victory was cut short though as she saw the demon’s tail whip around and strike Arlen.  She looked up at Adian to see if there was something they should do, but she saw the look on his face, and it froze her in her tracks.  He had a stunned look on his face, and he wasn’t moving.  She reached out and shook him, frantically looking around to make sure no Havoc were coming towards them.  

“Adian,” she cried out, shaking him, “what’s wrong? We’ve got the name, now banish it!”  Her cries reached through to Adian, and he shook his head and looked Celi in the eyes.  She was struck again by what she saw there then: alarm.

“You are right, of course,” he said, regaining his composure, looking over her shoulder, “group the villagers up together as closely as you can, and get ready to help Arlen and Grommel, for they will be here in a moment.  He took a step away from Celi then, and he strode to the middle of the villagers.  They parted away from him, his elfen form unsettling to them, but not enough to make them flee back into the Havoc.  He lifted his staff into the air, and then with a mighty heave, drove it into the ground.  The staff punched about a foot into the earth itself, making the villagers jump back a bit.  Then it started to glow.  Adian looked around at the villagers.  

“Gather in closely to this staff,” He instructed them “it will shelter you from what is about to come.”  He nodded his head at Celi to continue gathering the villagers in close to the staff.  Adian turned his back to the villagers then, but the staff continued to glow, and the glow began to spread out, forming a dome of power over the villagers and Celi.  

Adian ran out to Grommel and quickly removed Arlen from his grip, slinging the human effortlessly over his own shoulder; Adian then practically picked Grommel up as well and ran them towards the protective barrier.  They passed through the growing dome of light and Adian gently set Grommel first, and then Adian down at Celi’s feet.  Grommel was barely conscious, but Arlen was out cold, sweat pouring off his forehead, his face a deathly pale white.

Concern and fear for her new friends’ lives filled Celi when she saw them in such a state before her.  She fell to her knees by her friends’ bodies, and laid a hand upon each of them.  Such pain, such weariness she felt, such abuse done to them, they should not be alive, she thought.  But they are, she told herself firmly, they are alive for this moment, and they will be alive for a long time to come.  So she closed her eyes and closed out the world, and proceeded to make sure that they were.

Adian stepped out of the protective shield he had erected for his friends and the villagers.  He was glad Celi had been there to snap him out of his shock, his shock at the true name of the demon.  He knew the names of hundreds of demons, some he had encountered, some he had not.  He had never encountered this particular demon, but Adian did indeed know its name, and who its true Master was.  It was the Master that gave Adian pause, not its lackey laying in agony on the ground before him.  Its’ Master…He shook his head again, that was another problem for another time, hopefully far into the future, hopefully never at all.

Bringing himself to the present, he walked towards the demon that lay writhing in pain.  Given a few more minutes the demon would totally heal itself, and be ready to cause more terror; but Adian had no intention of giving the demon those precious minutes.  He stopped just out of the demon’s reach, and stood with his feet shoulder length apart, firmly bracing himself.  

Adian pointed at the demon and spoke its True Name.  The demon immediately opened its eyes and focused clearly on Adian.  It forgot about its pain and missing limbs, and it struggled up to stand upon its one good leg.  It yearned to reach out and strike out at the accursed Elfen before it, but possession of its True Name forbade the demon from doing so.  It howled out again in frustration and anger, and now for the first time, in fear.  It knew what was going to happen next and it raged at the injustice of being sent back after only such a short time away.  Its mind raced with the possible outcomes of being sent back unsuccessful to its Master, and realized there was only one answer: more centuries of untold pain and humiliation.  

“Please, Elfen,” it begged shamelessly, “do not send me back, I will leave here and never trouble you again, I swear upon my immortal soul!”

Adian’s face hardened.  “Your soul was forfeit long ago and is no longer yours to swear by, demon!” he answered.  “You made your decision a long time ago, you turned away from the light of your own free will, and now you will pay the price…again!”

The demon arched its back and screamed out, “Nooooo!”  It stretched out its wings to their fullest, and now all four arms reached out, the crushed shoulder having healed already.  If it was going back, and could not hurt the one before it, it would then leave nothing behind for these flesh maggots to hold dear to.  

Adian spoke a word in a language none had heard on this world for over ten thousand years, a language meant not for the ears of mortals.  A large black whirling mass instantly formed in front of the demon, similar to the ones it had summoned the Havoc from, but much larger, and swirling in the opposite direction the demon’s had.  The demon screamed out in primal fear and anger, and then it cried out its own Word.  

