Errantry I

They knew something was wrong as they woke up.

Nolg? growled Mi-Kraum, surging to his feet, his hand going instinctively for the
sword that was always at his sideand closing on air. The Jytans deep voice
immediately roused the others, who were sleeping lightly and for good reason. They too
threw off their cloaks and rolled awaketo find their primary weapons gone, and no sign
of the sibeccai who was supposed to be on guard.
The lone human on the other side of the fire wasnt supposed to be there, either.
There was a roar and a growl and a shriek from Renetza as a great tawny form
smashed into her from behind and drove her too the ground. Ni-Kraum saw the witchlight
of a failed spell boil away, and then two hundred kilos of lion had the verrik Magister
pinned with her throat between its jaws. Her struggles stopped abruptly and carefully,
her arms and legs pinned by superior weight and a very threatening snarl.
Ren! shouted Glenclaw, pulling a tooth-like dagger from his belt, looking around
desperately for his bow. The Eagle warrior-faen looked ready to leap upon the lion
himself, but a calm word from the human waiting there for them to wake up stopped him.
You harm a hair on that cat and you are going to find an arrow in your left eyebow,
fey, the Man said, in that slow Haxan drawl, lifting his eyes to fix the wild faen with a
level stare of pale gray eyes. The quickling froze in place, considering his chances, and
glanced at Mi-Kraum.
The Jytan was both angry and wary. He could see the magisters hands moving
feebly, and knew that if she tried to get a spell off she likely was going to have her throat
torn out. Who are you and what do you want? he demanded in as solemn of tones as he
could manage.
You been following me for a week and dont even know who I am? The Haxan
tilted back his longbrim and met the Jytans eyes squarely. Mi-Kraums breath hissed out.
The thief who stole Lord Othurstones sword? the Jytan pressed, taking half a step
forwards despite himself. The promised reward for thief and weapon was substantial, and
now a mere three paces away?
No. The son who recovered his fathers sword from the grasp of the greedy bastard
holding onto it. The cold certainty in that reply gave the Jytan pause as the Haxan rose
to his feet with the casual ease of an athlete, holding the aforementioned blade in his
hands. The sword of forty-three generations of Haxan warriors, rotting on the wall of
some collector who wanted to admire it. Some collector who, surprisingly, doesnt have a
single record of having paid for it. A collector who lives less then two days travel from
where my father and his caravan was ambushed and butchered by free raiders and

ravaging monsters nearly ten years ago. A collector who finally got a little too free at the
mouth and mentioned he had a Haxan sword in his collection that was his pride and joy.
A collector who ate that sword at my hands, after he coughed up the names of the folks
who helped him acquire such a rare and valuable specimen of Dwarfcraft to someone else
interested in acquiring such a rare piece.
Mi-Kraum tensed as that blade slid out of its scabbard, in the dim firelight an
achingly perfect length of silver-gray steel, simple and pure in the Haxan style of a longhilted longblade, sized for Men, made for MenDwarven High Mastercraft, the pinnacle
of the smiths art.
You could say Im fully aware of the price put on my head. I imagine why thats
why you are being so industrious following me. Rest assured that bounty is going to be
withdrawn sometime soonperhaps even before you get back there, as some interesting
light about how your noble, dead Jytan acquired some of his collection comes to light.
You are a thief and a murderer, Mi-Kraum spat out despite himself, wary indeed
of that length of adamant that was spinning slowly in the hands of the gray-eyed Man. He
wasnt clad in his full armor, and the Haxan had a shield resting against his leg, and
looked to be wearing fine chain under his plain leathers.
Oh? You believe he was entitled to my forefathers blade? The point of that sword
rose insultingly. By what right? Battle spoils? I expect that gives me the right to kill you
all, take your gear and sell it off, just because I can? His tone was mocking and his eyes
were hard and unafraid. Mi-Kraum could feel the point of an unseen archers arrow
hovering over his heart, and forced himself to relax.
There were legitimate ways to regain the blade, he began, and the Haxan
eloquently spit to the side on the ground.
That noble Jytan arranged the deaths of my father and his comrades, and gloated
over it for a decade, you stupid bastard of a giant. If you think I was going to pay him for
something he took in blood, knowing damn well what he was doing, you got another
think coming. He died with his axe in one hand and his guts in the other, like the butcher
he was. If you want to settle up on his terms, Ill be happy to apply his justice to
youselling off what you have might even make up for all the years weve spent looking
for this blade and the others.
Mi-Kraum cleared his throat. Thatwill not be necessary. You may consider
yourself free to go.
Thanks so much. If I catch you following us, I kill you alland I think you know
not to follow me into Haxan. He sheathed the sword with a practiced ease that bespoke a
master swordsman, and turned to go. Youll find your dog-faced friend up over the hill
there, tied up and gagged, with your weapons. He took five steps, walking out of the
firelights illumination, and was gone to sight, swallowed by the darkness and shadows.

With a growl and a shocking display of speed, the lion released Renetza and
bounded away, into the undergrowth with a rapidly retreating crash. The verrik woman
slowly straightened up, rubbing the fang marks upon her throat, an aloof and calm
expression on her scarlet face of a curious experience weathered and survived, none the
worse for wear.
Mi-Kraum sighed heavily, picking up the first piece of his armor to strap on. He
simply waved at Glenclaw, who sped off into the night in the direction the Haxan had
indicated. A startlingly loud hoot of an owl echoed all about them, then faded away.
Are we letting them go? Ren asked serenely, undeterred by the brush with death.
She was hardly helpless without her staffbut in the border zone near the Silver Flow,
the great river less then two hours away, any reduction in ability was precious.
He could be across the bridge at Rivermet before we could beat him there, and
none would stop him. Every Haxan there would raise a sword to help him were they to
know his missionthe best we could do is start a battle no one could win. The Jytan
sighed. Hes right on that scoreHaxans do not part with their blades.
I note he did not supply his namewe could probably discern the name of his
father if we do some research on this ambush he referred to. Im sure the collectors
family would be willing to pay us for diligence.
And to further more bloody vengeance in the night, as opposed to plotting more
openly? Mi-Kraum didnt have any love of Haxansespecially skilled, dangerous ones
who could take out an alert guard like Nolg so smoothlybut Haxans werent known for
stirring up trouble without good reason, nor for lying tongues. You want to lay odds we
go poking about Ar-Dauvs background, we find blood at the Rose?
The verrik tilted her head, dark eyes considering. Not odds I would gamble
against. She watched the Jytan slowly strap on his armor with detachment.
================
Six months later...
Problems, Cheri.
The Armsister nudged her mount over, hands never leaving her horsebow, pale
green eyes looking down at the mishmash of tracks with wary appreciation of the
incomprehensibility of mud and broken stalks of plant life.
He didnt bother to explain everything, or even point it outthis wasnt a
schoolyard. He just pointed at a singular print pressed into the wet morning soila print
that wasnt the oversized, deep imprint of an ogre.

She recognized that wide, steel shod hoofprint easily enough. Bullfolk? she asked
with a hiss to her voice.
Aye. Looks like a dozen of them, came in from that direction. He waved to the
northeast. He didnt get up as brush thrashed and Rorg Faustusk stepped into view behind
them, the slope-shouldered, apelike build of the Urkhar carrying the weight of his plate as
if it weighed nothing. Linked right up. They get along well with ogre-kin, probably lost
a few of their own coming down from the north.
A dozen, you saw. The deep bass growl of the Urkhar was a dangerous rumble in
the still morning air, narrow red eyes looked over the mess of tracks with an eager glint.
That doubles their number, with troll-kin leading them. He straightened up, and seemed
to suddenly grow head and shoulders doing so, a full hand over two meters tall.
Hagchild, by his blued skin. Butter got a closer look at him yesterday. The tracker
studied the tracks thoughtfully. Bit out of our league.
Sniping? The Urkhar indicated the mighty crossbow carried on his back, ready for
punching large holes in the recalcitrant. We can harry them easily, and if they dare to
give chase He smiled toothily, revealing the prominent canines of his bloodline,
gleaming white in his dark, flat-nosed face.
They are moving too fast and straightthey know where they are going. The
tracker doffed his hat, revealing sun-bleached blond hair and calm gray eyes in a face
already growing crows feet despite his youth. Odd, wouldnt you say?
Being called by somethingor led? A hagchild troll Armsister Cheri Enders
trailed off thoughtfully, eyes not stopping their scan of the woods nearby. She knew
Butter would have given warning of any ambush, but it was her job to stay vigilant
regardless, and as reflexive as breathing by now.
Her horse huffed loudly, drawing the eyes of all of them. Were a good hour ahead
of the horsemen, Moss. We could wait for them to catch up, but thats a lot of meat to put
on the platter for the Land. The stud wuffed agreement.
A flash of silver, carefully aimed, brought their eyes up as a blur came plummeting
down from on high, wings flaring out inches above the waving grasses and razored talons
hooking and finding purchase twenty paces away. Strong wings beat, and with the rabbit
still kicking in its claws, the eagle flapped towards them.
Har, and the lord of the winds returns to us, Rorg smiled toothily towards the
approaching avian, sketching a half bow. He plucked the rabbit from the hawk even as it
settled down on his shoulder, expertly wringing its neck and taking a bite into its neck.
With one easy pull, he ripped off its hide in a spray of blood and hide, tossing the bloody
skin off to the side, and bit into the carcass, ripping off a fair chunk and chewing

thoughtfully.
The hawk warbled with a very un-raptorish melody, almost like a songbird, as it
danced and pranced and fluttered with calculated dignity on the broad shoulder of the
Urkhar.
Caravan. They spotted prey. The tracker swore under his breath. In Haxan, the
hawk simply would have swooped ahead to warn the caravanhere, it was likely to get
the bird killed, and it had wisely simply flown back to warn them. Rorg pulled a wad of
chewed meat out of his mouth and fed it to the hawks in much smaller and easily handled
bits. Butter will undoubtedly spoil the ambush, but thats a lot of meat. Theyll need
help.
Jytans or no? Cheri noted acerbically.
Rather not have Mithar shaking his head at me in my dreams. The tracker put his
hat back on and hitched his sword up as he stood to his full height, not quite to the mouth
of the erect Urkhar. If the caravan master has some leagues under him, hell recognize
the roar for what it isat the least, itll put em on edge, so it wont be a total surprise.
Aint supposed to be Jotun down this far south, especially in the borderlands.
Well, not living ones, anyways, Rorg grunted merrily, feeding the hawk another
mouthful of rabbit. We moving?
Yes. The tracker started forwards with an easy, long-legged lopethe trail was
impossible to miss. Butter will catch any rearguard for uslets move and hope we get
there in time. Wings, alert the horsemen.
The hawk screeched an affirmative, snatched down a final beakful of fresh rabbit,
and transferred itself to Rorgs ham-sized fist. With an easy motion, the Urkhar launched
it skywards, giving it a ten-meter start on its flight and a good forward velocity. With
quick beats, the hawk gained altitude as it headed west.
==================
The roar of the lion shook the leaves on the trees, sent horses and oxen to shivering
and dancing in sudden fear, and dragged the entire caravan to a halt, and blades lept to
hands as wide-eyed guards looked around at the surrounding woods, fumbling with
shields.
A lion? Here?! Mi-Kraum turned the great bulk of his rodin charger around, two
meters of blade in his fist, along with a shield taller then a Man. Whats a lion doing in
the borderlands?
A signal to attack? one of the nearer Men swore, eying the woods suddenly all too
close all around them.

Or to be aware. Renetza rose from her seat on a wagon, hands moving gracefully,
her staff of sandstone trailing dust and the scent of a dry, hot homeland. Do they not
signal the attack with horns, Captain?
Mi-Kraums eyes narrowed. To arms! Spread out in a line and watch for
The first flight of arrows came hissing out of the trees in a disjointed
volleynothing like a Haxan salvo of murderous synchronization, but the size of the
arrows showed that they werent facing human sized raiders regardless.
Here and there men droppedgreatshafts drove into wagons and beasts of burden
with terrible force. Large figures in the trees let loose inhumanly deep, bestial cries,
tossing their bows aside and charging forwards out of their crude yet effective cover with
long, lumbering strides.
Ogres and Bullmen! Charge them or die! roared Mi-Kraum, spurring his mount to
action, raising the great mass of his blade Foes Talley high. With a roar he surged
forwards towards the line, and heard those who could respond racing to catch up to him.
Perhaps not the wisest of actions, but then he wasnt alone. He felt magic ripple past
him with the distinctly hackle-raising touch of the verrik Magister, and the line of Jotuns
suddenly wavered and slowed as the ground about them became a clinging morass
clawing at their strides.
A volley of arrows hissed past him, but the majority of the drovers were paying
attention to the opposite side, bailing out of the wagons so as to be out of range of the
Jotuns hurtling in from that side.
Mi-Kraum reflected that cutting back the trees another hundred paces would have
been a very good thing to have done hereabouts as he came raging down on an ogre,
bringing his blade down as it raised a steel shod spiked club. The blow of the blade
smashed the crude morningstar down and split the ogres iron helm and thick skull with
one blow, even as he expertly danced his mount away from a massive axe that would
likely have crippled it.
Down the line of the caravan there was a crash of steel and flesh, the scream of
horses and Men and Lupin and the other three Jytans with the caravan meeting the
roaring offense of the Jotuns. Outnumbered, the Jotuns showed no fear and less restraint
as their charge, even with some of them hindered, took a deadly toll on the guards in the
initial meeting.
Over two dozen of them!, Mi-Kraum thought in the serene part of his mind as he
smashed his blade down once, twice and thrice on a bullmans shield, splintering it and
driving the beastman to its knees. His mount was well-trained, and with little urging
drove forwards, smashing the bullman flat and trampling it under nearly a combined ton

of weight. The far side had lost half its guards in the first pass. He saw lightning crack
and flash as Ren loosed an attack spell, and two Ogres convulse with crawling lightnings,
iron armor heating instantly to nearly red-hot. One dropped flaming, the other staggered
and somehow continued on, only to have a pair of white-fletched arrows drive into its
face and complete the job the Verrick had begun.
It looked bad. Already the Jotun had reached the rear wagons, and could use them
for their own defense. The drovers there were fleeing forwards, underestimating the reach
of a minotaur with a monstrous halberd who beheaded two of them with one long swing
and a bestial howl of glee. A moment later, Rorg smashed into that bullman from behind,
driving his blade in deep into its back as the flinds jaws clamped on its thick neck and
tore savagely. The bullman roared in agony and dropped the poleaxe to wrestle with the
brave flind, its own jaws spreading wide with very unbovine teeth ready to rip and tear.
Mi-Kraum had three of the foe converging on him now, was frantically dancing his
mount back out of range when it screamed and collapsed under him. He looked back to
see a huge spear driven deep into its side even as he rolled free, smoothly retaining
sword and shield and slashing the arm of an ogre who got overeager, spinning and
weaving a web of steel against those converging all around on him.
A horn sounded in the air. Silver, rising and pure, hanging in the air like a living
thing, a sound known to any fighting man in the westand to any Jotun whod ever
tangled with the men of Haxan. For a breath, all fighting paused, eyes turning west in
both hope and fear.
They came out of the trees behind the Jotun, flying at breakneck pace, a silvered
lance in her hand punching deep into the side of the bullman behind Mi-Kraum as a dark
bundle tumbled off the back of the horse with incredible fluidity, a silvered sword
flashing once, twice as the man kept to his feet and kept going, and three of the four
Jotuns on Mi-Kraum were falling and spinning away in pain and suprise.
With a roar, Mi-Kraum swept his massive blade in four massive arcs, power racing
through his frame from the earth beneath his feet, lending his blows strength and speed to
make the air shriek and scream about the jagged edge of his blade. Those three Jotun
thralls did not have time to recover, and the last ogre fell back, clutching at its hairy
armand right into the tawny, leaping blur of a silver-jawed lion.
Jaws closed on a thick throat, claws dug in, tensed, and ripped in a spray of tainted
blood of flesh. A massive gout of jugular blood shot into the air as the horrified ogre
collapsed, neck torn completely away.
Mi-Kraum blinked. He knew that lion!
With a growl, it lept away, on the heels of the Man who was moving with an odd,
floating grace, each step seeming to cover more ground then it should, swinging a
familiar sword.

That sword!
Mi-Kraum began his ponderings of irony as he surged into motion, picking a
bullman with a bellowed challenge. That one lifted its axe and was about to begin a
charge when a darkly armored figure swept past it, and with one sweep of its blade, took
its head clean off.
With a howl of bloodlust every bit as savage as the ogres and bullmen about him,
the Urkhar drove into the middle of them, his rakeblade hacking thru their armor and
flesh with terrific force, and a song promising bloody death rising from his tusked mouth
with wild glee, a song raiding Jotun seldom heard for anything but the last time.
Mi-Kraum had seen Urkhar Heavies in action before, and as usual was impressed
with the savage power and brazen ferocity of the berserker-prone mercenary folk. With a
savage growl of his own, he drove into the distracted flank of that mob, and began to reap
a harvest of his own.
----------Renetza lept from her perch deftly, crouching as a massive warclub descended and
made kindling of the wagonseat. Arrows sped past her to find homes in the shoulders and
thigh of the bullman, which did nothing to deter it.
The single arrow that drove into its right eye was somewhat more effective,
however, dropping it in gurgling disbelief. Renetza glanced over her shoulder in mild
surprise at the horsewoman, who already had another arrow nocked. As she rode past the
wagon, drawing down on another ogre ten paces away, the faen Glenclaw hopped onto
her horse behind her as if the move had been rehearsed a hundred times, balancing with
the uncanny agility of his race as raised his own bow behind her.
With the smoothness of a practiced professional, the woman shifted targets abruptly,
making the ogre flinch in surprise. A fluid whirl of motion sidestepped the massive sword
of what looked like the largest of the ogres, and for an instant the man there was paused
as his blade sliced through the mail on the brutes leg and found the artery. In the next
instant, the womans arrow drove into the other leg of the Jotun, and it collapsed
forwards. The Mans sword thrust up in perfect timing, punching through the thick plate
with uncanny force and power, using the brutes own mass against it and driving out the
back in a bloody spike of death. A roar went up from further down the caravan as the
ogre fell, and the Man straightened from beneath it, expertly turning the body so his blade
slid free of the grasp of meat and bone and armor.
Renetza hurled her spell of lightning at the distracted ogre calmly as the prancing
horse paused for just a breath to allow Glenclaw a clean shot. The Jotun pitched
backwards, spitting sparks and clawing at its throat.

With a smooth pace of startling speed, the Man vaulted the wagon without slowing.
The bloodied ogre on the other side was slow to raise his warclub as the tip of that sword
flashed across its primitive features and cost it an eye. Without slowing, the Man was
over its shoulder, just as a golden-feather arrow drove deep into the side of the ogre. It
lurched sideways, clutching at the strike, and without looking back, the sword was cutting
back underneath the suddenly lifted breastplate, shearing through the thick hide and
muscle of the back to cleanly sever the ogres spine, the stroke finishing as the Mans feet
hit the ground.
Even Glenclaw whistled at the precision of the manuver. Hed seen Haxans fight
before - Haxan mercenaries werent uncommon in Throne lands but never at this level
of precision. The footbound Man was moving fast, fluidly, with the kind of confidence
that brings death, and heading down the line towards where the biggest of the Jotuns was
gathering the rest of his forces, while the surviving caravan guards were peeling away
and forming a line of their own. Behind him, the horsewoman had her next arrow nocked
and ready.
At the front of the caravan, the last of the Jotuns were in a mass of huge armored
bodies, hacking and pounding at the pair of warriors in their midst, back and back,
spinning with the ease of battle comrades, massive blows ripping into their foes and
sending them spilling back with rent armor and blood and innards spilling free. Warclubs
and axes and swords smashed on shields and armor with thunderous din, and during it all
the Urkhar sang with a savage glee and Mi-Kraum saw the fear in the eyes of the Jotuns
as he took up that fell, deadly melody.
The Haxan seemed to glide to a stop as the last bullman stumbled back to join its
fellows, less then a dozen left now, along with the nearly four meter height of the
warleader of this band, clad in a very impressive suit of decently made plate complete
with great towering horns from some beast of the North. The blue-tinted skin of the Jotun
hinted at its hag mother, along with its clawed hands and sharpened teeth, more
reminiscent of troll then ogre. It held a truly massive greatsword in both hands, dripping
with the blood of a dozen members of the caravan, the blade itself almost three meters
long. It smiled nastily at the Haxan, kicking the corpse of an armored Jytan it had cut
neatly in two with one massive blow. With a growl of challenge, it motioned for him to
come.
The surviving mounted guards drew up along side the Haxans, faces pale as they
saw some of their foes were still taller then they were, especially the giant leader.
Think your little tricks will work on me, little Man? it boomed at him, waving him
on as it stepped forwards. Let me see the skill of the puny folk of your land!
It heals itself! Glenclaw called out, watching a thick cut on its thigh healing up
with unreal speed.
Hag of a mother couldnt find a real giant to bed with, eh, spat the Haxan

eloquently, stepping forwards as well, blade a weightless dance in his hand, shield
moving in to cover every step fluidly.
The hagchild ogre flushed deeply blue at the insult, face knotting into horrible rage.
With an incoherent roar that made the very ground tremble, it charged him, sword lifting
and extending out to cut him in two before he would have the slightest chance to strike
back.
One step, two he took, ground jumping at the force of his stride as his thralls roared
support for him.
And then the lion came out from under a wagon and clamped jaws and foreclaws
about his right ankle.
With a startled bellow and a crash, the hagchild smashed down to one knee, sword
plowing deep into the ground in a spray grass and soil as it looked back in amazement at
the great cat with its jaws locked on his foot.
Too late, it remembered the Haxan.
It felt the cold pain sharply and suddenly, a crashing impact to the chest as it jerked
to a stop, and as if in a dream, saw the sword emerge from its backplate upwards, dark
with the hagblood of its mother. It looked back forwards and down, saw the Haxan
standing there with both feet braced against his hips, and both hands on that sword, thrust
hilt deep against the Jotuns chest.
For just a second, their eyes met. And then the Haxan lifted his shield between them,
pulling back.
The bulbous arrow drove deep into the Jotuns gaping mouth, its load of alchemical
fire blowing against the back of his mouth, and fiery death detonating inside him.
The Jotuns shrieks were just beginning as the silver-gray sword swung free, and the
man spun up and around with two hands on his blade again, and metal screamed as the
Jotuns gorget split and did not stop the cleaving blade on its course.
The severed head launched skywards, flames spraying from neck stump and throat.
The Haxan kicked backwards and away, over the massive sword still clutched in two
huge hands, landing on it firmly and sliding down its bloody length as the massive
carcass fell slowly and statefully backwards to crash onto the ground over its own
awkwardly extended leg, the lion already gone with feline speed, spilling to the side as
armor rigidity toppled it.
The battlefield was suddenly and very eerily silent, except for the snapping of the
flames consuming the hagchilds skull and chest cavity.

With a snap of his wrist, the dark blood whipped onto the grass, and his blade was
clean again. The Haxan regarded the crowd of suddenly nervous Jotuns again, and then
turned sideways just as the horsewomans mount stepped nimbly aside, and thru the line
of guards stepped the bloody, battered, beaten and gore-strewn figures of Mi-Kraum and
the Urkhar, who burst out singing again as he saw the new force of Jotuns, hefting his
completely blood-strewn rakeblade with a flourish of various innards, while Mi-Kraum
flagrantly whipped some intestines off the tines of his huge sword.
They came up on each side of the Haxan, smiling broadly.
He lifted his sword slowly towards the staring Jotuns, pointing with an icy, deadly
calm, and simply said, Run.
The nearest of them edged back as the three stared them downthose at the back
took somewhat longer steps. Men and Lupin grinned nastily as they realized the tide had
well and truly turned, and lifted their own weapons.
With the uncanny precision of the mob, the ogres and bullmen backed away, faster
now, and when they saw the line of horsemen beginning to move, the retreat became a
pell-mell retreat for the treeline, lumbering for speed as the horsemen of the guards
hurtled after them.
They werent the first to reach the Jotuns, as the Haxan caught up to the slowest of
them with uncanny speed and cut at its leg as an arrow drove into its shoulder and spun it
around. Like a large and clumsy dance partner, the edge of his blade slid across its throat
and he was past it even before the blood was jetting free.
A bullman fell screaming with the lion on its back, tearing savagely with all four
claws and teeth in a rolling, tumbling ball of black fur and gold, hacking blades managed
to first slow and then fell two others before they could make the tree cover and break the
line of the charge. With crashes and desperate speed, the Jotuns smashed their way into
the forest and away from certain death, and the guards pulled up, cheering and howling
victory after them.
Calmly, the Haxan looked back to where Rorg and Mi-Kraum had collapsed to the
ground, utterly spent. The verrik woman was moving up beside first the Jytan, then, with
some hesitation, the Urkhar, who simply waved her away to begin looking for any
survivors among the woundeda task the horsewoman quickly joined in, and the lion
with his keen nose.
Mi-Kraum watched the young human approach, noting to himself how very right
that blade looked sheathed at his side. Especially with the Haxan facing in his direction.
Another fine morning to you, Jytan, he said affably, standing back a few paces
with a calm expression, noting the cloud of flies they were beginning to draw. Mi-Kraum
glanced down at the Urkhar, who just grinned and inhaled thru his nose long and serenely

as if inhaling the sweetest perfume.

Mi-Kraum chuckled despite himself, and then groaned at the pain in his ribs.
You would be Errant, son of Armas, of Clan Ruin, I trust. The Haxan lifted an
eyebrow at him in polite surprise. I am Mi-Kraum, hired trail captain of this caravan for
the Five Coin collective. Forgive me if I dont rise to greet you.
If you can hack alongside an Urkhar, you can stay seated all you like around me. I
like being able to run away from people like that. Mi-Kraum stifled another guffaw with
some pain.
You kill a hagchild ogre and take its headI think Id not want to tower over you,
master Errant. The Jytan groaned long and with feeling. You are a Wavemaster?
The Haxan tilted his head. If you mean Ive studied at Flowing Waters, that would
be a yes. As for being a master, you need only ask my teachers that Im a horrible student
who will never amount to anythingand teachers are always right.
Mi-Kraum let himself laugh despite the pain. Haxans and their humor. What brings
you here to the Westheath, master Errant?
The Haxan tilted his head after the fleeing Jotuns. Them. They hit the Highlands a
span of days pastthe ogres, that is. The bullmen came in from the east and north, Hiken
territory. We dealt with most of them there, and have been trailing these since to finish
the job. Theres a score of riders behind us sweepingbe here in about an hour. If you
hadnt come along, wed likely have dealt with them in another few hours.
How unfortunate for us, yet fortunate you came along. Mi-Kraum sighed.
Although I am sure there will be loud protests when the Steward finds out Haxans have
been traipsing all over his lands without his writ again.
Errant just waved that away. Well, then, Ill leave Rorg here to tell the riders when
they come to turn back, wouldnt want to offend the Throne with a serious Haxan
presence here. He turned his eyes in the direction of the Jotuns.
Going after them? Mi-Kraum was impressed despite himself.
Surely a Haxan wouldnt dare do such a thing in Imperial territory. He said it so
seriously Mi-Kraum had to stifle a chuckle again.
Well, its fortunate our much beset caravan stumbled across some Haxan
mercenaries willing to escort us to our destination for a small fee, the Jytan said
thoughtfully, earning an appraising look from the swordsman, who simply nodded at
Rorg. The Urkhar grinned widely at the wordplay.

Take Glenclaw with you. Mi-Kraum nodded at the quickling eagle warrior, still
crouched atop the horsewomans mount, obviously enjoying the height of his position.
He can report back and spare you the paperwork of explaining yourself. He is a fine
archer and can be of aid to you. The Jytan squinted at the bloody lance leaning against
the side of the horse, wondering when it had retrieved the weapon, and saw Glenclaw
grin with mysterious delight.
Not quite an Urkhar heavy, but well make do. Cheri! The horsewoman looked up
from where she was bent over the bloody-muzzled but yet living body of the flind Nolg.
We have to go before we cause too much of a scene. Eyebrows lifted all around at that
statement, and even Cheri flashed a smile at his deadpan delivery. She wiped her hands
on the flinds fur and rose with quiet grace to take her leave.
Enjoy the rest of your morning, Jytan. The Haxan offered him a dry salute,
moving his sword over his shoulder as Cheri swung into her saddle with the fluidity of
one who lived there.
Well, its going to be difficult to beat the fun so far, but I think well manage. A
spark of acknowledgement flickered in the Haxans eyes, and then he turned away and
was trotting for the treeline.
A lot of eyes turned to watch them go, strayed to the severely abused Urkhar sitting
next to their half-dead trail captain, and began to whisper amongst one another. MiKraum sighed to himself at the questions that would be asked when he pulled into
Riverwall with a tale and a lot of Haxan riders on escort duty, and then turned his mindset
back to his duties.
Youll look a lot more impressive if they see just how badly you are hurt, Rorg
grunted under his breath, narrow red eyes half-closed in thought. Want some help with
that armor? His tusked smile went wide again.
Ni-Kraum decided he liked Urkhars. Only if you tell me if that Man is always like
that.
The Urkhar chuckled and then spat something out a little too dark to be spittle,
moving slowly towards the Jytans back. Oh, no. Hes usually pretty serious about
stuff. Skilled fingers worked his upper body armor as he slowly and painfully started on
his legs.
Ni-Kraum stifled another chuckle futilely. Last time we met he was Thrice Silver. I
see hes Twice Gold now.
There was a moment of hesitation behind him. Well, Rorg said thoughtfully, he
had to do something worthy enough that his family would let him keep the sword.
Mi-Kraum waited for an explanation and when none was forthcoming found himself

smiling again. And he did.

Yes, he did. The Jytan nodded and let it pass. Obviously a tale for the Man called
Errant to tell. That sword has a Wyrms Age of history behind it. His whole Clan would
have gone to war to recover it, Jytan. Its in good handshes not going to lose it again,
the Urkhar growled softly, finishing his task and starting on the arms.
Mi-Kraum grunted agreement with that assessment as the breastplate fell away,
revealing bloodsoaked leathers and padding beneath. And howd you end up with him,
Urkhar?
I was part of the worthy something he did. Mi-Kraum found himself smiling again
at the catch in the Urkhars throat.
I will toast worthy things when I can lift a tankard with you in somewhat less pain,
friend Rorg.
I toast them every morning, captain, the Urkhar replied cheerfully. No libations
is probably why I ended up this way.
Ni-Kraum chuckled again, and then groaned at a particularly acute bruise. Libations,
indeed!
Errantry II
Found it!!!

There were seventeen of thema raiding party of lionmen, Littorians they called
themselves. Strong, able warriorsgood pack instinctsequipped by design with natural
weaponry and expanded sensesstronger then Mensmart, cunning.
Snarling in hate and fear at twoscore drawn bows encircling them unwaveringly.
Errant picked out the pack leader by the hiss of his commands and backhanded
swipes of his battle gauntlets, the extended war claws that were favored weapons of the
lionmen. Understandably nervous at being surrounded by a lot of deadly Haxan archers
who hadnt killed them all yet, they were a snarling, defiant lot, certain they were all
about to die and simply gathering up their nerves for one last, brave charge in the face of
death.
Errant hopped down the three-meter stand with casual ease, drawing their attention
with his bared blade and shield. The silver-gray of his blade raised a growl of
recognition, as did the sigla upon his shieldthe Clan of Ruin, over the cresting wave of
his House.

You! roared the leader of this raiding party, forcing his way through the press of
his fellow savages, the white crest of his totem plain upon his forehead and muzzle, froth
starting to build around his mouth as he worked himself into a killing rage. You are the
one who slew my father! Prepare to die, worm of Haxan!
Your father was twice the warrior you are, with three times the honor and four
times the cunning, was the cold reply, the gray eyes so unshaken that even the furious
littorian was forced to pause. I hunted him for three weeks before I ever caught sight of
him. And you walk right into an ambush, and expect to threaten me? He eyed the
gleaming warclaws with contempt. And your father knew to use a real weapon instead
of those toys against a man of Haxan. He fought well and died fighting, giving me three
scars to remember him by. The gray eyes narrowed dangerously, and despite himself,
the Littorian took a step back. You wont even touch me. Yield to me now, and the lives
of your warriors are spared. Fail, and they die. The silver-gray sword lifted with slow,
ominous steadiness, pointing at him. You have five breaths to give me an answer, and
we shall see if you are the warrior that your father was.
The warriors breath came in great gasps, golden eyes wild with fury and indecision.
To attack was to die, and doom all his loyal followers to death with himthe drawn
arrows had not so much as wavered. To yield to the killer of his father unthinkable!
Duty warred against hatred in a war of emotion that rippled muscles under tawny fur
and curled warclaws into great spiked fists. Errants sword slowly lifted to prepare to
drop.
The Littorians shoulders slumped with such total defeat that his followers cried out
in snarling protest, indicating their willingness to die. He ignored them.
My father said that whatever their faults and cunning, Men of Haxan do not lie
when they invoke the name of their silver god. His head bowed, the thick chest of the
lionman rose and fell. If I yield to you, they are free to return home, Man of Haxan?
The Littorian didnt miss the flash of regret and distaste crossing the humans face.
You may one day be your fathers equal. In Mithars name, I agree to this.
Then I yield! He dropped abruptly to one knee, turning even as he roared it out
defiantly at the humans. Run, fools! Before I am tempted to kill this one and you all
die!
With a rumbling roar that dwarfed their protests, a great reptilian bronzed head rose
over the line of trees and peered down at them, its bronzed crest polished to mirror
brightness, lightning dancing upon shining fangs as long as his warclaws.
ALL THE WAY HOME, the Shield Dragon spoke in clarion tones, like the
clanging of great shields, while the Littorians flinched back in ancient dread and primal

awe. Their leader swallowed and quailed despite himself, realizing just how close he had
come to killing them all.
No more encouragement was needed. The other Littorians hastily turned and began
loping back to the north, with far less stealth and a great deal more energy then they had
coming down to exact their revenge. Great golden eyes watched them go, and all about,
bows were relaxed and arrows sheathed with calm speed.
The young Littorian warrior remained half-frozen under that stare for a long
moment, before the Dragon retracted its head and was out of line of sight. He could hear
it moving on the other side of the brushwork tho, a great mass of scale and muscle and
old, old death that made his tongue dry with fear and belly tighten into a hard lump.
Hands out, snapped Errant professionally, while the archers all about seemed to
melt away into the shadows. Numbly, the Littorian complied, and with deft movements
the human unstrapped both of his warclaws, tossing them to the woman suddenly at his
elbow, and relieving the Littorian of his knife, bow, and quiver.
He flexed his clawed hands, wondering if he should attempt a quick death rather
then whatever protracted agonies the Haxans had in store for himor worse, the living
death that would be the end of his line forever, that abomination of magic called Mithars
Mercy.
Your name? the Haxan asked with direct, clipped tones.
The Littorian straightened to his full, impressive height, glaring down at the human
who came barely to his muzzle. I am Hrafner the Bold, he managed to growl out.
What is it you intend of me, human? He almost managed to spit the words.
Well, Id like to see you dead with your friends back there, but you spoiled that.
The look on the Haxans face made Hrafner almost glad he had surrendered. In return,
you get to ride a Dragon. Move. The gray sword lazily prodded him to the right, and the
Littorian balked.
Ridethe Dragon? Hrafner blurted out in disbelief, as that great head rose again
into view, studying him with an ancient intelligence and power that made him long for
the tents of his fathers.
Ride or be carried. I can tell you from experience one way is definitely more
comfortable then the other. A strong hand on his back sent the Littorian moving forward
despite his weight and resistance.
------------------------------------------He was riding a Dragon!

Hrafner roared out his delight to the skiesif he was to die, this was an experience
he would carry with him to his forefathers. Where he was bound for, he was not sure, but
this was a tale to tell!
The wind was fresh and cold and pure, the power of the Dragons wing propelling
them through the air at impossible speed. For some reason, the Haxan had even supplied
him with a set of goggles to shield his eyes from the wind, and the Littorian could cry out
freely as his mane whipped in the wind, looking down in awe at the lands below scrolling
by. The waters of the Silver Deep, the cities of Men clustered along the banks, spreading
out in arcs of various shades and hues of the farmlands, great squares of grains and the
tiny dark specks of herds of cattle, all a klik or more below them, even at this distance
indicators of the wealth commanded by the Men of Haxan.
Ahead of them, the hoar-crowned peaks of the Jotunbones grew over the horizon
with amazing speed, leagues trailing out behind them as the Dragon soared onwards, until
Hrafner saw the two mighty peaks framing a great valley, and his golden eyes widened as
he realized where they were heading.
Wyrmbreak Pass, where the blood of thousands of his ancestors had been spilled
while they were enslaved by the Wyrm, and later by the dramojh.
A dark form speeding across the landscape, trailing a plume of white vapor, caught
his eyes, and he snarled despite himself as he recognized the thing from fireside
talesone of the accursed Steam Dragons of the Haxans, a mighty engine that pulled
great loads tirelessly the breadth of the nation on a road of metal strips. He imagined the
people upon it were watching them as the Dragon swept serenely over and past,
descending slowly and grandly with widespread wings towards the mightiest fortress in
all the lands.
Even from miles away he could see its height and power, the White Road that ended
where the ancient kingdom of the Delvun began, the jagged rip in the Crowns where the
great peaks had settled into the heart of the Dwarven kingdoms and claimed whole armies
of Wyrmthralls. The Walls loomed higher as they swept in, over the tiered walls and
abodes of Men and Children, coming out to wave at the Dragon as it swooped overhead,
waves answered by a proud roar of bronzed bells that rang off the mountainside in
greeting.
Nine great walls rolled into the Valley ahead, the last of which they were descending
towards now, fully thirty meters high and radiating a power and immovability that made
Hrafner dazed to look up at. He could not imagine how such a fortress could be breached,
such walls passed by any army.
Yet according to legends, long ago, the Wyrm had done so, time after timeuntil
the very last time.
Like a great cat, delicate and poised, the Shield Dragon glided down to the open

plaza before the gates, touching down so smoothly it was a moment before Hrafner
realized the Dragon was walking towards them. Great wings furled respectively, and with
a grace even a feline might envy, the Dragon paced towards the Gates.
The Dwarves on duty glanced up at the Littorian with great curiousity, and Hrafner
looked back, equally curious. He had heard of the stunted warriors, and seen their halfbreed Children, but never seen the squat, muscular build of the Dwarves, girt in
massively heavy armor of ancient and exquisite craftsmanship, bearing axes that would
have been the weapons of great chieftains in gauntleted fists. Their eyes were like
polished river stones, their skin severe and flint-like, their infamous beards braided and
weighted down like strings of beads.
The Dragon simply flared its crest, and they were waved past without stopping.
Hrafner wondered why they had not simply flown over the walls, and then remembered
the ancient taleseven Dragons must walk thru Wyrmbreak Pass.
Before them the great Gates stood open, so high a Titan could have walked through
in full might with room to spare. Hrafners eyes picked out the slots in the stone walls,
the crawling script that forced his eyes away chiseled into the stones with mighty runes of
power, and the catwalks far above on the Pass Walls where archers could gather in
number to rain death down upon foes below. Terrible indeed were the defenses of the
Pass, and Hrafner could only be awed at the power and might of the forces that had been
able to break it.
At the Sixth Gate, the Shield dragon stepped aside, moving to a massive, barnlike
structure with doors wide enough to admit a Dragon. The folk inside saw the Shield
Dragon coming and hustled into motion, rolling out large wooden barrels on a raised
floor and gathering them before a sluice. The Dragon paced up and simply opened its
massive jaws about the sluice, and the Dwarves there upended barrels as tall as
themselves, spilling out a load of heavily salted fish into the sluice.
With its great, contented rumbling between his legs, Hrafner watched the Dragon
feast, while a fourth barrel joined the assembly, then a fifth. In the saddle behind him, he
heard the Haxan shout, looking back in time to see a heavy pack tossed to him, quickly
slung across the saddle bow, and then another. The Haxan said nothing, and Hrafner was
not going to ask him.
With a bellyful of fish that smelled badly enough to wrinkle Hrafners nose, the
Dragon finished, spinning as lightly as a tabby for all its mass, and heading back the way
it came. It belched loudly, a sound like swinging wargongs, which made the Dwarves
laugh knowingly as it moved quickly back the way they had come.
The Seventh Gate passed, and the eighth, before they drew up to the side of the
ninth.
Hrafner was startled despite himself to see the gleaming, mirror-bright figure of a

great Valor Dragon there, fully as large as the Shield upon which he himself was
mounted. The Dragons called out greetings in ringing voices of depth and magnitude no
Littorian could possibly duplicate, conversing in rumbling words older then the stones
about them as a small force of attendants swarmed up the sides of the great creatures.
Hrafner blinked as a shiny-beaded cloth was muscled on and tied about him, his
great arms forced into sleeves and clumsy mittens about his fists. The Halvyr were
emotionless and professional as they went about their tasks, and Hrafner was careful not
to move too muchthe prowess of the Halvyr was admired by the Men of Haxan, and
feared by all who dared their lands. Chaps were tied about his furred legs and down to his
feet, and a glance behind him assured him the Haxan was getting the same treatment.
Looking across at the Valors back, he was shocked to see a grizzled Huul warrior
there, one with a distinctive eyepatch of agate and a chopped ear. Sparleye bared his teeth
at the Littorian in greeting, his remaining eye showing both his own confusion and
wonder of where he was. Hrafner wondered how the Haxans had captured the a great
warcheif like the Huul alive, even moreso why they would need both a Littorian and a
Huul.
A buttery silver torc snapped into place about the Shield Dragons neck, and
Hrafners mouth went dry with avarice as he recognized the pure hue of mithril, wound
about with tight runework and craftsmanship he had never beheld before. Other bands of
the metal were snapped into place about the Dragons wingroots, and then the Halvyr slid
off quietly, patting the Dragon with the assurance of old friends. The Dragon rang a
polite Word of thanks, and with the Valor swung towards the doors.
Between one step and the next, the Dragons vanished.
Hrafner balked, then realized he could see a hollow outline beneath and below him,
as if he were riding some sort of ghost. His own arms seemed to almost melt into the
pavement belowor rather, the sleeves and mittens of his garments, rendering him
almost invisible to sight.
Which, he assumed, was the intention, to avoid anyone watching for Dragons as
they passed the gates.
With steadily increasing speed, the Dragon made for a ramp off to the side, a ramp
which rose instead of fell, and gave Hrafner his first view ever of the legendary lands of
the Wyrm.
Wings unfolded with the snap of metal plates, extending out as the Dragon raced up
the ramp, and with a surge of powerful muscles launched itself outwards. A mighty blast
of wind roared up past Hrafner, catching those wings and hurtling the Dragon high into
the air with gut-churning speed, the ground falling away with shocking suddenness as the
Shield Dragon beat for altitude.

------------------------The lands below were sundered like a broken clay pot.

Even now, centuries later, the analogy held true. Racing serenely above the
landscape, oddly free of winds, Hrafner had a superb view of the lands below. Too
superb, in facthe lifted free his goggles and found the ground was much farther away
then hed thoughtslipping them back into place, the land below lept into view with a
sharpness and clarity that Dragons themselves must possess.
Valleys and fissures split the land into a crazed, jumbled morass of battered scrub
and stone. Steam and brimstone belched into the air from some of those cracks, so deep
he saw molten fire burning at their bottoms. The only water he saw stirred deep in cracks
and crevasses, or pooled in small depressions in the stones, surrounded by life greedy for
moisture. The whole of the place was blasted with ashen remnants and the twisted
attempts of plant life to grow, and everywhere yawned great gaping holes and flows of
dark stone. They flew over massive temples and ancient draconic cities, collapsed into
huge pits upon themselves, broken and rent like a childs toys.
Still, there was life here. Hrafner saw slinking creatures stealing across the
landscape, eyes wary on the sky, furtive lines scampering from shadow to shadow or
across crude rope bridges, or into and out of yawning cave mouths or half tumbled ruins.
He saw deer bounding free across one of the larger unbroken pieces, a plateau raised
scores of feet above its surroundings, a single village of a snake-bodied folk sweeping
past beneath them as he hissed in revulsion.
League after league of this rolled past with amazing speed as the sun edged lower in
the sky. Hrafner marveled at the endurance of the Dragon, and the wonder of how it made
such speed whilst barely moving its wings. Now and then the Dragon swooped away, and
Hrafners enhanced vision saw black specks of some size in the air ahead of themnot a
threat to the Dragon, unless it was attempting to avoid detection.
He saw the ruins of great Wyrm cities, the shattered remnants of their rich lands and
the scurrying remnants of the folk that dwelt there, and it warmed his heart despite
himself to see how the Wyrm had been thrown down and its minions suffered for all they
had done to his forebears. But as the distance grew greater and the cracks further apart,
the Dragon dipped lower, and Hrafner began to see other things. Great herds moving
across the lands here and there, camps of size and numbers teeming with something
wrong
Those werent herds. They were mounted troopsno.
They were troops who were mounts.
The hackles on his neck rose. They were scarcely two hundred meters above the
ground now, and his enhanced vision made it seem as if he was less then a score of paces

away.
He saw great mines, where ram-bodied things with the upper bodies of Rhodin lept
about with uncanny agility, whipping and prodding on slaves of all races of
Beastfolkmost numerous among them their own.
He saw huge herds of things with the upper bodies of men and the lower bodies of
horses, some of them wheeling above the mass on the wings of bats in open mockery of
pegasi. Leading them were massive versions with the antlers of stags erupting from their
warped skulls, and their eyes flashed hellish red.
Dark was falling as they closed in on another camp, ringed about with herds of
wasted cattle tended to by thin, impoverished slaves, watched over themselves by bloodyeyed whipmasters.
Both of whom were Littorian in build. Hrafner fought a rumble deep in his throat,
and an urge to slay.
He had been brought out here to see this. He looked ahead, and saw more fourlegged creatures in the sprawling camp just ahead, and fought down the urge to unsheathe
his claws and race to do battle.
He did not wish to see this. But he knew he must.
As silent as a gliding hawk and far less visible, the Dragon set down on a rocky
pinnacle less then a klik from the camp. Elegantly and quietly, it folded its wings and
crouched down to the ground.
It was time for them to dismount, and Hrafner had a sinking feeling he knew where
they were going.
Eat first, and stretch. We go down as the moon rises, the Haxan hissed,
unstrapping himself quickly, then leaning forwards to help the littorian do the same. He
pulled a box of powder out of the first bag he untied, and it took all Hrafners efforts to
stifle a groan as he slid off the dragons back, hours of travel almost immediately
cramping him up. As he tried to stretch out, the Haxan shook the box over him, dusting
him with a fine transparent powder that made him sneeze once, then did the same to
himself.
Eliminates scent, he said calmly, pulling off his mittens to pad his fingers in the
substance and begin to rub it over his face and armor. Hrafner growled, thinking of how
this trick had doubtless been used many times to conceal Haxan ambushers, but then
grabbed a handful of the stuff and began to do the same, concentrating on areas heavy
with scent and sweat glands. The Haxan stretched out calmly, then pulled out meat and
cheese and full skins of liquid from the bag, silently offered half of them to Hrafner.
Hrafner hesitated only a moment, dismissing thoughts of poison, and took them, suddenly

realizing he was ravenously hungry.