Every building in the village exploded.  Adian looked up as the village burst into flames, the instant heat almost overpowering.  Waves of flames shot out from house to house, wrapping around each other and building even larger and hotter.  Adian looked up to the sky and saw hundreds of balls of fire come arcing down onto the village and the land around it, enough to cover several square miles in flames.  The sky was full of orange flaming spheres of fire, and only a moment later they all came crashing down upon the tiny defenseless village.  

Adian stood firm as hell was unleashed around him.  He could hear the screams of terror behind him from the villagers, but he knew they were safe within the protective barrier, no power brought to bear here this night would be able to breach that shield.  Any villager not inside the barrier though, trying to hide out somewhere or still fleeing the village itself; he knew they would surely perish.  He also knew that none of the flames would reach him however, the demon being prevented from harming him even indirectly since he had uttered its name, for a short time at least.

Adian spoke the next Word and the black swirling mass began floating towards the demon, inexorably, foot by foot, every rotation of the mass inside bringing it closer and closer.  The demon shrieked out in terror again, and the earth answered it cries, opening up great cracks in the ground, sheets of flame shooting out from the chasms, the fires from below matching and mixing with those from above.  

It was in the middle of this literal inferno that the dark portal inevitably reached the demon, and finally the demon fell into silence, staring deeply into the depths of the portal, seeing things that only it could see.  Smokey black tendrils floated lazily out from the portal, reaching and stretching out to touch the flesh of the demon.  The demon shuddered at their touch, and turned its head in one last appeal towards Adian.   Adian frowned at the demon.

“You consigned yourself to the Abyss a long time ago, demon,” Adian answered, “I simply send you back to where you once eagerly took yourself.”  

Slowly, almost sensuously, the tendrils wrapped themselves around the demon, caressing its skin with subtle promises of what was to come.  The demon had ceased its struggling and its supplications to the Elfen, and dully waited for its fate.  With the tendrils now firmly entwined about it, the demon could feel itself being tugged towards the swirling dark portal.  It had failed, after being so close to achieving its mission and regaining its Master’s favor, it had failed once again.  The portal grew closer as the demon’s time in this realm flashed before its eyes.  

Then its existence prior to this realm flashed before its eyes, far back, all the way back, to before it was what the ignorant call a demon.  As the creature was pulled into the dark portal, its essence torn away from the mortal realms, back to where it had transformed all those lifetimes ago, its last thought was that perhaps the Elfen was correct, that it did indeed bring all this on itself.  

Adian watched impassively as the demon was pulled through the portal, back into the Abyss.  His thoughts were mixed.  Happy and pleased that the threat to his friends and the village was ended; saddened that any creature had to be exiled to the Abyss like that, even if it had caused it of its own free will.  And troubled, for what was to come, for his new friends here, and for his descendants half way across this world.  

He stood still for several minutes, contemplating as the flames around him slowly consumed what was left of the town and died out with nothing left to feed upon.  Adian aided the flames demise as best he could, finally snuffing out the last of them.  He looked around, saddened again by the total devastation left in the demons’ wake.  There was not a single structure left standing, not a stone left atop another, not even a single piece of wood or cloth left to mark what a prosperous, happy village this had once been.  Even the earth itself bore the marks of abuse: chasms still gaping wide in the ground, wounds never to heal upon her soil.  Patches of glass had formed on the ground as well from the intense heat, stones and brick and dirt alike melted in the demons fear and fury.  

Adian sighed and turned back to the villagers behind him, physically safe within their shroud of light, yet emotionally torn asunder by what they had witnessed tonight.  He feared for their futures as well, innocents caught up in a struggle they never knew even existed, yet had come to find them.   He waved his hand before the barrier and it collapsed silently, leaving the only patch of earth not scorched or savaged for several miles around.  

The traumatized villagers stood in mute stillness as Adian walked over to Celi, clinging to each other for what small comfort it afforded.  Adian crouched down next to Celi; she had one hand each on Grommel and Arlen, who appeared to be in much better shape now, all signs of burns or wounds gone.  Celi’s eyes fluttered open as she sensed Adian’s presence near her.  She looked at him for a moment and saw the sadness in his eyes.  Moments later Grommel and Arlen’s eyes opened as well, though they did not see any need to speak.

“Is it over now?” Celi asked quietly, hesitantly, already knowing his answer.

Adian smiled sadly, “Dear one,” he answered her softly, “it has only just begun.”