Next to them, the Dragon rested in silence, only the heaving of massive lungs
indicating it was there. Hrafner could not even scent it, which only confirmed his fears of
the prowess of Dragons.
A feast was being organizedHrafner recognized it by the beat of the drums. The
guards were lax and distracted, swayed by the brightness of the moon overhead, and there
were no walls but the enclosures of the fences for the Littorian slaves in their misery. The
Haxan paused at one of the tents, reaching out to touch it with his fingertips as he led
Hrafner in, then audaciously bending over to sniff it.
Eyes narrowing, Hrafner did the same to the tanned hide, and felt his stomach rebel.
Littorian hides. Stitched together into tents.
His head slowly spun to take in the camp. Dozens of tents. Hundreds of tents.
Ahead of him, the Haxan had suddenly drawn his long knife, the infamous tool
every human in that land seemed to carry. With a smooth fluidity he took a step,
shoulders working, and Hrafner heard barely a grunt as he drove the weapon home,
dragging the corpse back into the shadows with smooth competence by his grip on the
guards muzzle, dropping the body on the ground before Hrafner.
Hrafner felt his heart pound as he clearly made out the black teeth, blood red eyes,
wire-like black fur and felt the ridgelike hide underneath the soot-hued fur of the female.
Her armor held none of the stories of the hunter and the warrior, decorated in bones and
garnishes which Hrafner recognized as Littorian in origin, for the most part.
This female wasnt a Littorian anymore. She wassomething else. Something
descended from something dark and foul and reeking of corruption to his nose.
He felt the Haxans eyes on him behind the goggles and the mask that shrouded his
features in shadow and darkness. Saying nothing, the human turned away, moving as
quietly as a master hunter among the tents, and Hrafner slowly followed.
With stealth and patience, the pair stole to a place between two tents, crouching
there motionlessly as celebrating natives walked by, Hrafner watching over the humans
head as the festival unfolded.
He watched a half-Gnoll, half-hyena beast get skinned alive and served to the halflion, half-Littorian masters, who danced with glee as they consumed it. He saw a
stumbling Littorian female forced to watch as her cubs were impaled on spits before her
and set over flames, before the same fate was inflicted upon her. They were baked inside
their hides and set before the chieftain of the place and his coterie of black-armored
warriors, eyes aglow with dark flames of balefire, who fell to with savagery to shame

starving lions. This savagery was repeated as old and weak Littorians were led before
them, whipped into bloody masses, and then cut apart still alive to feed their four-legged
masters. He saw the bodies of small creatures with the bodies of faen and small deer
stuffed and set out for foodbodies with spiked crests and twisted horns and darkly
leering faces even in death. He watched a dozen of his people get sacrificed on an altar
made from the bones of his kind, and hundreds more chanting a foul hymn that made his
ears weep to hear it as the vile deed was done.
He saw evil that would haunt his nightmares forever, perpetrated by this mockery of
the Littorians, this perverse corruption of nature.
It was well the human had taken his weapons, else he would have charged out into
the mass and died screaming in battle, wishing only to take some of these horrid beasts
with him.
But he did not have his weapon, and when the human reached back and unerringly
tapped his nose, he turned slowly, growling his hate, and they stole back the way they
had come, unseen, unscented, and unheard amid the foul cries that passed for delirious
worship and celebration.
Slowly and carefully, back to the pinnacle where a Dragon waited, and where they
strapped themselves into unseen saddles by the Haxans knowing hands. As the false
dawn spread bloody light upon the corrupted land below, a great wind launched them
skywards, away and unseen and unsuspected.
=================================
We are taking a different route home. Observe. Hrafner wondered how he was
able to stay so alert after being awake nearly two days straight, but shook off the
confusion he felt to watch the lands roll by below.
Unbroken these lands, with only natural lakes and hills and forests and rivers and
plains, mostly unspoiled, but swathes of them populated by more of the four-legged
perversions of Gnoll and Flind and Huul and Sibeccai and Littorian and Rhodin and Men
and hulking Minortaurs, great tribes passing by and shrinking in number as they rolled
east over sweeping hills and valleys, Hrafner marking every camp and its numbers, the
aftermath of two battles, one between tribes, the other with Jotuns. They winged over a
massive bridge at least twenty paces wide, spanning a canyon nearly a thousand feet
across, which a line of wolf-Huul were speeding across with easy lopes, tumbled
fortresses to either side of towering height marking the fallen fortifications of Jotun
against some great forceperhaps one another.
The weaker tribes being driven before the stronger ones, he realized, seeing the
Dragon was following the route of their migrations east, east along the lands of the
Jotuns, where he could see towering keeps set amidst deep forests or dominating the crest

of round hills in the distance, sometimes spot mighty forms in the distance about rivers
and plains or on hillsides. Here and there were the burned and shattered remnants of old
camps, shattered by either following tribes or Jotun raids, pushing the immigration
onwardshundredsthousandstens of thousands of the creatures
Ahead, he saw the lines of mountains stabbing skywardsthe broken needles of the
Wyrmfangs, even as the rolling hills and taiga below gave way to great tundra plains and
opened wide and south to true plainsthe vast and rolling sea of grass called the
Windreeve.
The nearest of the creatures tribes were hundreds of miles from the Windreeve, and
the camps below were now of his own people, with interspersed Lupins, the Rhodin
mostly clustered about the Wyrmfangs or Jotun hills.
He saw the camp of his clan sweep past below, the Harken Highlands a line of green
in the distance as the Dragon began to descend.
The Shield Dragon lit down next to Old Warning Man, the tree that marked for his
clan the beginnings of the holdings of the humans, beyond which one risked death to
cross. Waiting there was a single human, a female that Hrafner recognized, standing next
to her horse, and totally unsuprised as great wings beat like cymbals, and a Shield Dragon
swam into view before her, magic dispelled.
Hrafner had seen the forms of the watching members of his clan not far away from
above as he slid free, and regretfully allowed himself to be relieved of the marvelous
goggles, the concealing cloth. In return, his weapons were handed to him once againhe
took them silently from the females hands.
He turned on the man, wondering what to say, found the second pack pressed into
his chest firmly, heavy and solid.
When you have an answer for us, come here and blow that horn. He pointed to an
ivory instrument hanging well off the ground up in Old Warning Mans branches. Well
be listening to what you have to say.
A hurricane blast of wind nearly blew him off his feet as the Dragon seemed almost
to fall up into the sky, a hundred paces above the ground in mere seconds, and turning
south. Even having ridden a Dragon, his mouth went dry at the sight.
When his eyes came down, the Haxan was loping away, the woman on horseback at
his side. Hrafner watched them go, feeling older and more sober then he ever had in his
life. He wondered what was in the pack he had been given, and decided it could wait until
he was back among his people.
Turning away, he headed north, for home. He had a tale to tell, and a feeling that the
tale was not his alone. The grass of the Reeve felt good beneath his feet, the smell of it,

the taste of the wind, the crunch of the dry soil.

He wondered how long it would stay so.

Errantry III
Points of View
The Horn was loud when blownHrafner was later told his packmates heard it
more then 3 leagues away. It was not thunderously loudinstead it seemed to rise high
and clear, propelled by the lungpower of a Son of Lions, and roll off the land about them
for long moments, seemingly echoing off the very clouds above, the hills in the distance.
Yes, the Haxans would definitely hear this horn. Hrafner thought for a moment to
keep itto send messages over great distances would indeed be helpfulbut then slowly
handed it back to the young warrior who had scampered up the tree to retrieve it for him.
The young not-cub blinked at him in surpriseHrafner just looked at him and pointed
once, one lip raising in the slightest beginnings of a snarl.
Somehow, that was far more impressive then a backhand and curse. The unblooded
warrior-cub hurried to return the horn from whence it came, ears folded in submission.
Hrafner wrapped his cloak about himself and sat in the long grasses, ignoring the
first snows filtering down from aboveit was late in the season, and normally he would
be out hunting and raiding to gain supplies for the cold days ahead.
Not this season. Perhaps not any season again.
He felt too old now. Even now, when he closed his eyes, he could smell the tents
made of the hide of his people, see the female and her cubs and smell them cooking on
the fires of grass and dung, watch the old packmembers being devoured alive by
thoseblasphemies. Those unclean abominations
Tauren, the Haxans called them. Half-biped, half-quadruped, all vicious. Inheriting
the worst and best of both sidesstrength, ferocity, powercunning, reason, ambition,
all of it untempered by honor, loyalty, discipline.
Six months it had been. Six months as a grizzled warrior who had served the Jytans
and learned to decipher their scratches read the reports of a Haxan Loreguard stamped
with the symbol of their God of Truth and Justice, a seal which would endorse no lie. Six
months looking at maps drawn in such detail as to make the tribal elders marvel aloud as
they picked out the locations of old stories and the lands theyd left behind long ago. Six
months as hackles rose and whiskers dropped as he repeated what he had seen and heard
and smelled.

And it had been an old white-tufted elder of the tribe, his years coming to a close,
but revered for his insight and the many things he had seen, who had raised the question
that haunted Hrafner even now.
Why have the Men of Haxan showed us this? Why did they show YOU this?
That question still gnawed at him. The slayer of his father, no less, had been the one
who had given them this knowledge. A Man who despised him, he was surea Man who
would like to see all his folk dead, driven from the lands they now claimed as their
owna Man who had killed dozens, perhaps scores, of his people with his silver-gray
blade.
The runners had come from other tribes after that. From Sparleye, the huul warchief
known for his hatred of Men in general and Haxans in particularBlacktongue the hyen
Champion, and his counterparts Aggkrenos the flind witchlord and Fangbroken the
sibeccai chieftain and warrior of the Bearclaws. Even Grassrager, the fearsome Terrig
warrior of the striped folk, had sent an emissary.
All of them, captured, and borne upon Dragonback to see these sights. All of them,
desiring to see if others knew, and if so, what they planned to do.
The Jytan knew now, too, of course. They had been delighted to see the maps of
new lands, laid out in awesome and intricate detailuntil the first one fell to dust in their
hands, and the second when a scribe attempted to copy it. Then, the Jytan were only
permitted to admire them from afar, as crude attempts were made to redraw them from
memory. Obviously, they had been intended for whom they were intendedand no Jytan
had ridden upon a Dragon.
The Jytan were quick to offer advice and promise aid. But the Six who had seen the
sights knew well the High Throne was a very long distance away, and the lands the
Empire had to cover and manage were vastand it would take a great amount of
commitment from the Emperor to defy the forces that were comingin a land not built
for defense.
And too, this would lead to open war with the Jotun Princes, Hrafner had no doubt.
The mere fact that Jytans claimed dominion over these lands brought lesser Giants
swarming onto the plains to contest their claims. Hrafner had seen the cloud castles cross
the plains at the forefront of storms and winds, heading south. What then, if the Jytan
were to come here in force, to defy the coming Tauren? And stay here?
What then of the free plains and their way of life, with Jytan all about, watching
them all the time? Eager to seize the new lands beyond, and sweep all the Sons of the
Lion into the fray with them?
Hrafner brooded into the grasses with dark thoughts as he turned over his fears in his

mind, and did not like what he saw. His golden eyes closed as he thought of what his life
had suddenly become from a snarling young warrior eager to forge his path of glory to
warcheif, to a silent fool who could only picture the horror coming this way, and what it
portended for his people. He had looked at Sparleye, and Blacktongue, and Aggkrnenos,
Fangbroken and Grassrager, and seen the same reflected in their eyes, smelled it in their
scent.
Worry. Fear. Horror. The Jytan had not seen, smelt, tasted of the enemy, and so
shared nothing of their impressions, strong and confident in how the enemy would be
dealt with.
The Jytan were not in Chi-Julud now, the Wardance that had toppled the dramojh.
They were not a nation of warriors, armed to do battle and little else. They had an Empire
to care for and rebuildan Empire fractured, split, and rebelliousmuch like the
dramojh they had overcome. And like the dramojh, they could not afford to give up all
that they had gained to go to war once again, or they would lose everything they had built
in the ensuing chaos.
As the dramojh and their slave-soldiers against Men, the Jytans and their allies
against the dramojh, now came the Tauren and their own conscripts and corrupted clans
and packs and tribes.
The not-cub at his side snarled, and Hrafner looked up from his brooding, to see a
dark figure crest a hill some distance away to the south.
A Man, on horseback.
So, they were listening after all. Hrafner did not know whether to be relieved or
more deeply worried.
==================
She was an Adanche.
Hrafner resheathed his claws carefully. This white-haired female was old, her hair
white as the clouds, her skin wrinkled like an old tree, of no physical threat. He could
smell nothing of magic upon her, and her clothing was of colored beads and wool and
blankets wrapped about old bones to keep her warm. The feathers of eagles fell from her
headband in tight clusters of white and brown and gray and gold, and her eyes were sharp
and alert and sized him up in an instant with their soul-piercing darkness.
Hrafner knew well the lands he stood upon were once those of the Adanche, called
the People of the Wind, swept away by the power of the dramojh and his own ancestors
after thousands of years of battle. Many, many folk of all the tribes had fallen to the
Adanche raiding from Haxan, grim and silent hunters who cared only to reclaim the lands
of their forebearsand were hunted with equal enthusiasm in return. Of all the peoples

of Haxan, the Adanche were hated and feared the mostfor they were death in the night
and arrows on the wind, out to slay and to harry and to burn, with not mercy asked nor
given.
Her old, keen eyes turned to the horn, then back upon the pair of littorians, cold and
aloof. Despite himself, Hrafner could feel the force of her spirit and will like a living
thing, strong and tempered like fine steel. Of no physical threat was she, but this was a
dangerous female nonetheless.
You have sounded the horn, littorian. She bit the word off almost as an insult. I
am here to listen to what you have to say. Her voice was old, but strong and sure and did
not quaver, a voice used to command and commanding.
Hrafner resisted an urge to leap forwards and claw her out of the saddle, stilling
similar thoughts in the not-cub with nothing more then a glance. I speak for the tribes of
the plains, he growled carefully, a declaration that brought no reaction whatsoever from
her. We havemore questions to ask of the people of Haxan, he admitted with a snap
of his teeth, both angry and ashamed at the perceived weakness.
Ask them, then. I shall provide what answers we please to give you.
Any doubts Hrafner had to her importance he kept carefully quashed. She certainly
seemed to be a female of authority, secure in her own powerand certainly unconcerned
of her death. If she were lost, it was one less warrior slain.
Why did the people of Haxan tell of us the Tauren?
The answer was not what he expected. To place you in the debt of my people, she
replied coldly, startling him visibly. The men of the south did as we asked of them.
Their concern for your people is non-existentthey would have waited and watched you
die as readily as your ancestors watched mine perish, and in similar fashion. The cold
anger in her voice, the fury in her eyesit was difficult to meet the old womans stare, so
powerful was her presence.
Isee. Hrafner was no diplomat, no cunning elder with a sly tongue. Bluntness
was one of his few traits he had kept, for he had to hit foolish curs over the head with it
often when he spoke of what was coming. And what do you expect to gain from
thisdebt, silverhair?
There is only one thing we wish from you and yours, littorian. Again the word,
said like a curse. It took effort for him to fight down his growl, and the not-cub could not
restrain himself.
Remove yourself now. He did not even snarl it, but the glare of his eyes was so
cold the unblooded one wilted like a flower in the sun. It took only the slightest widening
of his eyes to send the young fool racing off as if whipped.

Hrafner turned his eyes back to the old female. We will not give up these lands
without a struggle, silverhair.
You have proved that in blood over many generations, warrior. Again, such
probing, cold eyes, raking over his soul. Do not tell me that which I already know. A
hiss in her voice, like drawn steel.
Hrafner felt shamed despite himself. Then you know you will gain nothing from us.
Why have you done this?
I have told you already. Are you done speaking? Her chin rose high, the pony she
rode pawed at the ground.
How does it benefit the Adanche to let us know of the coming of the Tauren? he
growled, knowing he would not like the answer. If you had not told us, shown us, we
would not have believed, nor known of them, until it was far too late.
It is already too late for you. The way she said it made Hrafners blood turn to ice.
If you gather all the force of your tribes and prepare to defend your lands against the
Tauren, you will die. Their numbers are too vast, their strength too great, the evil powers
they wield too strong. You will not stop them.
Hrafner felt like a spear had been driven into his side. The certainty in her voice was
bone-chilling.
But if you had not told us he trailed off in a near whisper.
Then what your people did to mine long centuries ago would have been done to
youyou would have been massacred and butchered, made into cattle and slaves and
meals for your conquerors.
You are using us. It was not a question; it was an eye-opening insight.
Yes. Her dark eyes held no regrets. You have taken our lands by blood and
battle. Lands that were ours before the first Son of Mithar set foot on the golden plains of
Haxan, before the first of your kind walked any Land, anywhere. You cannot beat the foe
that is comingthe Sons of Mithar say this is so. You can only fight them, and die to
hold onto the lands of my people. And for each of those who come that you slay, there is
one less that we shall have to, one less to threaten the lands of the Sons of Mithar, one
less we shall have to slay to reclaim the Lands of the Wind. And you shall owe us
everything for it being so.
Hrafner felt an awesome sense of futility rising within himself, a growing fury and
despair at the revenge of the Adanche. She was rightif they had not told the tribes, the
massacre would have been terriblethey would have been driven from the plains with

sickening ease. Even knowing it was coming

We will have aid from the Jytan, he breathed, and knew it was not true.
If the Jytan march their legions into the plains, the Jotun Princes will as well. Your
peoples will be caught in the middle of their struggle, mere pawns, and be all the weaker
when the Tauren come. Said again with that cold, iron certainty, serpents venom in silk.
Run to them, little warrior. See how your allies help destroy you.
Hrafner flexed his clawed hands, desperately wishing for something to hit and to
rend. This old Woman was speaking of the destruction of all of the tribes with calm
satisfaction and cunning insight.
How longhow long have you known of the Tauren? he breathed.
By her silence he knew he had asked something very key. She studied him a long
moment, and for a breath he thought she would not answer.
The Dragons saw the first of them two generations before I was born, she finally
responded, with an eerie calm that was all the more unsettling. We knew the threat they
would be before my first son was born.
Generations. Generations they had known. And now, it was too late to truly stop
themexcept, there had never been a chance of stopping them, only of preparing. Could
they have prepared enough? Hrafner did not knowhe could only feel used and
manipulated, once again his people pawns in the hands of others.
And why did you not tell us this then? he asked, unable to keep the accusatory
note out of his voice.
Why, indeed? Because, littorian warrior, she leaned forwards in her saddle, and he
instinctively flinched back, for all this time we have been ready to take back our lands.
Her eyes were cold, so very cold and dark. The Adanche are stronger now then they
have ever been. We have learned much from the Men of the southwe have learnt of
war, and preparation, and ways and means of power. Were it not for the Tauren, the lands
you have walked upon so proudly these last decades would have again been ourswe
were ready, poised to leap across the borders and slay you all as you had done to our
forebears, when we were told of the Tauren.
Hrafner swallowed. The light of the warrior shone in this old Womans eyes, death
hard and fast and cold.
We have learned patience from those of the south. We have learned cunning. We
have learned to prepare. And most of all, little warrior, we have learned of irony.
Hrafners mouth felt almost sickeningly dry, his throat hoarse and thick, and his whole
world was those great dark eyes.

If the Tauren had not risen, I would have ridden with my people and emptied the
plains of your kind, driven you back whence you came from half a millennium ago, trod
your bones into the dust of the plains, and dared the Jytan to come and take us again from
the soils and sacred mounds of our ancestors. There would be no littorians hunting the
buffalo, no Lupin tracing the migratory paths of my people, and your bones would
appease the spirits of the ancestors whose sacred sites you have desecrated and pitched
your tents upon in feeble imitation of our ways.
It was not to be. A rasp of steel being sharpened. We accepted their word, and in
so doing, spared them the ire of the Jytans who would surely blame them for our deeds,
and who would no longer have a war with the Jotuns to distract them. I cut my warriors
braids free and turned to my children, and their children, to reclaim the lands of our
people when the time was ripe.
And so now, littorian, you get to live the life of the doomed. The lands your
ancestors took by fang and claw you now have to defend with the same. You will fight,
and you will die, and you will owe us for the chance to do so.
And whosoever ends up with the Windreeve will have to face the full might of the
Adanche. We have learned not to take what we cannot hold. It appears that now you and
your kind will learn that lesson as well.
The old female sat back on her ponyregal, knowing, and secure in her life and her
death, knowing that vengeance was to come.
Hrafner had no more questions. He bowed almost numbly, surprised himself that he
was not cutting her out of her saddle for her words, and the pony she rode turned and
paced gently, smoothly away.
Three shining feathers caught the light on her backmetal, iridescent, like liquid
fire and sunlight, gleaming like treasures amid the tangles of eagles and falcons and
hawks.
Phoenix feathers.
Hrafner watched Masai Ravenwind, the greatest of the Wise Women of the
Adanche, ride away from him, a woman to whom the greatest of the Adanche warcheifs
knelt, a woman who one of his people had never laid eyes upon and lived.
An old Woman, come one last time to see the lands of her ancestors, lands she
would never ride free uponand come to see those who did humbled.
He watched her ride away until she was out of sight, and only then did he turn for
home.

He had his answers.

Errantry IV
The Enemy of My Enemy, My Enemy.
Hrafner! We have him!
The scarred warrior turned on the older littorian, his eyes cold and flat. The
jubilation in the others voice faded from his expression and scent. Few of the tribe
looked upon Hrafner well these days, but the old raiders of his fathers pack had always
been well-treated by him, given the respect he felt them due even after they had been
subjected to the Mercy of the Haxans.
Five summers had passed since his ride on Dragonback. Three summers ago, the
first of the Tauren tribes had found the scouts sent out to watch for them.
The tribes had responded with panic and overwhelming force, and crushed the
Hyentaurs mercilessly. Emboldened by their easy victories, they had sortied off and done
battle with other tribes following, gaining victory after victory from enemies who did not
know they were coming.
But Hrafner, at the lead of such battles, had seen the costs slowly mounting as their
foes grew more numerous, better equipped, stronger, not as crippled by past battles. More
and more dead after every victory, more of the foe would escape, those coming behind
were more forewarned.
And now the winters closed in with a thick blanket of snow, and even the Tauren
moved slowly in such weather. This last season was over, and fear gripped the plains.
The last campaign had cost them much. The numbers of the Tauren, their savagery
and strengththe tribes had been overconfident and unprepared, save for those led by the
Six.
The lossesthe brave warriors fallen, whose meat now fed the enemy, who
slaughtered the herds upon which the tribes survived, depriving them of sustenance and
their way of life.
And past these tribes, more Tauren, coming, having heard of the battles, and the
soft, weak Lupin and Felin who sought to stop them.
They would not last another summer, he knew. Already the wise tribes sent away
their females and their cubs, south and east, into the lands of the Jytanmere refugees,
throwing themselves on the mercy of the Jytan who had been unable to help them.

As the Elders had feared and the Adanche had promised, the Jotun moved in force
against any Jytan army marching into the plains. That had been a taut and fearful season,
threatening to explode into outright war that would have drenched the plains in blood.
It had been the tribes themselves who asked the Jytan to leave, unwilling to be
caught in the middle of such a conflict. Reluctantly, the Emperors legions of great
warriors had pulled back, leaving only some legions of southern Lupin at their perusal to
establish strongpoints. Infantry, mostly, well-supplied and well-equipped, given mounts
and what training in riding the tribes could spare to aid in the fighting.
But death was coming, as had been prophesied, and Hrafner was shunned as only the
bearer of the bad news could be.
Who do you have? he asked coldly. There was little that could lighten his heart,
this feeling of being pawns of the Adanche and the Haxan, of blood being shed to benefit
others, as it had always been.
The Haxan. The slayer of your Father.
Hrafners eyes widened ever so slightly, but there was no joy in his expression. He
understand the undertones of vengeance and elation in the voice of the older warrior, who
had no children to send to safety, no females to warm his tent at nightsave those who
did not wish to have children, which, strangely enough, there was more then a fair
number of among those who liked to fight.
=======================
He had been fighting the rhodin in the Wyrmfangs. The goatfolk had been getting
desperateonly the orcs had rebelled more against the rule of the Jytan, and so no aid
was forthcoming to them as the news of the Tauren continued to reach them, and the first
battles against the Rhotaur had happened. They had wanted to expand their territory,
fortify their lands and their caves, and somehow weather the coming storm.
They had raided the Harken one too many times, and the Harken had struck back.
The hills had shook with the magic of the Dhatun geomancy, Crystal Shield warriors and
raging highlanders had covered the hills in the blood of the rhodin.
Mercenary Hiken tribesmen had joined the battle, howling with the vengeance of
their totems. The Harken had been driven back, or rather, taken a strategic withdrawal
that had strung out and whittled down their attackers and finally heaped their bodies upon
the dark stones of the Wyrmfangs.
At the site of the original battle, they had found him, sprawled amid the dead of the
elite rhodin guards, the blood of three warchiefs upon him. He had yet clung to life even
as the crows picked at the dead, and the sign upon his shield had marked him instantly.

Hrafner looked down at the human, more dead then alive, scarred and weathered,
wearing the blood of a score of dead upon the remnants of his clothing. His passage to the
camp had not been gentle, but still he clung to life.
He turned his eyes upon the Haxans belongings, gathered at his orderthe notched
long knife, the scraped and battered shield, the fine mail shirt rent by terrific blows that
yet poured almost like liquid in his hands. The scavengers had been unwilling to give up
such prize trophiesuntil Hrafner had simply gripped his axe and stated they would fight
for them. They were yielded quickly enough.
I do not see his sword. He was unsurprised, but wished to know more.
None of the dead Men had their weapons with them. We believe one of their beasts
may have taken them from the field.
That would be like them.
He turned the unconscious humans cheek aside to look upon his neck, where a
single bar of gleaming, mirror-like silver hue shone solidly.
The Bars of Freesword. Every warrior in the known lands knew of the Thirty
Swords and how one stood against the prowess of those who had gone before.
Mithril. He had seen that hue before, but not on the neck of a warrior. It took a
moment to recall the tales of the elders and lorefolk.
He had drawn a Champions BladeEinsmitrilos, he believed it was called, the
Champion Born. Even feared Sparleye, possibly the greatest warrior of the plains, wore
only Platinum. His father had been a mercenary in the southern lands of the Empire, and
in his final season had worn Gold.
How old was this Man? Not even thirty? He looked older then his years, a hard life
for a hard Man.
See to it that he is tended and wakens. The warchiefs will speak to him and decide
his fate.
We can make his fate right here, rasped the older warrior, gaze straying to that
long knife. Hrafners eyes narrowed to slits of death.
He will make such a decisionas did you. The Mercied warrior stepped back, fur
rising and snarl coming from his throat as his claws came out. Hrafner swung on him
fully, baring his own fangs. And Ive the feeling he will choose first to die with a blade
in his hand.
The Mercied warrior blinked and shrank, growl of defiance dying in his throat.

Although he had proven his bravery a hundred times over, his status was a constant
reminder of the two-edged sword that was survival and honor. With a final, hate-filled
glance at the unconscious human, the old raider stole from the tent, leaving Hrafner alone
with the slayer of his father.
Hrafner had little doubt he could command a fine ransom for the fallen Man, from
any number of interested parties. At the same time, he knew any attempt to do so would
be seen as weakness by the tribe, who seethed with underlying anger and fear at the
words the Adanche had spoken to him long ago.
There were times the tribe would have to accept things whether they liked it or not.
This was again one of those times.
The female who moved to attend to him was Rissima, one of his own matesas
much guard as healer. If he tried anything, she would happily rip his throat out with claw
and fangbut in the meantime, she would insure that he lived. Their eyes met in
understanding as they passedthere were things he would do for his people that he
would not do for himself, and dealing with a blood foe was one of those things.
==================
Errant wasnt sure how long had passed since he had been conscious, his skull yet
ringing with the force of the blow that had finally laid him low as the berserker in bearform ate the sword of his ancestors. Duty had done its job and so had hehe had not
expected to awaken once he yielded the blade to the lion that had sadly taken it away.
To awaken in a tent with the distinctive cat-musk odor of the littorians and the chill
air of the Windreeve outsideno, he had not expected that.
The female who was watching over him had remained silentnot asleep, very much
aware. Waiting to see what he would do.
He heard two other guards outside the door after long minutes of concentration, the
pain in his skull tremendousa massive concussion and nearly a broken neckhe was
lucky to be alive at all.
Water, was all he croaked. Food he knew he would not keep down, yet. Water he
needed to live.
Slowly and sullenly, the female retrieved a skinno, his own canteen, pulling out
the spigot with delicate claws and inserting it into his mouth before raising his head with
assured strength.
He took small sips with deep concentration over long minutesher attention did not
waver in the slightest. When at last he relaxed and she took it away, he only felt mildly
horrible.

Rhetorical questions could wait. He could not see straight, but he knew he was
bound roughly into the blankets that kept him warm. He had to get better quickly, and
now that he was conscious, he knew that he would.
He closed his eyes and centered his concentration upon the ball of energy that began
in his gut, focusing on his breathing. Deeper he sank into the healing trance, feeling his
breathing come longer and stronger, the fires of his soul slowly stoked and his heartbeat
sounding a deep and steady cadence. His blood began to pulse with the raw power of life,
and to carry that power to every inch of his battered frame. Soon his skin began to tingle
and his injuries to burn, but pain was nothing he was not familiar with.
====================
The snapping of the rawhide was Rissimas only indication that had woken again.
That long, deep breathing had settled into a powerful rhythm that had seemed to fill
the tent with power, and at the same time lull her into a deep sleep broken only by the
crisp snapping of bounds.
He was awake, sitting up, and throwing off his blankets stiffly, the broken cords of
the thongs not restraining him. Rissima lept to her feet with a snarl of alarm, pulling her
dagger out in the same smooth motion. Stay where you are, human!
His gaze snapped to hers, and Rissima faltered and stepped back despite herself. She
had met the eyes of Tauren, savage and bestial, tainted with the blood of foul things, alive
with dark malice and horrors, and nowhere had she seen such certainty of her death as
she did meeting that stare.
He wore only the crudest of loincloths, a further precaution on the part of the
tribea naked Man alone on the plains in winter would not last long. The cold air did not
seem to deter him as he rose to his feet, and the bloody wounds she had helped stitch
closed steamed visibly in the cold air, crisscrossing his torso and limbs with savage red
scars that joined other, older ones. Such scars were impressive indeed, the mark of one
who had seen much, much battle without a healer to attend to them, survived and carried
on.
The flaps to the tent were thrown open, letting in the pale light of the false dawn, the
two guards without peering in, hands on their blades.
She could not warn them quickly enough. The human covered the distance in one
too-long pace, his flat palms driving into their sternums. Air blasted out of their lungs as
they were launched backwards like cubs from the force of the dual blows.
And one of them left his sword in the mans fist.

With a final glance at her, he stepped outside into the snows.

An alarmed yowl rose quickly, and Rissima heard the village burst into life. She
stalked to the opening, where the two guards were heaving for breath in the trampled
snowand set of bare tracks of Man led to the east.
Snarling her fear, Rissima drew her own short sword in her other hand and followed
after him.
=========================
He had not gone far.
Perhaps a score of paces beyond the edge of the village and its windbreak, standing
there nearly naked and hairless as the morning winds picked up, staring at the east, his
back to the rapidly assembling tribe, including more then a few with nocked arrows ready
to fill him full of feathered shafts. As the first distant edge of the sun graced the horizon,
he lifted his stolen blade in salute, and began his morning Devotions.
Even the most hardened warriors of the village could not gather the nerve to attack
him in the midst of such ceremony. Every bloody scar was clearly visible on him, his
frame gaunt from illness and lack of food, his hairless body naked to the cutting wind,
and yet here he was, performing the ceremony all Men of Haxan undertook each
morning, thanking the sun for a new day in service to their silver god.
The snow did not seem to touch himabout his feet it swirled and was forced back
as he slowly, even painfully went through the motions of his Devotions, growing ever
smoother and cleaner, until his stolen blade cut the air like a thing alive, a weaving blur
of metal as fluid as the name of his School, driving back the snow farther and farther as
his naked feet danced on the revealed grasses in patterns old before any littorian had
strode these plains.
Hrafner waved down the bows, watching the display with fascination. From mostly
dead to wielding a blade like this in but a dayhis recuperative ability was at least the
equal of his swordsmanship. The power that sang in the air and defied wind and cold,
empowered every motion with strength beyond what mere muscle could providethis
was a true Dragon Warrior of the House of Flowing Waters. He was not fully recovered,
but one such as this with a blade in handHrafner did not wish to consider having to do
battle with him.
It took until the sun fully cleared the horizon for the Devotions to end, the Man
ending with sword raised high precisely as the sun left the bounds of the earth to fully
enter the sky. About him a space four paces wide was cleared of snow by the force of his
presence, and his skin steamed in the cold as if a hot iron.
He lifted his sword and slowly turned to face the attentions of hundreds of waiting

littorians.
Hrafner stepped forwards promptlyas his decision, so it was his risk. He would
lose warriors if they did battlewarriors he could not afford to lose. Steeping
confidently, his hide-bound feet crunching in the fresh snow, he strode up to the waiting
human in the full face of that killing stare, stopped before him, and held out his hand.
An incredulous eyebrow arched at him, and Hrafner returned it with one of the
greatest acts of bravado he had ever undertaken. He did not glance back at his waiting
warriors and the ready bows, he pretended they were not there at all, as he was sure the
Man was so doing.
What thoughts raced behind those hazel eyes, pale in the morning, he did not know.
He simply waited with his hand out.
The stolen sword was smoothly turned over and handed to him, hilt first. He heard
the gasps going up behind up, and permitted himself a rare moment of indulgence indeed.
Return to your tent. Food will be brought to you. We will call for you soon. He
stepped aside, waving with his free hand calmly.
There was no fear in those pale eyes. This Man had already diedsuch an ending to
his life would simply be death again. Hrafner had done what he musthe had stirred this
Mans curiousity.
Calmly, the Man called Errant of the Clan of Ruin, of the House of Flowing Waters,
stepped back towards the line of waiting warriors, his head held high, and Hrafner
followed.
The line parted silently, as much under the impetus of those eyes as any respect for
Hrafners daring. Hrafner ignored the Haxans progress as he sought out the shocked
countenances of the tent guards and Rissima.
Gather him a chieftain's portions and feed him well, he growled in a low voice as
he handed back the liberated sword. Without a look back, he headed for his own tent,
certain his orders would be obeyed, as he had not been in some time.
========================
He looked better then he had just a few hours ago, less gaunt, eyes even sharper and
clearerand more dangerous. The tunic of one of the littorians hung loose on him, built
for a larger, thicker boned body, and a cloak of buffalo hide wrapped about him in a
swathe of brown fur.
None of his guards was closer then two paces. The unease in the tent was palpable,
and Hrafner found it almost amusing. From vengeance planned to thoughts of

deathhow quickly the situation could change. The other warchiefs and blooded
warriors were plainly uncomfortable being in the same tent with a Dragon Warrior of
such notoriety, who might even unarmed have the ability to slay them all.
Hrafner stayed at ease. He understood that this Man was fully capable of restraining
his natural urges to do what he thought best for his people, and as long as he offered no
threat to the other, the Man would be bound by his own codes of honor and offer no
harm.
You are well and your thoughts are clear? Hrafner asked, tapping his skull
meaningfully.
Cold amusement glinted in those hazel eyes. Well enough, Hrafner of the Six
Fangs. His own role in making that title seemed to amuse him further.
You were brought here for the purposes of avenging the disgrace brought upon
members of the tribe for inflicting what you called Mithars Mercy upon them. Hrafner
waved idly at both of the guards flanking the Man, who flinched as he turned to meet the
eyes of first one, then the other. Have you anything to say over this heinous deed?
His amusement only grew. I gave them more then they deserved, and this tribe
more respect then it ever gave us. In the past ten summers, not a member of this tribe has
been lost raiding into Haxanbecause you know not to raid, now. We have given you
reminders of this, just in case. The guards growled deeply, hate shining in their eyes.
The females have found other mates, and those who might have sought to fight have
raised more cubsyou have lost none of your children. And these warriors who have
nothing else to do with their lives have no doubt killed many enemies of your people and
provided well for the rest of the tribe, saving many more lives and freeing others to
pursue less dangerous occupations. You should be thanking me for gifting you with
many, many lives.
Hrafner glanced at the guards, who looked stricken at the logic of this statement, and
he could smell the surprise of the other chiefs and experienced warriors at this way of
looking at the situation.
Of course, if as individuals they cannot bear the shame, I can certainly help send
them on to their next lives if they finally have the courage to face it. It is a poor time to
wish to die, I would think.
So it was. Hrafner needed every warrior he could muster. But doing nothing about
the situation could be seen as a sign of weakness. The lesson you sought to teach has
been learned, and its time is done. How may this Mercy be undone, and the shame lifted
from those who have served this tribe long and well?
The secret to overcoming the Mercy. There, it was said. To learn such a thing would
give hope to all such inflicted by the insidious punishment. The eyes of all in attendance

in the great tent were fixed sharply on the Man in their midst.
You dont know? His thin, hard smile was definitely amused. It is no secret. The
Mercy has no effect on those who live by holy vows.
There was a roar of surprise from twoscore throats, shouting, demanding to know
what these vows were, what did his words mean.
Hrafner sat and considered, ignoring the tumult. Holy vows would imply a code of
conduct that was not native to his peoplepossibly almost as odious as the Mercy itself.
Holy vowswhat did Haxans consider holy?
It was this question he put forth to the Man, who like him was ignoring the rest of
the crowd.
You would have to ask a Pureheart, Chieftain. I do not live by Holy Vows. His
voice carried with unnatural ease over the snarling, growling words of the senior
warriors, silencing them all with shocking ease.
Then they must speak to one of your holy Men. The human nodded once, but the
rumbles and whispers did not last long. Well enough. Grisnarl, Ripsky, find the rest of
your fellows and go south openly bearing the colors of peace, and find you a holy Man
and raise this punishmentif you have the will to do so. The two guards looked at one
another for a moment in surprise, then made for the door as one. Two others among the
senior warriors rose and followed them.
There were no guards on the humanHrafner overlooked the fact calmly, a fact he
could see amused the Man yet further. The more trust and honor he heaped upon the Man
the more bound he was to return such treatment.
He decided to forge ahead with his own lines of questioning, softly asking
forgiveness of his fathers spirit for not asking fruitless blood vengeance on the human.
His people needed him.
Somehow, he was sure his father approved.
You are aware of the situation we face upon our lands, Errant of Ruin? he asked
calmly, stressing the last words as long as they dwelt here, these lands were theirs. It
was a rhetorical questionthe maps provided by the Haxans were national treasures. He
probably knew their situation better then they themselves did.
Of course. Dragons are incorrigible gossips once you get to know them. That
description of Dragons made Hrafner blink. Gossips? The majestic and terrifying
Dragons?
It is said also that the Men of Haxan are great students of history.

His curiosity showed more. If you dont learn the mistakes of the past, you are
doomed to repeat them. Only fools learn just the successes of the past. Any idiot can
glory in his triumphs. To learn from mistakesthat is how you grow. And when you are
surrounded on all sides by those who are not friends, it is dangerous indeed to repeat
mistakes.
Wise words. Hrafner turned them over in his mind. A people always looking for
mistakes in themselves to correctand for the mistakes of the enemy to exploit. They did
not make the same mistakes twiceand kept track of those mistakes, just to be sure.
Students of history, with their books and scratchings and Loreguards.
Tell me, Errant of Ruin, what the Haxan would do, were they in our situation.
A hush fell over the tent. This was unprecedentedasking advice of a human? Of
Haxan? Who despised all that they were? Had killed so many of them?
He seemed almost scandalized at the very question. You are asking me for military
advice, littorian?
Be it for reasons good or ill, to us you owe your life. You implied that the secret of
the Mercy was no secretit was ours for the asking, and we simply had never asked.
Thus you owe us a debt of honor, and thus I would see it repaid, Hrafner reasoned
calmly, taking care to appear neither proud nor smug.
Hard eyes wandered over the gathered warriors there, reading them far more easily
then they doubtless wished. The warriors stirred uneasily, in reflexive challenge to the
power of his stare, but none made move or comment as his eyes dropped to Hrafners
once more.
I am no great general, littorian. The Men of Ruin are not trained as leaders of
armies and soldiers. But I can tell you what I know, and some musings on the whole
situation.
Hrafner breathed out quietly and slowly as the warriors murmured their
astonishment. As your honor allows you.
Probably no Haxan had ever been treated so respectfully by any present. The Man
called Errant narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
The first step is to take what you know, and to eat the Truth of the matter. His
voice took on a reflective tone. You know that you cannot stop the numbers that are
coming. If by some miracle you did, you have heard the Adanche say that they are going
to wipe you from their plains. I will state that both of these statements are truth, and you
had best eat them, bitter as they are.

The silence in the room was thick and bitter indeed. It was indeed hard to eat that
Truth.
Now, you have eaten the Truth of the matter. You must decide on your goal. Do
you wish to cede the plains without further struggle? Then it is simpleyou flee after
your females and children, and wait for the Tauren to come for you, with the Jytan beside
you to help you do battle. But the Jytan do not know the numbers that are coming, and
you do. Fleeing is what you will do and keep doing.
Hrafner opened his mouth to object and a single glance from those hazel eyes shut it.
The hordes of Taurens he had seen swam into his memory with vivid force, and he
bowed his head in acknowledgement of the point. It would take all the force of the
Empire to stop them.
Do you fight for your lands? Do you buy time with blood and battle? Then you
must again eat the Truth of the matter and establish exactly how far you are willing to go
and what you need to do to make them pay. His scarred and callused hands, clawless
death, steepled in the air of the tent as his eyes wandered over all of them.
Or lastly, do you take the battle to them? Fruitless, perhaps. Unexpected, certainly.
And if you choose to do thisyou must Eat the Truth of the matter and again establish
exactly how far you are willing to go and what you must do.
Even Hrafner was surprised by these last words. The whole tent stirred at the very
idea of attacking their enemies.
I see you have forgotten the first Truth. These plains are no longer yours. His
words were merciless and had the desired effect. You have been renting them from the
Adanche for the last fifty years, for the sole reason that they, too, knew they could not
hold the plains against what was coming.
Now, tell me what it is you wish to do, and I will tell you what I would do. Keep in
mind that I am a Man of Haxan and I have no love of your people, your customs or
waysI cherish nothing of any of them.
Hrafner considered a deep moment, but it was the oldest of the warchiefs, Rashscars,
who spoke up quietly, perhaps overcome by the implications of what the Haxan was
saying.
Pretend that we were Men also, Man of Haxan, the graying warrior said quietly.
The thin smile that greeted those words created a rumble from the warriors there,
who suddenly could smell blood in the air. There was a ferocity in this human, a
dangerous light to his eyes, and a simple willingness to see the victory that was infectious
and frightening to behold.

This was why the Men of Haxan were feared. Cunning, skilled, and willing to set
aside all other distractions to focus on the goal.
Were you Men, why, then I would make full use of honor first, and pay your rent.
Hrafner leaned forwards with great interest. Then I would start seeking allies, useful
ones. I would be certain that my enemies choked on all that I gave to them. And I would
swallow my pride and get done the job done as I set a vision for my people to dream of
and to accomplish.
Hrafner held up his hand as the low growls of excitement started to rise. What
dream? he demanded calmly. He knew enough to know that doing anything would
require unity of purpose, and only the greatest of dreams would create the levels of unity
they needed.
The Man spoke slowly, his voice cold and clear. West of the Windreeve lay
thousands and thousands of miles of hills, forests, plains, between the Broken Lands and
the Lands of the Jotun Princes.
The former overlords of those lands are dead nowthe Wyrms. Upon those lands
your ancestors lived, and their descendents live now.
Those are your homelands, littorians. Those are the lands that made you a
peopleFelin, Lupin, Rhodin, even the Orc.
There your people groan under the weight of masters more savage then any they
have known. More savage then ever the dramojh wereand you rebelled and fought long
and hard against the dramojh.
THOSE are your lands. THOSE are your people curling under the claws of the
unclean and the perverted. And here you sit on stolen lands, preparing to flee to the Jytan
to save you as they did once before.
His disgust and disdain lit a fire in Hrafners heart, a fire fueled by shame and rage.
He had never seen things in this light, through the eyes of a Man.
You will never, ever be a people while you cling to the legs of the Jytan. You will
never be safe while you stand on lands stolen from others, be it as minions of the dramojh
or no. And any people who can sleep soundly while their own die to feed abominations
sprung from your own blood are not a people at allthey are beasts fit for whatever fate
deals to them.
It took great effort for Hrafner to seize hold of the rage in his blood, and keep his
calm. He could see, could see so much, see the possibilities of greatness, of purpose,
rising before his eyes.

But it was a leaders job to make the speeches, and look past the words to the Truth
behind them. His fist rose up and clenched, and the wildly rising words cut off like a
knife.
A great Dream. A worthy Dream. A Dream I would see done. Tell me now, Man of
Haxan, how this benefits your people. The Mans hard smile grew wider, and Hrafner
knew he had said the right thing.
To accomplish this thing will take the efforts of all the Felin and Lupin. They must
be called and take up the cause. This will naturally deprive the Jytan of a great deal of the
menial labor that forms the foundation of their Empire, and the common soldiers of their
military.
If you take these lands, you will take them as free people, not as servants of the
Jytan. This effectively means if the Jytan ever set their sights on the West, they must fight
their former servants for those landsfor I doubt you will bow again to the High Throne
if you do this thing.
These lands upon which you stand and which the Jytan claim are the homelands of
Men. One way or another, in some way and some day, they shall be again. It is very
much to our advantage if you and your people are not here to contest that claim alongside
the Jytan.
Hrafner grunted at the brutal truth of those statements, and the littorians growled
among themselves, nodding agreement with all he had said. The Haxan was no snaketongued diplomat, for the cutting directness of his words was plain. The simple Truth in
what he said was bitter and sweet and painful to digest.
Eat the Truth, indeed.
Let us pretend that we are willing to do these things you speak of, even though they
come from the words of our enemy and do the deeds he wishes us to do. The Mans
smile was heavy with irony. What did you mean by pay our rent?
The first rule of true war is to give your enemy nothing, and make him choke on
what he takes. A hairless arm waved to encompass all of the sea of grass about them.
These plains have two great assets which keep you heregrass, and the herds which
feed on them. Do not tell me that you planned to leave both here to feed your enemy once
you are gone?
Truly, the thought had not been a great priority, although taking some of the herds
had certainly been on their minds. And what would you have us do with them?
You know that to the Adanche the buffalo is a sacred animal and the very center of
their culture. You may choose to drive the herds into the north, and the Jotuns will
happily eat them. You may choose to take them all with youa difficult feat at best. Or

you can deliver them to the Adanche, thanking them for the gift, and stuff honor down
their throat just before you set fire to the whole of the plains.
Hrafners eyes widened at the scale of the Mans thinking. The Tauren would have
nothing to eat.
Except each otherand their slaves. They prefer mobile meat on the hoof. They
eat the dead of battle. Always forwards, forwards, never stopping to farm or establish
themselves, for they know they are followed. Set fire to the plains, they cannot hunt.
Take the herds, they have no mobile meals.
And they starveas do their slaves, Hrafner pointed out with a growl.
Aye. And how many of those slaves have you managed to free as yet?
Hrafner growled deep in his chest. None. Their minds are as ravaged as their
bodiesthey hurl themselves against us.
You face the worst of the slaveskept as meat on legs. They have no hope, all free
will has been beaten out of them. To free them, you must prove, again and again, that
their masters can be beaten. The senior warriors slowly nodded acceptance of that
simple truth. A hungry enemy is a savage enemy. A starving enemy is a desperate
enemy. I would prefer the latterthey think much less clearly.
And if we deliver the buffalo to the Adanche, what can we expect in return?
Hrafner asked softly.
The one thing they have never given yourespect.
And you spoke of other allies. Rashscars question echoed in the sudden,
thoughtful quiet of the tent. Mean you calling all of our peoples in the lands of the
Jytans to the cause of our Homelands, or something greater?
His head tilted thoughtfully to the side. There are two potential allies you can call
on who would not irritate the Jotuns, but to do so will cause a rift between you and the
Jytan that likely will not be mended. The implications I leave to you.
If you deliver the buffalo to the Adanche, you prove yourself to have a respect for
life and their ways that you may be able to leverage into aid against the
Taurenespecially if you formally acknowledge that the Windreeve is theirs and theirs
alone. Then you have in essence a common enemy. What proceeds out of that is for you
to undertake.
And secondly, I know that all Dragons consider themselves kin, be they Elemental,
Shining, or Enlightened. And thus some Dragons feel some underlying guilt of seeing
you and your kind enslaved first under their Elemental kin, and then their foul

successors.
Hrafners eyes were very wide as he digested that bit of information.
Dragonsguilt? The very ideaof riding again on Dragonback
The Jytan would never forgive us for dealing with Dragons, whispered Rashscars
into the thunderstruck silence. But there was no condemnation in his voice. He, too, had
seen the Shining Dragons from afarand could not remember a time when Dragons had
launched assaults onto the tribes, oddly enough.
The Jotuns have no problems with either the Adanche or the foes of the
Wyrmkings. They do have a problem with the Jytan.
Hrafner sat amidst the growing words being spoken back and forth, mind almost
dizzy with the possibilities. At last he lifted his eyes to the Man who had said these
terrible and wonderful things.
Please return to your tent. We must speak on this.
==Aelryinth
Errantry V
Undercurrents
They are making their moves in the North.
The womans deep voice was greeted with growls and murmurs that indicated both
lack of surprise and expectations fulfilled.
Yes. My kin inform me that a captured Haxan yielded to them great secrets of
battle on how to defeat the Tauren, and the words sweep the tribes and down into the
Empire. The tales grow in the tellingit would seem we were told how we could claim
our own homelands from the invading creatures called the Tauren! The sibilant littorian
voice was full of scorn and disbelief.
Already, they have manipulated the Six Fangs into positions of power, and forced
the Jytan from the Windreeve with pressure from the Jotun. Their cunning knows few
limits. The booming base of the Jytan warrior was clear and condemning.
The maps they provided indicate they have a superb intelligence operation, on a
scale like nothing possessed by the Empire. Furthermore, their mastery of the Overmind
is superb and subtleeven the finest of our agents who glimpse the maps can recall next
to nothing of them, nor can we access recollections of them from the Akasha. It appears
that they watch far more then merely hands and words. The dry, clipped voice of the
verrik was unmistakeable, neither admiring nor condemning.

The words of the Adanche have given us the first credible insight into the purposes
and military strength of the Haxan in some time. The loose lips of that Haxan indicate
quite solidly that they still consider the lands of the High Throne as the rightful
possessions of Men, and their ultimate goal is to reclaim them. An even deeper, wiser
voice sounded then, strong enough to make the room tremble ever so softly.
And what do you make of this unsecret method of solving Mithars Mercy? a
barking voice spoke up urgently. Truly, it is one of their most feared weapons, dooming
a warrior and those who rely upon him to be the last of their lines, unless they follow this
holy vows code of conduct. There are many afflicted by the Mercythe mere idea it
can be overcome heartens many as they wait to see how easily.
Human standards of holiness can be observed among their paladins and clerics,
especially their more pious ones, I would imagine. I would interpret that knowledge,
carefully leaked, as an attempt to spread word of their gods doctrines and impose their
dogma upon the Felin and Lupin, who would be most susceptible to their manipulations.
The dry hiss of the mojhs voice was greeted with growls of contempt and some
disturbed table thumping. The mere concept of a littorian paladin I findmost
disturbing.
No less then the rest of us, Master Fire. The great deep voice rumbled
thoughtfully. Is it true that they have actually been driving the herds of the plains south
into Haxan?
There is some belief that they may be seeking to make peace with the Adanche,
perhaps even forge some alliance against the Tauren. Strangely enough, the warriors of
the tribes are not yet abandoning the plains. Indeed, they seem more ready to fight then
ever. The littorian female held both pride and disbelief. After guaranteeing for
centuries that we would be too weak to face the coming threat while insuring they would
not have to, the tribes seek to make peace with them. This Haxan must have had a tongue
worthy of the Dragons themselves, to make them believe such drivel. Her claws raked
shrilly on the stone of the table, tipped with razored metal that expressed her indignation
well.
The words of retaking our homelands west of the plains has caught the interest of
many of the young, and the champions of our peoples, snapped the Lupin voice, now
displaying the arrogant twist of a Huul warrior. They begin to flock north to do battle.
The homelands of your peopleoutside the purview of the High Throne, the
masterful voice of the great Jytan said thoughtfully. If the Adanche retake the
Windreeve, then the writ of the Emperor ends with the lands of the Hiken. The Haxan
will have achieved two of their goalsof weakening the Empire and reclaiming lands of
Men, without ever raising a blade against us.
At the same time, they redirect the attention of the Empire to this looming threat of

Tauren coming from the West, disguising their moves superbly under cover of the actions
of a greater foe. The gruff, commanding Jytan warriors voice was still angry. And the
only knowledge we have of the true scope of the threat is that witnessed by these Six
Fangs, who uncoincidentally seem to be putting aside all concerns in favor of decisions
that favor the Men who have preyed upon them for so long. His armored fist shook the
table with a crunch of impact. And they forget those who helped set them free of their
masters.
Dwell not on past gratitude, warriorit is not the way of my people. The
littorians purr was blas about the matter. They will not rebel against the Empire. But
that does that not mean they will not leave it behindto find a place without masters at
the last. The idea of a homeland isinfectious.
And the Haxans exploit it marvelously. The great bass was also nonjudgmental.
For a people who pride themselves on truth, they are adept indeed at manipulating it.
And our actions? What can we do to counter this? The mojhs dry rasp held only
the slightest currents of anger. Nowhere are their swords in evidenceall they have
done can be seen as mere mercy and charity.
We must be seen to be involved in the conflict coming without stirring the wrath of
the Jotun Princes. A fine puzzle. Shall we fall back upon the old standbys? the verrik
offered calmly.
Gloryswords, adventurers, and mercenaries. Mere paid help should not stir the
Jotuns overmucheven Jytan mercenaries. The great bass voice was thoughtful.
And give us more eyes and ears among themas well as blades. The Huuls
agreement was evident.
Yes. And we must turn their efforts to our advantage, tie them more closely to the
Empire whether they succeed or notas well as send a message that these lands are not
to be yielded so easily. The great voice spoke with weight and power. On to other
matterswhat of the machinations of the Rynthi and their Zyayran brides? I believe they
wish to purchase one of the plantations of the High Seatwe cannot allow this to
proceed, it is far too great a security riskand the Azari are proving far too resistant to
inclusion in the Empire to be trusted
==================
The Graybeard in the Sounding Room listened long and intently to the voices. Who
those voices belonged to, he knew well, however they referred to themselves. The
listening device was beyond detectionleaded glass crystal insured that, the device
listening to the subtle echoes of the walls, not the voices themselves, secreted within the
stone itself of the meeting chamber.

The Imperialists would have been disturbed indeed to know the extent of the Haxan
intelligence apparatus, a network of information gathering that had existed for centuries
before the Jytan came, and lasted well past the time they came to power. Overcoming the
difficulties of the White interacting with the twisting of the magic the Jytan and dramojh
brought had created its own set of difficulties, but the people of Haxan were very, very
stubborn about overcoming difficulties.
The Rynthi would be interested indeed in what was being plotted here. And what
had that fool of a Ruin started in the North, anyways? The Graybeard shook his head at
the situation spinning out of control up there, and promised himself to see if that fool was
a Source who was involved. It certainly didnt feel like anything the Elders had
plannedmuch too crude and overt while working much too well.
=======================
Finding a holy Man had proven less satisfying then frustrating. Putting up with the
suspicions of the Men they hated had been worth it for the ultimate goal. From the initial
meeting with flat-eyed Adanche scouts under drawn bows, to the equally skeptical
meeting with a Man with the soul-searing eyes of those sworn to the harsh God of Justice
that the Men called Harse.
Perhaps surprisingly, they had been passed across the mighty river of the Silver
Flowunder watchful eyes of Men so hard that even the formidable raiders dared
attempt nothing. It appeared that matters of faith were a fine badge of passage in and of
themselvesnot that Grisnarl thought that less then an honest appeal would have gotten
them this far. The eyes of the Silver Marshall had felt like they were reading his soul.
And so, the Mercied raiders found themselves the first littorians to set foot
unopposed on the soils of Haxan.
Many curious eyes followed them and let them pass as they gazed on the simple
architecture and the green of the cities of Haxanthe paved streets, the many buildings
that rose, the precision of construction of clothing and wagons and everything.
Walls. The walls were low, meant only for casual defense against vermin and the
like. Stone, white stone everywhere as they went past those walls.
So much farmland.
Gardens. Orchards once heavy with fruit. Meadows with livestockcrude caged
boars that made their stomachs rumblebirds, the turkey and chickens of all varieties.
Towers after towers groaning with grain. Rank after rank of orderly homes in orderly
ranksso many Men, even in wintertime. Lines of homes and farms, rolling off into the
distance on these straight roads of stone that marred the land, tamed it, exploited it with a
maze of buildings and paths and ditches and terraforming

It was unclean.
It was power.
At last their escort stopped before a building, the only sign of its significance being
a strange glass building behind it, and a simple disk of the human sun god over the doors
at the front of it.
The Marshall who was driving the wagon in which the nine littorians sprawled
pulled the heavy horses to a halt. He turned back to his passengers, who had felt his eyes
upon them the entire journey, although he had never once turned back.
Within is what you seek.
They needed no impetus then that, leaping out with a litheness belying the time
spent carted about like a merchants wares. That did not stop their surprise as the
horsemen escorting them turned about calmly and rode away, and the Silver Marshall,
too, turned away.
You will trust you with your holy Man? Grisnarl asked in disbelief.
The weathered man with the soul-piercing eyes looked back at him with a gaze of
steel. Littorian, the first thing you need to learn about holiness, is that to be a true Holy
Man, it means your god is truly with you. We dont NEED to trust youyou need to
trust HIM.
And he snapped the reins and left nine experienced littorian raiders in the midst of
the land of Haxan, before a simple neighborhood church to Aru.
Grisnarl fought down a trembling of fear as the Men rode back down the road. Such
total lack of concern had a mighty power all its own. The wide-eyed raiders met one
anothers eyes, and then looked towards that closed set of doors.
What sort of mighty Man would live in such a simple place, devoid of
ornamentation, of glory, of deeds done past and present?
A Man whose god; whose cold, distant, powerless god was with him? What sort of
spirit could threaten such as them, weapons or no? Were not the gods of Men truly dead
and gone, fallen when the dramojh came?
Obviously, these Men had not heard this news.
Grisnarl strode up to the door and pulled it open, to reveal long rows of parallel
pews and a simple altar, which a single Man in robes of brown was kneeling before.
There was no trappings of gold and silver, precious hangings, no offerings to the spirits,
the whole of the place lit by two colorless flames hanging from the ceiling and burning

with an oddly cheerful light.

As he stepped slowly within, the Man rosea short Man, who would come barely to
the brawny warriors shoulder. He turned calmly to face them, the Sons of the Lion
waiting on the threshold of the door, uncertain of how to proceed in the face of their
fears.
He smiled, and it was the kindest and warmest smile that Grisnarl had ever seen, so
full of delight to see them his entire body seemed to want to leap and dance in sympathy
with him.
Come, come, inside. I understand you wish to speak to an old fool like me. I am
Ronald of Aru. He waved them inside, his every motion like a soothing balm, and
slowly, but with a growing lack of fear, the littorians set foot in a House of Aru.
=========================
Ah. The old man sat on the dias of his altar, thinking hard as he rubbed his clean
shaven chin at the attentive littorians. Hmm. Forgive me if Im wrong, Sirs, but it was
my belief that your kind did not believe in gods, be they those of Men or otherwise. Im
afraid that any kind of human approach to holiness would go over about as well as you
taking up tending flowers for a hobby. He waved at the back of the Church with that
delightful smile again.
For some reason, Grisnarl did not feel any of the hope he felt in the old Mans
presence waver at all. It was like bathing in the glow of a warm and gentle firehe had
never imagined he could feel so welcome in the presence of any Man, let alone a priest.
Our reasons for ridding ourselves of this Mercy are perhaps selfish to youwe
wish to pass on our bloodline, and be acknowledged as full members of our tribe again,
Grisnarl said softly, honestly not wishing to offend this wise and charming old Man. We
were told we must take Holy Vows, and to do so to find a Pureheart. The other Men of
Haxan have led us here. Where must we go?
Oh! Well, theres the problem, you seethey are Men like me and naturally theyd
think something Holy must be something I could teach you. They are ignoring the fact
that my people and yours dont think alike. He tapped his skull. You are a fighting
peopleyou live for the hunt and the kill. Youve got that lion blood in you,
carnivoreshumans came up from the ape side of things, tend to have a different
approach to life. Though Id like to have a head of hair like yours still. He winked and
laughed as he rubbed his bald pate, and even the dour raiders had to chuckle at that.
What Ive got to do is bring someone here who can talk to you on your own terms.
Once you sit down and have some snarling and growling with him, youll have a better
idea of whats expected out of you. It will probably be quite a culture shock, he wagged
a warning figure at all of them. Not Haxan culture, but a culture nothing like youve

seen. You think youre ready to start this whole shebang? Its going to take a lot of
willpower to see it through. His smile slipped into a more weighty expression, and his
kind eyes met each of theirs earnestly.
I have little else to live for but the regaining of my honor, Grisnarl said promptly,
words echoed in various forms by all those present.
Good enough then! Suddenly there was power in the air, power all around
thempower shining out of the old Mans eyes like the heart of a spiritual sun. Alien
pure, too pure and shining and warm to be real, making Grisnarl mewl and squirm like a
cub for having the temerity to bathe in the light.
He heard a voice too pure to be really human call out, words that at once sang and
thundered inside his skull with glory beyond what he could perceiveand somewhere,
something answered with a welcoming growl all its own.
The light dimmed and fadedand some of it stayed behind, swirling about them
with a truly majestic, yet fearful presence of power.
Grisnarl squinted into the light, and his eyes grew wide despite himself.
A littorian!
He had a mane like spun gold and eyes like the sun. His tawny hide rippled with
muscles and sheer power and vitality more then any mortal being could possess, and his
eyes as he met those of Grisnarl were full of understanding and harsh judgement and
wisdom and savage fury kept in check only by a magnitude of spirit truly daunting to
behold.
My friends, I would like you to meet an old acquaintance of mine named
Shaamavas. Shaam, these fellows are looking to understand what it means to take Holy
Vows. The old human, not looking at all out of place standing next to the magnificent
lion-man in his simple breech-kilt, waved kindly at them all. Why dont I show myself
out, and you can get to chatting. Waving cheerfully to the bedazzled littorians, he
strolled down the central aisle to the main doors and stepped calmly outside, shutting
them behind him.
I wonder what the Elmswoods are having for dinner tonight, the Saint of Aru
murmured to himself, taking up his walking stick and turning towards the house of one of
his parishioners. She needs some cheering up since the death of the new foal. He fished
out his deck of playing cards, fanning them nimbly in one hand as he walked. Ill stop
by Dame Beurus on the wayshe needs some company since the death of her man,
too. Humming to himself a hymn older then the oldest dragon of Haxan, Saint Ronald of
Aru headed down the muddy winter road, unperturbed by the cold, all being well with the
world.

Errantry VI
Tides of Tauren

They are a filthy tide, Mi-Kraum decided sagely, and cut a hyenataur in half where biped
torso met quadruped body. The thing fell shrieking demonically, spewing black blood
and organs that the Jytan was reasonably sure werent at all natural, but he had no time to
gloat in his deed as he brought his shield over to take the slamming impact of a leveled
lance backed by four hundred kilos of Tauren. The bossed steel shuddered and then the
full mass of the creature slammed into him, trying to bowl him over with momentum and
raw strength.
He hooked his shield up under its arm and heaved sideways, deflecting the charge to
his right, his sword arcing back and down to rip into its backside and sever its spine in
one powerful blow. The thing was laughing maniacally as it fell, still trying to claw at
him.
The Tauren were blackened by ash and earth, the signs of the wildfires that
crisscrossed the Windreeve so frequently nothing of substance grew there. Even the
smallest animals had long since fled the area, and grit and smoke clogged the air.
It was a nasty strategy, and it had workedthe Tauren preyed on one another for
food, and even now he saw some gaunt beasts grabbing corpses to drag off for food.
Bowstrings thrummed, and those Tauren writhed and dropped as razorheads drove deep
into them.
Around him Jytan lashed out with power, clad in full armor and erecting a shield
wall that the Tauren were clawing madly at with terrific strength and ferocity. Mi-Kraum
grit his teeth as one warrior fell back under the force of the press, and the line had to
contract relentlessly and leave him to be savaged by their foes. To lose your footing here
was to die.
The advantage of higher ground helped, but the power of their foes seemed
undiminished by their lack of food. A swirling mob of hyenataur raged at the line, driving
ever inwards, driven by feral hunger and demonic ferocity. Their burning red eyes would
haunt his dreams foreverif he got out of this.
The Legion commander had been eager to make his name and show the Tauren the
true power of the Jytan and the Empirethe fool had been beheaded by a berserk
hyenataur wielding an axe stolen from another fallen Jytan, and now the strike force was
surrounded on all sides.
Nobody could make a final stand like the Jytan, Mi-Kraum knew, driving his threemeter blade down once, twice, forcing down his opponents shield and splitting its
narrow skull. Behind them, the auxiliary elements at the summit of this short hill were

making every arrow count, a continuous rain of shafts sheltered behind the shields that
were intercepting most of what was being shot back up at them.
Most, but not all. An arrow whined off his helm powerfully, and Mi-Kraum grit his
teeth. The hyenataur were good archers, wielding bows fully as strong as those of a Jytan,
and the mobility of cavalry. Their mocking laughs as they dropped a Jytan on the line and
a pair of archers was sickening to hear.
Silver flashed in the dusk.
No silver horn rising high. No roars of fury as they came to engage. They simply
came swirling out of the cover of the forest, blurs of camouflage magic leaving them
behind. Mi-Kraum blinked as he saw the first one thru the press of black bodies, driving
silver gray blade thru the backplate of a sniping Tauren as he lept up on its back, then to
the next one, silent and smooth and controlled. Around him, white and gray-feathered
arrows sped with terrific precision, over and past the grit-smeared figures bounding into
the rear of the Tauren assault.
With deadly certainty, the flankers drove into the sniping Tauren with merciless
certainty, hamstringing and hewing them down as their support archers formed a line
ahorse at the treeline. Hyenataur yipped and fell in surprise at arrows suddenly protruding
out the front of their skulls and chests, and Mi-Kraum felt his hopes rise as he bellowed
to keep the attention of the beasts before him.
He estimated over threescore were down before the first cry of alarm, the rearmost
Tauren bucking and dropping in a broad scythe from the silent assault. That cry was
almost lost in the tumult and crashing of huge bodies and masses of metal ringing on one
another, then some of the more attentive snipers looked around to see what had happened
to their fellows. Their shrieking yowls of alarm were enough to cause confusion and get
the startled Tauren looking around for a new threat.
Thats when the horns of silver blew, long and loud and rising like a thrusting sword
in the evening light. It was joined by the roaring rise of the littorians and the howls of
gleeful Lupin, as radiant white, sheer and bold, blossomed above the hilltop and threw
the Imperial troops into stark relief against their confused enemies.
Points of silver fire ignited along the treeline, lept out in streaks of white flame that
smashed into the Tauren and ignited their mangy hides hungrily. At much the same time,
a magical salvo tore into the creatures in a roar and blast of fire and lightning, tossing
dark bodies every which way in screaming surprise and impressive pyrotechnics.
Well, they know how to make an entrance, Mi-Kraum thought with a smile, pressing
forwards now as all around him whooping cries went up and the beleaguered legionnaires
cheered. The Tauren were milling about, uncertain of which way to flee, now getting
squeezed as the Jytan surged down and caught them between slinking death and hewing
blades.

Mi-Kraum wasnt sure where the cavalry came from, but the flash of white and the
unmistakable crash of a charge going home came from the opposite side of the hill,
raising howls of terror as silver flashed up into the deepening dark. Any semblance of
cohesion dissolved as the beleaguered Tauren broke and fled in every direction, unable to
tell where their foes were attacking from.
Mi-Kraum hamstrung his opponent as it turned to flee, followed up with a one stride
blow in passing as its rear legs gave way, removing its hyens head like a candle stump,
and sending a spray of tainted blood fountaining into the air.
Something soared almost ten meters thru the air, led by a silver gray blade that
rippled and cut the air itself. A huge hyenataur wielding an axe as tall as Mi-Kraum
himself just had time to scream in surprise as the purity of that stroke clove breastplate,
breastbone and dark heart in one smooth motion of fluid power.
The follow-up arrow jutting out of its left eye was just insurance. Mi-Kraum pursed
his lips, silently impressed and knowing that sword all too well.
Final volleys chased the Tauren as they went crashing away into the night, howling
yips rapidly fading as they put distance between themselves and pursuers.
==============
The hanging radiance hadnt faded, a hot point of harsh silver light that made sight
unusually easy as the wild chaos of battle faded. Blades were flashing with finality as the
wounded Tauren were finished off, and their relief came trotting into the air of open
sight, bearing their own ready weapons.
Plunge daggers. Mi-Kraum frowned in distaste as the force of Men, Felin, and Lupin
fanned out quickly, driving the blades deep into the vital areas of the fallen corpses.
Alchemical poison drove into the carcasses, reacting with the blood and rapidly spreading
through the bodies, rending them massively debilitating to any sentient creature that ate
them. The effect had been described to him like having your brain dipped in acidbefore
the Tauren had realized what the defenders of these lands did to carcasses, theyd lost
whole tribes to fits of poisoned frenzy and assaults by opportunistic raiders. As one
Haxan had put it, Leave em for the flies. The bats are eating well.
They were thorough and quick, obviously having done this before. Even severed
body parts got the treatment. The Jytans were pulling back into lines and assessing their
wounded as the smaller folk worked quickly.
Master Lone of Ruin! A soot-streaked face turned on him and caught his eyethe
power of his stare singled him out of the curious looks being sent his way as easily as a
waved flag.

Captain Mi-Kraum. Despite not having the volume of a Jytan, the Mans voice
carried plenty well as he strode over the tumbled and hacked bodies with easy balance.
He offered a casual salute to a missing hat brim, and Mi-Kraum returned it as he removed
his own great helm. What brings you into the Highlands, Captain? I was under the
impression the Empire was having its own problems with its wall.
Mi-Kraum blinked, looking around carefully. Ah, we seem to have strayed over the
border in our withdrawal. I wasnt aware we were on Harken lands, sir.
The grimy Haxan pointed back along the path of the Jytan retreat. Half a league
that way is the official border. The Tauren have been knocking over the way markers and
blazes, but any competent tracker in the area would know it.
I believe our head scout got himself eaten. The Haxan barely flicked an eyebrow
at that news. It seemed he didnt have much respect for the stealth of the enemy.
Theyve been forced to learn it as they hunt one another. The Haxan was
unsympathetic, and now cocked an ear at the distant yowls coming back over the sparse
trees and hills. Theyre regrouping back that way, as well. I believe they still outnumber
both of our forcesbut with any luck theyll pick up the feast they left off earlier.
Mi-Kraums eyes widened. You poisoned the dead back along our path?
The Watchers are sneaky bastards, and weve a few eagle totem faen who love the
trickery. With any luck, in about an hour half the Tauren are going to be in their own
personal hell. His eyes looked north and east with grim expectation. Theyve taken to
killing those going cannibal-mad and eating themthe poison doesnt pass a second
time. If we can get just close enough, we could let them do the work, and fall on them as
they gorge. More likely theyll just take the dead and run, however.
Mi-Kraum pursed his lips thoughtfully. Well, we wont be leaving the way we
came. I believe there is another force north of here which will surely be alerted by the
noise.
Rhoditaur. Theyve been playing sniping games with the Adanche. Tribe of about
four hundred trying to secure some sort of foothold. I imagine they are quite interested in
what the hyenataur fighting condition is about now.
Id estimate somewhere under three hundred. Mi-Kraum surveyed the battle scene
grimly, then looked upwards sharply. Is that light a wise idea? It could doubtless be
seen for leagues.
Were hoping the rhoditaur send some scouts to investigate, Errant deadpanned in
response. Mi-Kraum just grunted and shook off a smile. Of course, he thought. Draw the
flies to the honey.

Well be happy to let you withdraw back to the Flow. I dont think you want to try
the Kraggen. He plinked the Jytans armor with a startlingly loud flick of his finger. A
death sentence in the old swamp east of them. You can ferry downriver from there, and
back to Throne lands. How fast before you can get moving? This much food, Tauren
flock for milesespecially once the birds start circling.
Mi-Kraum winced. Weve wounded, and in heavy armorwell be able to march,
but dont expect a speedy retreat.
Then get moving as soon as possible. Ill send out the screenbut as soon as the
light goes out, they are going to be racing here with stomachs rumbling. I expect theyll
be butchering one another soon enough, and Id like you out of the way so we can deal
with stragglers and the unwary once the feasting has begun.
Mi-Kraum was stung. Not all of us are unable to fight, Haxan, he said pointedly.
If there was more fighting to come, he wanted a piece of it.
You see to the safety of your people, and then well see about getting you some
guts to smell up your armor some more, Errant replied with a steely calm that impressed
even the experienced Jytan warmain. Not before. He gave that hatless salute again,
turning away, and letting out a startlingly loud and clear whistle that warbled and hung in
the air like a living thing. Half his force silently dropped what they were doing and
headed out silently after the Tauren as quietly as shadows. In less then a minute, MiKraum couldnt see any of them. The rest continued about their tasks with the same
experienced calmlooting the dead, it looked like now.
He saw a littorian walk up to Ga-Rohj, a brawny younger Jytan wielding a spiked
maul, a horridly nasty armor-punching weapon. A few words of conversation, and the
Jytan grinned and nodded. In a matter of breaths, pieces of Tauren armor were being
heaped before him in neat rows, and with great enthusiasm the Jytan began to pound huge
holes into them. Mi-Kraum watched him crush a helm at least as solidly made as the one
he wore down to half its size, with a rather large hole in it, and shook his head.
Leave your enemy nothing, he remembered. Interested now, some of the other Jytans
called out, and soon massive weapons were being set down between corpses and with
much boasting, the Jytan began splitting them into useless shards of metal with great
crashing blows.
A hasty corpsefire was convened as the bodies of the slain Legionnaires and
Borderguards were gathered, a somber affair led with surprising grace and sensitivity by
the knight whod led the Borderguard cavalry charge. Rose flames sprang to life and
raged quickly over flesh and bone as soldiers knelt all around, consigning the dead to dust
and denying the enemy even the claiming of trophies of bone.
An hour after the battle was done, the hanging silver light winked out as the last of

the Thrones troops marched away, carrying their wounded and what spoils they could.
============
The Haxan is a cunning, murderous, and lethal commander, Mi-Kraum thought
admiringly. Hed been assured that the retreating Legionnaires would be meeting up with
Adanche horses who would help evacuate them more quicklythe less injured warriors
ready for more battle had not gone far from the site of the battle.
No, not far at all, you cannibalistic monstrosities, Mi-Kraum thought with great
satisfaction, watching the battle taking place before him.
The Tauren hadnt had the opportunity to scout the area well, as there had been
conflict arising between the rival tribes. The scout whod dug out his position and
arranged his camouflage said that the hyenataur had been assaulted by the starving
rhoditaur, and been forced to retreat, clutching their own dead hungrily. Naturally theyd
retreated to the site of the previous battle and the hill the Jytan had held so well, and the
rhoditaur had hounded them the whole way, dragging away the dead for their own gory
feasts, sensing weakness and the chance to restock their supply of food.
The battle swirling around the hill had been going on since just after morning as the
rhoditaur assaulted the gravely weakened hyenataur relentlessly, seizing the fallen and
ripping them apart in their eager hunger, an action matched by their foes. Feasting on one
another even as they died, the stronger hyenataur against the nimbler, more numerous,
and fresher rhoditaur, Mi-Kraum observed sagely. Truly mad.
Orders had been quite specific. Do nothing until there is a victor. If anything could
unite the two forces, it would be an assault while they were battling out over the rights to
eat one another.
That wouldnt be long now. The fighting had been going on for two hours,
interrupted only by the occasional gory feast. The hyenataur had lost half their remaining
number, which had been fewer than two hundred by the time theyd retreated to the hill.
Now the rhoditaur were gathering again, readying for a charge backed by archery.
And here came the countercharge, as the hyenataur determined that taking more of
the enemy with them was infinitely preferable to being massacred. The rhoditaur
scattered from the path of the charge, then wheeled and closed in on it from the sides.
The hyenataur smashed through the feeble line and into the trees, fleeing for their lives,
and the rhoditaur followed like coursing hounds after them.
But not far. There was far too much food here for the taking, and the rhoditaur didnt
want to leave it behind.
Mi-Kraum thought about how the scout had pointed out that the most obvious path
of flight led to a dead ended stream basin, a big too steep for any large quadruped to

climb out of. And the rhoditaur knew about it.

Yes, a sneaky, cunning, murderous bastard, Mi-Kraum reflected, watching the
hyenataur stream down that way, and the majority of the rhoditaur after them.
Those who had stayed behind were the only ones who were, as rams horns blew
braying, shrieking notes of triumph.
And the Borderguards opened up.
How theyd gotten into position Mi-Kraum chalked up to more camouflage magic
and the heat of combat. The two racing hordes had raged right through the center of the
line of archers that opened up on the rhoditaur distracted by the feast all around them.
Soot-covered bodies twisted and fell. Mi-Kraum exhaled and drove to his feet, his
shield in his hand, and broke into a long-legged, lumbering trot as he tore thru the
screening brush, and saw his fellows and their archer backup doing likewise.
Surprise compounded on surprise. The rhoditaur were fleeing the devastating
archery fire and found to their amazement that they were racing right into the advance of
two dozen fully armored Jytan who were more then eager to meet them. Their retreat
faltered, altered course, and the flanking archers let loose, dropping the ones at the end of
the line as the Jytan closed in remorselessly on the first ones to close with them, and for a
brief minute a savage melee swirled over the existing stinking corpses of the dead.
A few rhoditaur managed to flee in terror through the lines of archersbut not
many. Death was the order of the day, and threescore rhoditaur were hewed or shot down
in remarkably short order.
No time to loot. Quickly the victors took off after the rest of the fighting.
More then a dozen startled rhoditaur sneaking back to eat died in amazement as
ready Borderguard arrows took them out. In less then a half klik the sides began to rise,
and the Borderguards fanned up the slopes with quiet skill and deadly intent, while the
Jytan drew abreast, the sound of a final stand ferociously loud ahead of them, scattered
dead of both Taurens littering the floor of the dry streambed like black stains, trampled
and ripped apart already.
A scout pointed out the sharp corner where it would be best to hold. Mi-Kraum
quickly waved them into a line just out of sight, peering around the edge at the new
fighting.
The walls were but four meters high, but that was high enough to be a deathtrap.
Rhoditaur archers were swarming at the top of the sides, gleefully pouring arrows down
on the trapped hyenataur as they fought desperately to break free. Greatly outnumbered,
the rhoditaur were also holding firm with commendable discipline, the glee in their war

cries obvious as they watched their opponents die one after another.
Mi-Kraum knelt, his sword at the ready. Another small group was sneaking away
from the battle, obviously planning to start looting and feasting on some of those already
dead.
They rounded that bend, paused in shock, and three heartbeats later were all dead.
Mi-Kraum left them in place, more bodies to stain the ground, not likely to be noticed.
Almost done, the rhoditaur were advancing now. Mi-Kraum fixed his eyes on the
rear of the horde, were a quartet of rhoditaur in barbaric trappings appropriate to shamans
or priests or somesuch were watching the assault in safety.
First to die, he thought grimly, as the rhoditaur advanced forwards, screaming their
success and triumph over the bodies of the hyenataur dead.
And in something under ten seconds, the situation changed completely.
Hissing salvoes of arrows walked across the line of rhoditaur archers upon the walls,
sending them twisting down off their lofty heights in reflexive shock and death, rams
hooves scrabbling futilely for purchase as they dropped.
The three spellcasters supporting Mi-Kraum stepped around the corner and released
their attack spells. Fire and lightning ripped outwards into the rear of the rhoditaur,
centered on the spellcasters observing the whole affair. Many blackened and died from
this first assault, seared instantly to ash, and then the wall of fire blew upwards, a full six
meters high, completely sealing off the cul-de-sac.
The Borderguards flowed into position with ready bows. The shocked rhoditaur had
time enough to realize their trap had turned back on them before the first arrows drove
down with point-blank precision.
The smell of frying meat filled the air as the Jytan swung quickly into place on the
other side of the wall of fire. A few desperate rhoditaur actually lept through the inferno
of red and gold flames, screaming their defianceand their despair as they saw what was
waiting for them.
Glittering golden balls were flung from above, fireballs roared and feasted in the
packed quarters below. The rhoditaur howled as they died, and surged madly through the
wall of flames. Charred, blinded, and mostly dead, even their numbers werent enough to
daunt the ready Jytan who readily hacked them down, heaping up burning bodies in front
of their line.
It was long minutes before the archers rested their bows, and signaled the all clear.
With a sigh of relaxed concentration, Mi-Kraum saw a fire-maned littorian rise to his
feet, and the wall of flames collapsed into nothing, leaving behind a veritable dike of

ashen, smoldering bones that stirred in the faint breeze.

A good days work, Errant said from atop the wall, slinging his crossbow over his
back, holding out his hand for a waiting plunge dagger slapped into it. Cleanup time,
people. Take what works, and leave them nothing.
==================
The first tribe of centaurs has reached the eastern end of the plains. The Dragons
have eaten all their fliers, but they cant stop the scriers. The centaurs have a pretty good
idea of the lay of the land past your walland thats a lot of open ground, which they
will be deadly in. If you had headed right back for the wall, youd be meat for their
bellies by now. The Mans finger indicated position, and distance along the path of a
march home.
Errant glanced around at the senior Legion officers, Mi-Kraum being deferred to
despite his lack of direct rank, as he knew the Haxan the best. The centaurs are the most
disciplined and civilized of the Tauren. They will send emissaries to other tribes as soon
as they realize the scale of the oppositionand the other Tauren will listen. Food will not
be a problem if they can pass your Walland the centaurs also have the largest number
of spellcasters of the Tauren. You can expect a breakthrough on your Wall within the
next two weeksprobably in the neighborhood of five thousand hungry Tauren. You
simply wont be able to whelm enough troops in one location fast enough to stop them.
Mi-Kraum kept his reservations to himself about how marvelously detailed the
Haxan maps of the Throne Wall were, every tower clearly marked, avenues of approach
and departure, supply routes, positions of depots, barracks, camps, and followersand
approximate numbers of troops, complete with commanding officer. That he showed the
Haxans knew so much spoke much of their confidenceand how effective they
considered the Jytan ability to conceal such information.
I was led to believe the centaur tribes possess some sort of ancient grudge against
Haxan? Mi-Kraum said thoughtfully, earning a grim smile from Errant, who slid a
knowing glance at the old Verrik serving as quartermaster and head healer to the remnant
of the company.
Their ancestors were the first of the Tauren. Horse nomads, a quarter million
strong, came along the same route as these. The Horse Lords let them cross the Flow,
then took away their mounts and butchered them. Less then one in a hundred escaped
alive. They fled into the Far North, and became what they are today there.
Ten thousand already attempted to cross the Flow already, further west. The
Warders collapsed their magical Gate with a Wardflash, toasting most of their senior
spellcasters, and the Horselords slaughtered those theyd let across. The Dragons had a
field day with those on the far side. This tribe is about all that remains of that one, and

that one was one of the smallest tribes. The centaurs might number as many as all the
other Tauren combined.
That was both comforting and uncomforting. Errant didnt seem very worried about
an invasion of Haxan, and all those Tauren had to go somewhere
So when the main thrust of the centaurs comes, they will seize the whole of the
Harken Highlands.
It will probably be lost before then. Its a constant struggle to butcher just the
straggling tribes coming in now, as you saw. Only the fact that they eat one another helps
us keep the lands clean. When the centaurs unite themwell, the Highlands, too, can
burn. He seemed resigned to the fact.
And they wont try to take the slopes of the Crowns? Mi-Kraum tapped the larger
map, showing the borders of the Highlands and the Children.
Someday you might see the natural barriers coming off the Crowns, and exactly
how unfriendly that terrain is to horses. If they try to advance that way, the Children will
massacre them, with the Harken right beside them helping. If they try a magical way
acrosswell, anyone who thinks the Dhatun havent been going over the defenses out
there for centuries just isnt thinking. I sure hope they try something fancy, like a smoke
bridge
Mi-Kraum grunted. So, they cant find a way into Haxan at all?
Oh, of course they can. Theres a lot of Flow to cover. Using blood sacrifice, even
their lesser magi can work some nasty, powerful, stuff. Pick enough points for
simultaneous assault, and sure, theyll manage to get across. Just wont be able to do it
with their entire force. So theyll try to swing around and get in across the trade bridges.
The Jytans eyes fell to Rivermet, Whitecross, and Shieldrose.
Youll collapse the bridges.
We built them, we blew them against the dramojh. We can build them again.
Doubtless the means to do so were integral to the very makeup of the
bridgewithout the means to be exploded, they simply would not hold up. Mi-Kraum
shook his head at Haxan thoroughness impressing itself on him again.
Could they forge a bridge of their own? he asked, thinking about how he would
approach the problem.
They tried building one of logs they managed to harvest from the Jotun lands and
drag here. The Dragons had a lot of fun cutting them apart from underwater. Ten
thousand archers cant do much against something below the waves. And as for boats

Mi-Kraum thought about that, and then chuckled dryly. Tauren on boatsan amusing
concept.
So it is the Throne at most risk. What can be done to forestall this? His eyes
wandered up and down the length of the Wallimpressive when he had first seen it, log
and stone and earthen embankments raised by Jytan muscle and magic to nearly six
meters in height, a formidable barrier. But facing a supremely mobile and intelligent
opposing force, looking more and more vulnerable.
The longer they can be kept on the plains, the weaker they become, and the thicker
you can build your Wall. It will reach a point, however, where they will just punch
through on the Northern end and come down the lands of the Hiken, whatever the risk.
And I dont think its possible to empty those lands in timethey will strip it of life as
they head south, and both Gunden and Dakon are full of flatlands.
Any force going into the Hiken lands can be pinned down by seizing key
strongpoints, as Im sure you know. The terrain simply takes away their ability to bring
their numbers into play.
But there are no such defenses in place there, Errant pointed out with equal calm.
A mass invasion from the North is not something the Throne has thought about any
more then the dramojh bothered to.
So we are back to attacking their stomachs.
And such big stomachs they are. Lones smile was withering. The average
Tauren clocks in at two hundred kilos. The larger ones hit five hundred easily, and the
monstrous ones tons. That much mass takes a lot of fuel to moveespecially to move a
very long distance. Thats why the coming tribes are so dispersedthey have to forage as
they come. The centaurs, however, once they hear of the difficulties, are going to be
bringing herds if they can. Its going to be a long, cold, lean winter up on the plains,
however.
So the Windreeve and our supply lines are our best defenses. We need to keep them
hungry and on the plainseating one another. The Jytan grimaced as he said it.
Or their slavestheir antecedents. Meat on the hoof. Mi-Kraum couldnt hold his
shock despite himself. Didnt you know? Thats how they survive the plains crossing
now. They eat their slaves.
Mi-Kraum felt a great and heavy weight settle on his heart, and an old, cold rage
start to waken down there, a rage he had ignored his entire life.
He thought of the Lupin and Felin he had known, strong, faithful, proud in their
freedom and their strength. He had dismissed the rumors of slaves, never having seen any
such in over a season on the Wall. Obviously a case of wishful thinking or

disinformation.
Meat on the hoof.
He ground his teeth and got control of himself, checking that ancient rage with an
equally deep reservoir of patience and control.
The Legion cannot rove the Windreeve without drawing the ire of the Jotuns. In the
interest of the former residents of the Windreeve, what can we do to support efforts
against the Tauren?
Start building defenses figuring theyll come down from the North. Build up your
wall, and lots of cavalry. Youll need them to fight.
Cavalry. An impressive and expensive military asset, Mi-Kraum knew well. Most
Jytan fought on footthe steeds war-trained and capable of carrying a fully armored
Jytan soldier were neither common nor cheap.
Cavalry. His eyes strayed to Rivermeton the opposite side of the Kraggen-Bor
from the Wall, of course, but still...
So, Master Ruin, exactly how much would it cost to contract five thousand Haxan
cavalry for a minimum periodsay, one month? The Legion officers behind him stirred
as he bent forwards and tapped the supply bases. I imagine if we set these up right, we
can make them at least a short-term death trap.
Errant considered that problem. Theres a lot of sword-happy youngsters along the
Flow itching for glory. I imagine the Horselords could spare some for remuneration.
And would the Haxans be adverse to renting cavalry to the Throne as needed?
Errant considered the Jytan thoughtfully. Mighty big step you are considering
there, Captain. And it wont be cheap. Youd have to talk to the EldersI dont speak for
the Horselords. The five thousand I can practically guarantee. A continuous forceyou
do know mercenary soldiers arent a good sign of the strength of an Empire, right?
Yes. But we dont need you for your power, we need you for your mobility, and we
need that mobility right now. And we need to keep the Tauren out of the central lands of
the Empire, too. Mi-Kraum studied the map somberly. Were going to have to evacuate
the northern lands, arent we?
I believe the proper term is reallocate assets to more defensible positions so as to
deny them to the enemy. Mi-Kraum chuckled at the phrasing. Doubtless closer to how it
would be phrased in court.
And the Felin and Lupin still coming north?

You need cavalry, theres a good core right there. And if you keep them supplied,
theyll be fighting the Tauren tooth and nail the whole way, just like they are now. He
gestured to the silently watching Lupin and Felin also gathered about the tables of maps;
former nomads of the Windreeve, following the Haxan who had become a lucky symbol
to many of them, and experienced newcomers, who knew a right bastard when they saw
one at work. Most of them smiled toothilythey didnt have to like to Haxan to respect
himor to get it in return. His advice had saved the lives of thousands of their people,
and was costing the enemy dearly in return.
Let us see what our superiors say, then.
Meat on the hoof.
Yes, let us see exactly what they say about this, Mi-Kraum thought, and the fire hed
been fighting his entire life seemed a fine, warm glow inside him.
==Aelryinth

Errantry VII
Kavorting with Kaorti
Perhaps it really did think it hadnt been noticed. Such was the arrogance of the
delusional, and the contempt for lesser races. Whatever the reason, the assassin was just
coming out of the shadows for his backside when it grunted to a halt.
The chieftains there blinked, and surged to their feet with a roar and snatching up of
weapons, but the danger had already passed. The dripping, wicked black dagger fell from
nerveless fingers, and the harsh white vivic fires of True Death were already blazing
around the wound as the Haxan looked back along his extended arm, to the blade the
leaping slayer had lept forwards and impaled itself on as it was about to deliver the
deathblow. Disbelieving dark eyes roiled with horror down at the human, then the mouth
behind the mask opened in a wordless shriek as the unnatural white fires burst up with all
the raging hunger of raw life, and Fed him to the Land.
Errant watched the ashes fall as he slowly sheathed Duty. Some sort of corrupted
slayer, to have True Death feed on it so. What agency had sent it would doubtless try
againthis time with somewhat more wary puppets. The chieftains stared at the ashes in
mixed revulsion and awethey knew what True Death did, and what the white fire
feasted on, and an unclean killer in their very midst was a very discomfiting notion.
It appears someone doesnt like the job Im doing, the man spoke into the sudden
quiet. Does that mean Im being released from service?

The dry comment raised some yipping and snarling chuckles. The Felin and Lupin
gathered about him scoffed at the idea, and settled back on their haunches to listen to him
once more. Errant pointedly waved a guard away from the fallen daggerthe Terrig
looked at him, at the weapon, and then backed away from it carefully.
Find me the Loreguard in the Haxan camp to identify it before we destroy it,
Errant said calmly. The striped Felin inclined her head and quickly paced out of the
gathering, while other guards raced thru the area, poking at shadows and sending lights
dancing as they looked for more slayers.
The word came in by Eagle flier today. The Wall has fallen in the North, and the
Tauren are pouring through. At least ten thousand a dayand they arent eating one
another anymore.
Groans went up all around as the rumors were realized, runners instantly racing
away to spread the news to the troops waiting close by. Errant preferred to keep them all
well informed of what they knew of the enemy, commanders and soldiers, one of the
traits they respected most in the grim human.
Its been a good long fight keeping them up on the plains. You all fought
wellmore then well. You knew from the start that you couldnt hold, and your job was
to butcher as many of them as possible to pay the toll of their passage. Anyone who
thinks they havent done just that, can leave now and join the Throne auxiliariesI hear
they are scrambling for more volunteers. Grim laughter greeted those words. In truth, I
thought wed have been pushed off the plains a year agobut the Jytan held the Wall,
and your peoples taught the Tauren to fear their sires well, indeed. Whatever has passed
here, congratulate yourselves and those who followed youyou fought as well as any
people ever have, and the Tauren do not wish to hear your horns in the night. I can think
of no finer tribute then the fear of your enemy.
Scarred heads nodded solemnly all around. He didnt speak idle praise on anyone.
Five total years of bloody battle had marred the Windreeve from one end to another, a
blackened wasteland of continual wildfires, interspersed with the heaped bones and
stunted growth of the twisted life that grew where Tauren died. Felin and Lupin cavalry
had been joined at the last by the Adanche tribes in full fighting form, bringing the battle
to the Tauren who had thought this land all but claimed, and mercilessly hunted the illsupplied Tauren tribes the length and breadth of it. Only the arrival of the centaur Demon
Khans army had finally forced them off the Windreeve entirely, and truly emptied the
Harken Highlands.
Six times, Tauren forces had breached the Jytan Wall, and each time the cavalry had
been waiting. Sometimes it was Haxan mercenaries, sometimes it was Reever tribes eager
for more blood, sometimes the hastily mustering Throne cavalry being trained to combat
the Tauren. Conflict had been bloody and savage, and Throne hunters would be prowling
the hills and forests of the northern forest for decades, if not forever, looking for those
Tauren that had escaped the battles before the Jytan legions could close in on them.

The Haxan had been there the whole time, riding out with the Reevers, butchering
along the wall, hewing with the cavalry. Two more thin, pale scars crossed his face now,
and a dozen more on his body, signatures of more roads traveled and those hed met
along the way.
I have never deemed to speak for any of your peoples, but am I accurate in
presuming that you wish to keep on fighting the Tauren? A loud assembly of defiant
snarls rose as one to his words. Thats about what I figured. But you know the game
changes nowthis isnt the Windreeve. Cavalry isnt the all power herehere, if you are
built on the waters, you can hold. Here, walls are important. Here, forests can be deadly.
Here is not the land of merely riders and runners, but of stalkersand of hunters.
And if Im not mistaken, I believe you are all born to hunt.
The Reever tribes rumbled again, deep in their chests, white teeth flashed in the
firelight with unmistakable meaning.
I would like you to remember that the Tauren are a people of open spaces. Perhaps
light forest, where they can maneuver those big bodies of theirsor the oldest forests,
where little grows beneath the trees. You will have to learn a new set of skills for these
lands, and learn the lands anew. The Tauren are heading south as fast as their stomachs
can drive them, looking for soft lands that have been getting reworked as deathtraps as far
and fast as your families can do so, and theres fortified cities all along the Flow which
the Tauren are going to find difficult indeed to crack. Theyve little experience in siege
warfare and assaulting military strongpoints, and we aim to make their first lessons
bloody, indeed.
A rumble of approval greeted those words. High Warchief Hrafner spoke up then,
leaning upon the renowned curved axe called Bullthe first axe ever forged for a
littorian by a Rockborn Mastersmith. The bridges to Haxan will remain open? This was
not an idle questionnot only had Haxan been the main suppliers in the North, but
theyd been doing a lot of ferry work around the Kraggenand thru it. There was a
sizable contingent of Reevers dwelling in the old swamp now, both securing it against
more infiltrating beasts from the north and finding easy succor from the Tauren who
couldnt handle the terrain well. It had been a prime retreat avenue for the Reevers these
last two years, and the Haxan Elders hadnt minded at all, not considering the Bor part of
Haxan lands. The Reevers had adapted with savage necessity to their new home, clearing
out old evils that in some cases had existed there since the dramojh, or perhaps longer,
learning from the reclusive swamp dwellers who lived there.
The Jytans have been making great efforts to secure the bridges, especially
Rivermet, as Im sure youve noticed. If they can hold the far banks, the bridges will stay
up, and the beef will keep coming.
Good. I have developed a fondness for Mother Becas Homemade Steak Sauce.

Said without batting an eye, and raising a few chuckles from all around. The Tauren still
do not appreciate the power of the river?
Actually they do. Theyve started bringing in inshotaur
Quiet silence greeted those startling words. The frogmen had existed in isolated
conclaves in the Bor, and been hunted down and wiped out by the younger warriors of
the tribeslearning there were inshotaur was an unwelcome surprise.
They have not been seen in the Bor? Sparleye spoke up with a snap of his jaws,
his fearsome morningstar Crusp held down before him. The Huul Warlord had sons in
the Bor making a name for themselves.
Some have. The dragons were watching. They, ah, ate them. Errant spread his
hands as eyebrows rose, and coughing laughs were covered up. They tried coming
across further west first, of coursehit a big section of the coastal homes in Haxan. I
guess no one told them that dragons could swim, and, well, they like frog legs
The Reevers burst out laughing at the image of thousands of inshotaur feeding
themselves into the jaws of waiting dragons. And the dragons have been following them
along the Flow and digging them out of their holes, Sparleye conjectured.
Yes, and that includes the Bor. Youve got some younger dragons swimming
around in there now eating stuffmight want to tell your people not to get too alarmed if
a Shield Dragon is found sunning itself on some mound with a bulging belly
And if they found something else the Dragon might wish to eat? Sparleye asked
cunningly. The Reevers had learned not to fear Dragonsat least, not to fear being eaten
by them.
Eh, Dragons, free food. I suppose it depends how hard theyd have to work for the
food. The Reevers got a good chuckle all around at that. Back to topics that dont make
me remember Im missing dinner. He snapped his fingers, and a waiting mage with the
glowing cheektat of an Auroran stepped forwards to place a crystal globe in the center of
the gathering, to an expectant and pleased rumble by the chieftains. With a gesture, the
woman stepped back and brought up a shimmering hologram of light, easily seen by all
present, which rapidly solidified into an extremely detailed map of their current position,
north east of Rivermet, and then expanded rapidly east, north and south.
Lets figure out where everyone is going, and what we can do to make life
uncomfortable for the Tauren. There was a chorus of delighted noises as the chieftains
began to call out their intentions, and the maga adjusted the holographic map with
gestures of a glass rod in her hand, moving little markers about inside the illusion as
easily as tokens on a tablebut far more colorfully.
Errant sat back silently and watched them confer and argue and arrange matters, and

the maga tirelessly adjusted plans as the seasoned warriors began to balance things out.
They hardly needed to advise him on how to pursue a guerilla war against the Tauren, or
on how to use the shock power of cavalry.
The arrival of the Loreguard attracted little noticeall of the Reevers had by now
seen their names scribed in books and tales by the everpresent Haxan recorders, and
many had paid for their own private copies of the tales of the battles of the tribes on the
Windreeve. Loreguard Johenson got a few growls of greeting, which he returned with a
quick bow before making his way across to Errant.
He was a smaller man with keen eyes and a quick step, hard and fit and as ready to
ride and fight as any warrior there, his everpresent satchel at his side with his pens and
papers. Hed been chronicling the whole Tauren campaign from the outset, and was as
widely traveled and more widely read then even Errant, and seen more then enough to
make his hair and beard start going gray early.
Errant pointed out the fallen weapon, which the Loreguard rapidly focused on.
Those watching saw him perceptibly wince as he regarded the thing, fetching out his long
knife as he knelt by the thing and carefully turned it over. Those watching noted that the
fallen weapon smoked when it touched the blessed steel of the Loreguards blade.
Thats not even of mortal manufacture, the Loreguard spoke up calmly, his
distaste plain on his weathered face. Matches some news we just got, toofunny, that.
Errant had long ago learned there were no coincidences too weird that the Land
wouldnt pull them off with glee. Hows that? he asked with the calm resignation of
one who had heard it all.
We got yellow clouds in the Highlands.
Errants head snapped around, and the gathering went silent in seconds as the
change in his scent caught their attention. The gathered chiefs there had smelled that
scent aforethe Haxan was in an ice-cold killing mood, very intense and not to be taken
lightly.
Didnt waste much time, did they? he rasped roughly.
No. The Elders figure they might have a relationship started up with the Demon
Khan, but arent sure, of course. The Loreguard didnt bother to keep his voice low,
fully aware of the chiefs paying attention to every word. Hard for em to endure outside
of their cysts, you know.
Yeah. Errants knuckles cracked loudly in the sudden quiet. They sending
anyone?
I was told that a lot of the higher-ups are busy with events in the West. They were

wondering if you might not want a shot at them.

Really. How gracious of them. Errants smile was both wolvish and acidic, and he
glanced over at the gathered chieftains, who were wondering what he was talking about.
Ribbon-men, he informed them blandly.
Hackles rose as did more snarling. Experienced warriors shuffled in nervous fear
and revulsion. Ribbon-menKaortithe twisted remnants of humans come down from
the Far Northancient, vile, twisted things, legendary in their insane disdain for all life,
and for the mad powers theyd mastered in realms beyond mortal comprehension. For all
the ferocity of the Tauren, the threat they bore paled next to the ribbon-men and whatever
insane plans they had.
You need some help dealing with thesethings? Hrafner asked softly, slowly
lifting his gift-axe. Errant shot him a look.
Highlands and not Tauren, Hrafner. Well deal with it.
No doubt, Sparleye spoke up, tongue lolling as he got to his feet. But I would
like toobserveribbon-men in action. Crusp smacked lightly in his palm.
Observe. Yes, a fine word. I, too, would like to observe. Hrafners toothy smile
was broad as he spun Bull once, weightlessly.
Ah. Well, youve been traipsing over the Highlands enough, a couple extra eyes
that can take of themselves certainly wont hurt much to have along.
A moment later a lot of other warchiefs were clamoring for the chance to be
observers. Errant pursed his lips and glanced at the Loreguard, who just shrugged and
smiled. They had no idea what they were getting into.
==================
The ribbon-sword was a blur, much too thin and fast to be a weapon, slashing away
with a speed faster then they eye could follow.
Bull came down with the full fury of a littorian high chief behind it, impossibly fast
for a weapon that size. It swept past the block and crashed into the chest of the warrior
behind it with stunning impact, and then was coming down again, driven by over two
meters of roaring Felin muscle, and then one more time with a ripping finality that
sundered the unarmor the creature was wearing and spewed unmortal innards wildly in
every direction.
Bull whirled with incredible speed and lightness in Hrafners grasp, the mithril steel
haft surging with power in his clawed hands, poised and ready for another blow.

Hissing ribbon swords cut the air with incredible speed and skill, and no fighting
style that Hrafner could discern. The resin-covered ribbon-men were faster and more
agile then anything Hrafner had ever seen, blurs of motion crackling with dark magicks.
He saw Errant parrying the blows of a ribbon-man, somehow managing to intercept
the slashes in a wild and swirling flurry of bladework that somehow filled the air with a
wall of silver and gray the ribbon-man couldnt get past. As its attack faltered, Errant
seemed to glide forwards almost without moving his feet, and slam his shield into the
creatures chest at precisely the right angle, driving the unman back a staggering step.
Before an eye could blink shut, Bull was whistling out and smashing into its
backside, cracking thru the frozen bandage-like armor. The unman started to step away,
ribbon blade flashing out to trace a bloody trail across Hrafners arms, when the blade
called Duty cut and thrust in a deft move that drove the creature right into Hrafners
follow-up swing. With a grim snarl, Bull came cleaving down from above and snapped
back on guard, and behind it the ribbon-man fell in two parts.
Breathing hard, Hrafner looked around, a bit wild-eyed from the speed and ferocity
of the engagement. He saw Crusp descend on the carapace of a monstrous scorpion thing
with enough force to shatter the joints of two of its legs, Sparleye bounding away as the
creature spun on him and reached after him in vain, metal cracking on immense tubular
mouths as he beat away its counterassault. From the new rear, other warriors fell on the
creature, ripping and hammering at the plates, one foolhardy flind diving beneath it and
out the other side, leaving a trail of tainted gore behind him.
A huge scorpions claw on the things backside snatched up the Terrig Shan-Mar like
a toywith a roar, Hrafner was attacking the joint of the claw with Bull, and saw Errant
drive his shield up between the pincers and wedge it fast, preventing it from closing and
cutting the Terrig in twain. Bull smashed down twice, the unnatural carapace yielding at
the second blow, and Shen-Mar was dropped reflexively as the beasts worm-mouths
screamed loudly enough to nearly burst Hrafners eardrums.
Mi-Kraums massive blade came down just once. Now nearly five meters tall, the
Jytan commander came out of seemingly nowhere and drove a blade taller then any other
being there completely through the beasts facsimile of a head, causing it to quiver in
shock at the horrible power of the blow as armored plates split and flew free. Bull rang
down again in a perfect shearing arc, and a tube-mouth collapsed, spewing the vilest
ichor imaginable out in a burst of gore that Hrafner managed to evade the most of. Duty
cut across on the far side, severing the unweakened leg that Sparleye had not attacked,
and the Warlord came racing in, Crusp in both hands, and swept the morningstar up in a
mighty blow that lifted the main body of the creature off the ground and exposed its
underbelly.
With the lightness of a fencer, Mi-Kraums massive blade swept over the heads of
all present and down along the line of unchitin plates, and cut the thing open like an
overripe worm. Armored plates tensed a final time and then ripped asunder with a

horrible wet rending of muscle and organs as the beast curled in on itself like a dying
insect, the worm-mouths alone continuing to flail and writhe as if separately alive.
Fire exploded in the sky beyond them, unleashed magic ripped and tore at the center
of a yellowish-white cloud spreading over the hill beyond them. Something dark and foul
fell flaming from the sky at the center of the igniting cloud of vapors, spraying bloody
remnants of itself that hissed and scorched the vegetation below the body.
Hrafner moved away from the tainted corpse of the scorpion-creature quickly, the
horrible stench of it cloying at his nose. He saw nothing else hostile in the area, and
trusted the spellweavers to see what he did not. The healers were already moving in as
the warriors staggered back, and the archers covered them with drawn and ready bows.
Theyfight well, Hrafner rasped as fragrant moss gathered up the vile stuff and
helped clear his nose. A Greenbonded female hyen by name of Tuftweave laid her hands
upon him, and golden energy sparkled in the air, gathering and dancing over his wounds.
Errant nodded once, sporting two nicks he rubbed some salve onto, ignoring the
healers all aboutnone of them could help him. Fast devils, Ill give em that. He
lifted his head to look around and raised his voice, How are all you observers doing?
Feeling nice and safe? The replies back were loud and quite spirited, telling him where
he could take his protection and safety.
Mi-Kraum moved up with uncanny grace for a being so large, his incredibly ornate
heavy armor like two walls of hovering steel around him. You were correct about
thesethings, Errant. The Jytan sounded vaguely surprised with his own revulsion.
They are indeed unnatural. As the Taurenonly moreso.
Older race. Another infliction on mortals. They can turn others into their own race
is the worst partyou have to kill a nest of them fast or they start raiding and increasing
the size of the cyst, probably with the best souls they can corrupt. Errant stood up again,
surveying the two dead mutated scorpion-things, the hissing bulk of the cloud-producer,
the dozen ribbon-men theyd surprised and managed to cut down without loss of
lifemore a tribute to surprise and their numbers then overwhelming skill. Usually the
Jotuns deal with thembut theyve been distracted for some time now.
Mi-Kraum looked suitably abashed. Indeed. He waved his gauntleted hand, now
larger then Errants head, at the scattered dead, which were now slowly starting to burn
with vivic fires. Is this the sum of their defenses?
Errant cocked an eye up at the Jytan. In case you hadnt noticed, they are a lot
smaller then you. So will the cyst beand we havent met any of their spellcasters yet.
The Jytan Paragon frowned, unexpectedly reminded of some of the downsides of
being taller and stronger then those about him.

=========================
Hrafner had been getting somewhat cocky, he realized somberly.
He had admired the way the Haxans fought for so long, it had taken him some time
to realize he wasnt afraid of them anymore. He had realized it was partially because his
own skill was increasing with the battles he fought and foes he faced, and hed been able
to stand back and watch the Haxans, and see just how much more competent and unified
they were then the average member of his peoplehow much they pushed themselves to
excel and forge themselves into a unified team that could act as one unit.
He had been getting overconfident because, well, Haxans werent impressive
anymore.
Hed never met a Haxan as strong as he wasand precious few as fast. Only the
Harkens might grow to match his height, and perhaps his strengthHaxans didnt.
Even Errant of Ruin, the terrible, cunning, lethal bastard of a Haxan, had begun to
lose his mystique. He simply wasnt that strong; of all the warriors there, he was probably
the weakest. Nor was his speed overly impressive, although it was true enough he could
make his blade dance with a skill and surety not even Sparleye could match. He was
tough enough, to be sure, and he had to be since the healers could not aid him. The fact
he had made it through so many battles without the benefit of healing magic was quite an
accomplishment all by itself.
Still, Hrafner was reasonably sure that if they came to blows, his greater strength
and speed would carry the day. Not that he wished to do such a thingso many Reevers
owed the Haxan their lives and respect it was unthinkable to turn on him so.
And then Hrafner had seen him charge the spellcasters.
He made a target of himself, racing across the floor with impressive speed, directly
for the warped unhuman things, in this natural cistern that had been emptied of water and
coated with the vile paste of the creaturesa paste now burning slowly with the white
fires, forcing the creatures to act before their lair became a deathtrap. As the rest of the
force battled savagely with desperate ribbon-men, the Haxan had somehow slid past their
ranks and raced for the magi. Hrafner had gaped at his foolhardiness as three twisted
bone-staves forged from unnameable beasts were leveled at him, and the magic lept forth
to annihilate him.
Space twisted, fleshfires burned, the mere fallout of the mind-charring magic seared
Hrafners thoughts with the threat of madness.
Errant didnt even slow down. A three meter height he hit with one step, went up
vertically, and was somehow over the edge and directly in front of the three and then
between them, slamming the foremost one backwards and dropping into a whirling spin

that sent all three of the spellcasters slamming to the phlegm-covered rock, and ending
with him smoothly back on his feet, his blade gripped in both hands now, and the
spattered echoes of their protective spells breaking all around him.
As they rose, clawing for their magic, he hit them. Without armor, and their
defensive spells shattered, he hit them hard. Duty was a blur of motion, ripples of power
following it in the air as he swept it through the hapless spellbinders. Two of them didnt
survive the follow-up attacks, the third was sent tumbling back to the ground, nearly
eviscerated, and Errant grimly followed thru to make sure it was so.
All this, while Hrafner beat down savagely on a ribbon-man in twistedly ornate
bandage-armor who was taking his best and giving it back with a terrifyingly fast ribbon
sword, keeping up pace with Bulls dizzying speed seemingly without effort while his
macabre armor took the force of Hrafners best blows and returned for more. Even the
berserker fury of the Wolverine was not sustaining him against the slicing assaults that
were getting closer and closer to his vitals
Duty sliced in nimbly at the back of the ribbon-mans knee. A flicker-thrust heading
for Hrafners throat jerked off balance, and Bull lept in with no parry blunting its force,
promptly cleaving the masked creatures distorted skull in twain.
Without letup, the Haxan drove shield-first into the next ribbon-warrior, who was
matching his blade against the slapping parries and threatening claws of the gold-maned
Grisnarl, whose claws gleamed gold and burned with a soulfire of grim yet gentle
luminosity. Thrown off-balance, the ribbon man lurched forwards into Grisnarls
embrace, who wrapped him up in his arms and took him to the floor in a rolling, ripping
ball of golden fur, fire, and flaming bandages.
That was the turning point, as the line broke open and the other warriors crowded
past to relieve those stymied by the wild skill and power of the desperate defenders. In
less then a minute, surrounded and outnumbered, the ribbon-men were hacked down,
none managing to escape.
Hrafner nearly collapsed as the rage of his totem began to leave him, blood loss
leaving him light-headed and swaying on his feet. He dug out one of the strips of buffalo
meat treated for just such occasions, chewing on the spiced strip and feeling a tingle of
healing power wash through him, staving off unconsciousness and stanching any further
bleeding from the score of razored lines etched into his hide by that damnably fast sword.
Grisnarl came up beside him, the ichor of the one hed slain burning off his fur,
teeth, and claws in swirls of gold that matched the light behind his eyes. The former
raider carried no weapons now, nor did he need anyone could see the sun behind his
eyes, burning in his hands, and the power he served had indeed gifted him
withsomething. He and the other formerly Mercied members of the tribe had returned
very changed from a year in Haxan, if anything even more devoted to the tribe and their
battles then beforeand devoted to something else that both thrilled and frightened their

tribesmatesand left them wanting to know more. Perhaps none had changed as much as
Grisnarl, who eschewed all belongings save his clothes and the weapons nature had
provided himweapons now as deadly as any sword or axe forged.
Still impressive in his own way, is he not? the older raider purred under his breath
in their native tongue, following the line of Hrafners gaze knowingly. He is short, he is
weakand he doubtless saved all our lives five times over. Hrafner glanced at him,
curious. Did you not see the foul carvings on the walls as we came down? He led us
down every passage, and not a single magical trap was sprung, nor did they sendings they
hurled forth at us reach usbecause he was in the way.
Comprehension dawned in Hrafners eyes. The Haxansthey defy magic. He led
us down here to do what he could not
And he made sure that we could do it, by removing that which would have slain us.
Perhaps he will not slay the Tauren as fast and ably as do you, my chieftain, but he can
still deliver them to you to be slain. Grisnarl regarded the Man as he went up and down
the line quickly, Duty flashing across every ribbon-man corpse, directing the Lupin and
Felin to search the dead and wait on exploring the rest of the complex for him by
mentioning traps of magic. They had all seen him weather the storm of hurled power, and
none chose to gainsay him that, even those lusting most for riches.
Hrafner considered a battle with the Haxan without Bulls power humming in his
hands, without magic strengthening the mail he wore, the buffalo-horn bracers that he
wore that gave strength and endurance to his limbs lying dormant, the charms and
talismans he had collected over the years so many pretty trinkets.
That would be a near thing at best, he thought, fighting on the Haxans terms. He
was still stronger, still faster, still possessed of a fine weaponbut, he realized, he had
come to rely on the power of his equipment, too, as much as any warrior might.
Perhaps he still is impressive after all these years, Hrafner conceded in a low
growl. But do not tell him I said so!

==================
At this point, Hrafner is a Wolverine Totem Warrior/16, Littorian/3, the most
respected Chieftain of the Reever tribes. He is using a Perfect Axe +4 of Speed named
Bull, which works quite well indeed with the ferocity of his totem (and is the first ever
made for a littorian). Note that hes almost hit the Karmic CeilingSparleye, the huul
Warlord Wolf Totem warrior, has done so.
Grisnarl has elevated his lion totem to that of the Leonal who converted him (whom
he considers a spirit of the Celestial Lion), and by the grace of the divine traded many of

his class abilities for combat capabilities more in tune with his new beliefs. He could be
considered to be a devotee of the Companions and under a Vow of Poverty, with combat
feats oriented around open hand damage and attacks, more like a Monk or an Oathsworn.
Since he is under holy vows, the Mercy of Mithar has no effect on him. His fellow raiders
are all followers of the Companions, some with levels in holy warrior, and a few with
Prestige Classes, the most popular of which is the Stalker of Karaash.
Mi-Kraum is around 18th level, with levels in Warmain, Jytan, and Paragon. Hes
big, bad, and his definitive harness looks quite impressive on him with the twelve-foot
blade of a dire Giant greatsword gripped in his hand, and as hinted at in the previous
story, can call upon Chi-Julud nowwhich comes in handy for hewing down large
amounts of 4 HD critters in the minimum amount of time.
Good ol Errant hasnt gotten anymore dangerous then before, at the Karmic Ceiling
and spending xp on other stuff that isnt as obvious as combat training. Hes still an
impressive combatant, and this is the first time any of the Reevers have seen his Source
Resistance at work. Hes definitely not as strong as those around him (Str 18 or 19 about
now, while the chieftains are routinely being buffed to low 20s at the least. Hrafner sits
around a 28 most of the time, and stronger when raging), but his Devotions give him a
crisply higher BAB, and his fighting style of forging openings for others and capitalizing
on openings they provide means he can leverage a lot of teamwork to maximum effect.
Errantry VIII
Haxan Moves
It was wet, it was muddy, it was raining, and the ground was a slippery, churning mess, a
mass of heaving bodies and hacking blades where the best footing was found on the
corpses of the dead.
Centaur corpses, for the most part.
The bestial horseman in their tufted plumes had been shut down in archery by the
rain, and had not been expecting a ground attack. When it came surging out of the rain
from two directionsthreefourthey had panicked and lost all sense of cohesion, and
the battle rapidly devolved into swirling knots of the Tauren attempting to escape.
The attackers were sorely outnumbered, of course. There was no way sufficient
reinforcements could arrive to actually take on the Tauren in a fair battle at Northgate
without being seen well ahead of time.
Which is why the battle was anything but fair.
The Steel cavalry drove in from across the river, companies of heavy and medium
cavalry leading the way as disciplined lines of spear and shield men loped along in the
rear to cover the flanks. From the north, the Ahltaran paladine swept in, leading what

remained of the forces of the northern lords in a vengeful, smashing attack against the
rear of the Tauren host. And out of the east, the Reevers had stolen closer then the Tauren
had ever expected and came racing in under cover of wind and rain and now tore a
bloody path through the central mass of the Tauren army.
From Northgate itself the main Throne legions had sallied, girt in heavy armor and
standing in hard lines of shields and blades, the ominous forms of the Jytan anchoring the
whole line. And as hundreds of horns blew harsh notes and gave warning between the
thunderclaps, the forces of the High Throne went on the assault for the first time.
The carnage was immense, the riders forging a path straight ahead as fast as they
could slash and ride, inflicting maximum confusion and panic on the Tauren. The Tauren
were fast and strong and able, but they didnt mass what a horse and rider did for the
most part, and were driven aside, lanced, cut down and trampled with a speed and power
that astonished them.
A military observer would have been astonished at how well the outermost riders
worked together, if unaware of the telepathic link between the leaders of the cavalry.
With eerie precision, they all headed for the lines of the Jytan, who were heaping up the
dead before them on long pikes and hacking blades with grim skill and resoluteness.
When the command came to peel aside, matchless drilling began the wheeling
maneuver just as the Ahltarans punched into the rear of the frenzied centaur assault, a
shining silver-sworded wedge of vengeance that drove deep into the black mass with
bloody lances and swords hacking down. But a minute or two later, the Steel began their
ride from the west, tearing into the Tauren like a saw blade as they rode down the
backside, and in minutes the Reevers on the far side were doing the same.
The centaur line was forced south between the lines of pikemen, mercilessly
chivvied and cut down as the Ahltarans rode their momentum after them, butchering
those that escaped the pikes, pouring down the avenue of safety and wheeling out to
support the flanks as quickly as they could. They were followed by the Steel, grinding
down the Tauren as they pressed for an escape and found none, and the Reevers poured
after them as well. Lastly, the Steel footmen trailing behind settled into the gap as the
combined force began its withdrawal back to the gates of the city.
Demonic energies tore at the sky, the clouds groaned and roared and seemed to split
aside, cast away by unholy power. The rain began to slacken and dim, even as ready
spellbinders warred with one another to bend the weather this way and that and prolong
the archery-stopping storm. The sally force bowed back as the Tauren began to rally, and
then threw themselves in a charge at the armored lines.
Knights on horseback were now heavily armored pikemen on foot, however, and the
whole line was a mass of glittering, wet steel waiting for them. As the precious horses
poured back into the gates of the city, the companies retreated slowly and with discipline,
impaling hundreds of screaming Tauren on their longpoints while the towering Jytan fell

upon any breakthroughs with massive blades and shield walls.

Spellcasters were warring with spell and counterspells, twisting and turning black
assaults aside, back on their casters, neutralizing some outright, some getting through, but
none powerful enough to break the lines as any such successes were answered in kind at
the same locations to slow down any attempt to capitalize.
From the walls above, siege engines sheltered from the rain opened up, and ballista
and catapults thrummed as they hurled forth their loads. Rains of heavy stones and lines
of darts ripped through the packed masses as the defenders on the walls opened up with
arrow fire from shielded battlements to add to the death tolls.
Almost with one mind, the Tauren assault broke and retreated, even as the sky began
to clear above. The Legion and the assault force continued to retreat into the city, for an
even larger assault seemed to be mustering in the shocked camp as those who had fled
began to recover and whelm, ready to try to assault the gates before they could be closed.
But the retreat was too quick and orderly, companies of exhausted men nevertheless
streaming through the portals past fresher ones, folding endlessly in under the eyes of
hundreds of archers on the walls above. The great gates closed, sealed with flashes of
spellfire and humming wards of great power, and the assault was done.
--------------------Companies of men were moving quickly through the city, making room for those
behindthirty thousand soldiers, especially cavalry, needs a lot of space. The retreat line
was startlingly simplethe same magic that had borne the Steel across the great klikswide expanse of the Silver Flow was called upon to make a sweeping road curving back
in that very direction, cutting through the waves and bearing whole companies of horse
and riders to the opposite side of the river once more, out of the besieged city and away
from the Tauren Host. A parade of swiftly-moving horses swept by out of sight through
the lingering rain, and to the waiting camp on the far side of the Flow, astonishing several
ship captains at anchor in the harbor as they watched literally thousands of bloodied
warriors ride by.
Errant saluted a few of the crews who were cheering and whooping the event, but
otherwise stayed quiet, concentrating intently on keeping his Source aura restrained, else
hed be taking an impromptu swimalong with those behind him. The curving path was
a good five kliks long, to a steep hill that would admit cavalry off the waters with some
care, and it was with great relief that his roan courser splashed into shallow water and
onto a sparse beach, trailing after the many, many soldiers heading upwards and north.
The Tauren could certainly manage a mass exodus across the Flowif so many
eyes werent waiting for them to try just that. The Tauren had lost thousands on
attempted crossings, both to spells that had mysteriously failed and to very large claws
coming up out of the river and taking Tauren down with them. From the distance they
kept from the river, it was obvious they feared the turbulent depths and the speed and

ferocity unleashed against attempted crossings.

And so it was that the strike force found relative safety in the scattered settlements
and villas on the far side of the Flow from Northgate, a maze of lesser noble estates and
farmlands abandoned a season or more ago with the threat of the Tauren.
How many you reckon we killed, Uncle Errant? spoke up a fresh-faced mercenary
in the colors of the Iron, gray on gray, the adjutant elements of mercs-under-hire to the
Steel.
Errant turned a dry glance on his nephew Tomal, who looked almost as bedraggled
as he did. He wore his Armsbrother badge proudly, however, and had done his job well,
planting himself at his Uncles offside and guarding his flanks from any surprise attacks.
I reckon twenty to thirty thousand at least. Wedve killed more had the weather
been clear, but wed never have been able to withdraw back in time. Still, a good hit.
We helped fill their larders again, snarled a flind jokingly behind the young
Haxan, half his right ear missing from beneath his helm. Tomal just grinned.
Better one another then us or the land, the young Haxan answered back easily,
undeterred. Their cannibalism was just one more reason to kill them all.
It had been a long three years, being driven back down from the North. The Tauren
had come crashing in and swept everywhere in great moving hordes of archers and the
more bestial combatants of the non-centaur tribes. There simply was no stopping
themthey moved too fast, in too many numbers, and drove everything behind high
walls and desperate magicks to maintain those walls as they thundered where they willed.
The fortified cities of the northern Throne had caused them a great deal of
difficulties, as they had learned to their dismay at Rivermet. Failing to reduce the city,
they had been harried unmercifully from the rear by continual reinforcements coming
upriver and been forced to encamp a sizable force there to prevent such activities.
Smaller towns that had been too foolish to evacuate still took time and blood to
overcome, but the centaurs were rapidly learning siegecraft, aided by more then a few
dark cultists that came flocking to their banners seeking to serve.
Eskelev in the north and east still held, open to the sea and its walls tall and mighty,
sheltering the holdouts of the North. The Sidhete had been burned by the Tauren as
spitefully as had the Windreeve, but less successfully, and Reever tribes and faen raiders
still took a blood toll on any who passed within or even near the trees. The Beastmen
tribes and many humans stalked the wild places and made them dangerous, and open
ground was left to the Tauren.
The toll of blood was still immense. Errant knew tens of thousands of people had
perished as the Tauren slew everything in their path, totally undiscriminatingand most

of those had ended up in the bellies of the victors. The Host of the Demon Khan had
triumphed against every force set against him, and was reveling in the blood shed in
service to the fell powers that had made him what he was.
What the Tauren would survive on once the people were off the land and the
livestock slaughtered was a good question, as there were no massive herds of wild game
riding the plains as there were in the far Westand theyd been forced to eat much of the
ones theyd brought with them.
Errant knew the Jytan to be incredibly angry over this invasion of their stewarded
lands, and a constant flow of them came via ship from lands to the South to join the
battles, as ready for war now as their ancestors had been when the last of the dramojh
died over two centuries ago. The problem was, they couldnt keep up with this enemy,
and couldnt corral them, either, as they had the minions of the dramojhthey could only
hold their lands and watch the Tauren ravage the area mercilessly.
Errant waved off the flind as he and his nephew headed for the Steel camp, where
most of the Haxan volunteers would be found. The twin mithril bars on Errants cheek
were all the rank he needed to be saluted promptly by any officer there and waved on past
without slowing.
He handed off his courser to an aging White, the older Steel who took charge of the
supply and logistics for the younger men, making for a round tent raised in the Horse-lord
style near the center of the sprawling camp that nevertheless was organized sharply and
precisely, with divisions of stakes, ditches, and pits against surprise attack that only got
more formidable as each day passed. Tomal kept up behind him, alertly scanning the area
for threats.
He felt the aura before he entered, pausing a moment in disbelief, before drawing
back the flap slowly and carefully stepping inside.
A dozen men, all of whom had seen at least sixty summers, were gathered there,
squatting, kneeling, or seated upon the carpeted floor. Errant indicated Tomal should wait
outside, and let the flap close on the wide-eyed youngster.
Errant had never seen so many Mithril bars in one place. These were senior
Horselords here, Men whod been causing grief in the west for most of their years, and
lately in the North, too. And as for the man in the middleErrant bowed very low,
indeed, to a Man who wore Sapphire on his cheek, and that only because he had not
ventured into Freesword in decades.
Master Daran Lone of Striking Lightning, the greatest living swordsman in Haxan,
hair gone white with age, but looking not much older then Errant himself. Even
restrained, the mans spiritual power raged like the eye of a hurricane, and Errant was
quick, indeed, to bow to a superior warrior and a true Elder of his people.

I got word that I was supposed to come here. His eyes roved the collection of
knowing gazes, settled on the powerful stare of Master Lone. Now, I can only think of
one reason so many Horse Elders would get together, especially outside the lands of
Haxan. Why come down here, however? He seated himself slowly and carefully beneath
the eyes of the Elders.
The Imperial General Ka-Shown has now taken command of the forces of the High
Throne in Northgate. We are, in essence, a diplomatic party. The roiling eyes of the
Master of Striking Lightning lit up at the jest.
They are not going to take the news well. Which was a foregone conclusion.
Doubtless not. But now, theyve their own troubles to deal with, and by the time
they do deal with them, I think that another prolonged conflict will not be in their tastes.
At least, for a time.
And youll make them make the first move, no doubt. Errant exhaled with a sigh.
Wheres the line being drawn? The Myri de Lis?
It is the most defensible. It lives us only with Carioux and Eskelev itself to deal
with at this point, Master Lone confirmed.
And the agreements with the Reever tribes? Errant asked carefully. He knew
where his loyalties lay, but the thought of breaking his word sickened him mightily.
Will be kept in full. The full force of the Adanche is reclaiming the plains as we
speak, and the Horse are followingwe are cutting the ties of the Tauren completely. If
they wish to claim to the West, now is an excellent time.
Errant scratched the scars on his cheeks absently. Thatd mean abandoning the
Jytan.
They have fought for the Jytan more then any Jytan Legion, and proven their worth
and their potential to the satisfaction of the Elders. I understand that the Great Totem
movement gathers subtle speed among themso much so, that they have been forced to
build a place for the seekers in the lee of the Spire.
That was the first Errant had heard of that, but he didnt inquire after holy doings
much, anyways. Since the Mercied Reevers had returned, however, there was definitely
more not-so-bestial beastmen around with fervent lights in their eyes, champions calling
on powers not quite so profound as things like Light and Life and Freedom, but on the
Great Lion and the Stalking Wolf and the Wise Bear and the Great Mare
How many are we talking? he asked slowly, looking around slowly.
Haxan does not take what it cannot hold. Errant pictured the numbers necessary to

do what must be done, and felt his mouth go slightly dry.

Someones been planning this awhile. He shook his head slowly. What are you
expecting of me, then, Elders?
You will remain with the Reevers, be it that they stay and fight or leave for their
homes. They ride Haxan mounts, they wield steel from Blackstone, you have made them
a fighting force more united in themselves then anything in their history. If they need a
voice from us, you are it. If they need someone to speak to us, you are it as well.
Errant bowed his head in acceptance of his task.
-----------------------------------It was strange how easily the customs of Men were impressed onto others. Looking
around the council, Errant could see easily the gatherings by Bar, how rapidly the
Reevers had taken to the Bars of Freesword and been ranked by deed and spirit with
those who had gone before in the ancient Hall of Swords. That had truly been a
transcendent experience for many of them, able to measure their worth at a glance against
their fellows, bypassing boast and deed and measuring their ability against all those who
had gone before them.
Mithrils, five in all, sat closest together in the center, behind them the Platinum
jockeyed for position, and the Gold clove to this or that greater chieftain or champion.
Lesser bars did not attend the council, if they were warriors, although Errant noted that
one of each of the Great Totem followers was present by default.
The air was expectant yet casual, jubilant but restrained. Theyd claimed many kills
at the battle the day before, and casualties had been light for the most part. They knew he
had received word from Haxan and wondered what he had to tell them as he rose and
strode to the center of the tent.
He lifted his hands, and the murmurings in multiple tongues died away. Felin and
Lupin stilled to respectful quiet for The Haxan.
What I say to you now, is being spoken before the commanders of the Jytan legions
even now, and doubtless being carried on the wings of magic directly to the Jytan
Emperor on his Throne.
The Reevers stirred uneasily at the unexpectedness of his opening, sensing some
great news indeed.
As of this morning, Haxan has moved across the bridges at Rivermet and
Shieldrose, and the entire tribe of the Adanche has come north across the Flow. The
Dragons come with them. And, they are still coming.

There was a hushed silence from the Reevers as they contemplated this news. That
what they might have feared for all these years had come to pass.
The Haxans are taking the lands of the High Throne, Sparleye stated with
characteristic directness, piercing stare meeting Errants unflinchingly. They both wore
Twin Mithril, and the proud huul did not fear him anymore.
From the Myri de Lis north, Haxan is indeed going to claim them all, in the same
manner in which they were gained by the Empire long agofrom the swords of the
things which took them from those who dwelt there before. Errants eyes moved from
one chieftain to another, able to read their reactions with startling ease, ranging from
disbelief that the nation could actually bestir itself to make war from its position of
safety, to sly appreciation of timing, to outrage at the duplicity of the move. The scents of
their consternation and uneasiness swam in the air, mixing with reflexive anger at the
very idea of an invasion of humans over lands they had fought and bled so much for.
Hrafner lifted Bull from the ground, and slowly silence fell among the warriors there
at the sight of the raised axe. His proud eyes that had seen too much battle fixed
unwaveringly on The Haxan, underlit by a smoldering anger.
And Haxans agreement with us? the great, now graying, littorian asked with edgy
calm.
I was assured that the word of Haxan remains as statedthey hold no claim to the
West, and any of your peoples who wish to pursue that claim will be allowed free
passage to your homelands, to take and earn by blood as is your right. He did not bother
to hide his own relief. Indeed, I was told that the Elders hope that you chose to end
battling in the service of the Jytan and take up the battle for yourselves in the North as a
peoplebut such a decision is yours. He shrugged. Of all those fighting the Tauren,
you have fought and sacrificed the most, and for the only reward being vengeance against
your foes. Errants eyes narrowed sharply. I do not believe you have been fighting for
the High Throne at allI believe you have been fighting with them. Who you just to
fight with now, is your decision as a peoplenot that of the Jytan. There were
immediately voices raised to challenge and support those words, divisions erupting
already.
But it was Errant who raised his fist to continue on, and slowly the crowd of
chieftains and warlords fell silent again, strong emotions simmering.
I will say only thisif you chose now to fight for the Jytan, forever you will bind
yourselves to them. You will have proven your loyalties and will be recognized for
thembut under the Jytan you will always be.
If you ride north to seek your destiny as a people, you leave behind what the Jytan
will consider a betrayal of allegiance and service, and you will be branded traitors to
them, by one measure or another.

Thus, you must choose between loyalty and service, or freedom and destiny. There
is no easy answer, and I have no expectations of yousave that at least some of your
people are going to be very violent towards me with such unwelcome news. He turned
on the great scarred warrior sibeccai Kas-Kirr, the highest ranked leader of the southernborn tribes, and a staunchly loyal advocate of the Jytans, almost frothing at the mouth
with his anger at this news, his hands tight on the long blade before him. There are no
other Haxans within a klik of your camp at this time. They await your decision whenever
you choose to deliver it, as a united people or divided once more.
Honeyed words from a false tongue! growled Kas-Kiir, rising to his feet, eyes
showing white as he trembled with anger. Both hands settled on the wicked hilt of
Breakhoof, his deadly sword. You have had us bleed and die for you, so that your kind
can take all that we have shed blood for? You do not deserve our trust or the honor we
have shown you!
Errants reply was icily calm. Never once have I lied to any of you. You have all
known that Haxan supported your battle. You ride mounts raised in our lands. You wield
weapons forged by us or the Rockborn. You eat food raised in our soil. You fight with
tactics learned from us. If you believe that we have used you, then so be it. You have
used us as well, for we have made you stronger as a people then you have ever been, and
given you something worth fighting and dying forone another. The Jytan can make no
greater claim on your souls then can we.
Accursed whelp of an ape! Die! roared the warrior, and he launched himself at
The Haxan with his blade screaming for blood.
Errant did not draw his swordhe simply waited.
Bull crashed down into that sweeping sword that would have opened up his belly
with titanic forceJytan-forged steel whined and shards of it spun away from the impact
as Kas-Kirr felt a huge hand come down and smash into his temple with stunning power,
followed by a rising blow from the pommel of the axe which lifted him off his feet and
sent teeth flying with a crunch from the impact.
Hrafner brought Bull down with a deep growl in his chest, glaring at the sibeccai
who had dared bring violence to a council.
More of our people owe their lives to this Man then owe their swords to you, pup
of the Jytans, Hrafner snarled. The motives of his people may be suspect, but his are
notI KNOW that he has no fondness for our peoples, that our ways are not his ways,
but I also know that he has returned the honor and trust given him tenfold.
And he did not bring a weapon to this council, either. There was a murmur from
the Council as they realized that, indeed, he did not have his deadly blade with him. The
shocking vulnerability struck them allhe had come prepared to die, and had left his

ancestral blade behind in that eventuality. Hrafners glare had not moved from the
writhing sibeccai who was clawing for his sword, but did not dare to rise.
Any here who think he makes decisions for his people, please rise and tell me when
he did this. It was Sparleye who rose now, his morningstar Crusp in his hands, humming
softly, looking more like a hungry wolf, old and battle-ready, then ever before. When he
was slaughtering Tauren beside us on the plains? Butchering them on the wall? Hunting
them in the Sidhete? Riding them down in Corix? Slaying them with us this very last
day? Tell me, I wish to know when he made this decision to sendhow many Haxans?
Errant grunted. By my guess? Over half a million.
There was stunned silence about the Council. That was more then the entire
estimated force of the Tauren in the lands of the High Throne. More then the forces of the
Tauren and Jytans combined. The sheer immensity of that many Men
Sent half a million Haxans across the Great Riverand let us not forget the full
population of the Adanche, eh? The old huul slapped his weapon, tongue lolling in
amusement, and then kicked away Breakhoof into the fire from the sibeccais straining
fingers. And you would kill him again for telling us the hard truth, pup of the Jytan? It
appears you have not learned how to eat the truth yet, eh?
Take yourself from this fire. Hrafners voice brooked no opposition, and the angry
sibeccai crawled carefully to his feet, shooting murderous glances at Errant, and made for
his blade. Leave it! roared Hrafner, teeth showing dangerously white and scarred arms
muscles writhing with readiness to kill, sending the smaller sibeccai scrambling back. It
will be delivered to your masters tomorrow to be returned to you! Go, and take your
rabble with you!
Snarling his hate and humiliation, the sibeccai stalked from the fire, and two of the
lesser chiefs rose to follow him. Hrafner gestured abruptly and pointed, and half a dozen
other lesser chiefs rose quickly and loped away to spread the news, before it was passed
on via the sibeccais poisoned terms.
The Grey and the Shining will now confer in council, Man of Haxan. Hrafners
addressing of Errant was anything but polite, and did nothing to disguise his immense
irritation with the whole situation. The rest of the Gold chieftains and warriors rose to
depart at his words. Remain! You will know by our words that we are not the dogs of
the Haxan, nor the hounds of the Jytan, and so you will tell your people! Those standing
resumed their places quickly. Hrafners eyes had not left Errants.
He was but gold. I have seen you strike a bulltaur and snap its neck with your
palmyou needed no weapon to kill him, growled Hrafner, loudly enough for all to
hear. You made no move to defend yourself. Why?
If I kill him, he is a martyred fool that divides your people, his death at the hands of

a Man fuel for the split. If he kills me, everything you have worked for is lostmy
people will consider it a declaration of war and they would indeed move to crush you
once and for all, having proven at the end that you truly are without honor. Errants
answering stare was as deadly calm as his voice. And you have learned that what you
will not do for yourself, you will do for your people.
Such as save your life? The littorian scowled more deeply, and Bull spun in the
firelight. Go, Man of Haxan. Again, you make me eat unpleasant truths, and I find that
growing older, they sit even less well in my belly.
Errant bowed once, and took himself away from the fire.
Errantry IX

Winds in Motion

Morningwind watched the work commencing from a klik in the air, her vision
enhanced to eagle-keenness, knowing the work for what it was.
A massive tailing of earth and stone leading away from a broad tunnel carved in the
grounda tunnel leading down and north east. A legion of Jytan and sibeccai, laboring
away day and night to transport the extra stone and dirt away as they dug a long and
mighty tunnel down off the Cloudseat.
A tunnel leading towards Haxan.
So, the Jytan were making a move as well, to threaten Haxans own borders in a
manner that did not interfere with their actions against the Tauren. Hardly unforeseen, of
courseshe was actually surprised they hadnt tried to begin a more covert operation
much sooner, but surmised they had more respect for Haxan intelligence-gathering then
that.
She privately considered them fools to so compromise the security of their capital,
but apparently the Emperor had had his ear bent by one vengeful Paragon too many.
Certainly it was a way many of the more peaceable Jytan could contribute without
entering combat. But now, they labored openly and with purpose, and the assets to
expand quickly below the plateau were being moved quickly into place, the removed
stone stacked and ready to be transported below and made into walls, buildings, roads,
fortifications.
Steps would be taken, of course. They would have to be. While the Golden Flow
provided a fairly decent barrier to military expansion, it also would mean ceding all of the
neutral ground between Haxan and here, including merchant trails to Freesword.
Allowing the Jytan to build on Haxans doorstep of the lesser rivers, and extend its grip

west to the Jotunbones, was simply not an option.

Apparantly, they hadnt taken the loss of the North and the ravaging of what lands
they had managed to hold well at all. The hostility with Haxan had resulted in the abrupt
cutting of food imports, causing massive shortages to sweep the Empire as they had to
devote more people to less ideal land, and were further burdened with the care and
housing of refugees from the North. With their cavalry undermanned, they gave up a
great amount of mobility to the Tauren, who even reduced in number after all this time
remained elusive and terribly strong, ravaging kingdom-sized areas in regular sweeps and
swathes as they attempted to break free or drive their enemies away or simply butcher
enough for full bellies.
No, the Jytan didnt like the maneuverings of the Haxan much at all. Thered been
some reprisals against human natives of the Throne, except such actions tended to
rebound in horrible fighting morale and the loss of human fighting units when the Jytan
could spare no one. Haxan mercs and merchants were naturally no longer seen in Throne
territoryHaxan had plenty to do keeping Eske supplied and driving it back to
productivity.
She would contact the geomancers, and they would show the Jytan what true
engineering was, shed wager. In the meantime, some subtly inclement weather would
drive up costs and the irritation factor, and grant them more time.
-----------------General Freddy Jenkins looked over the strategy laid out before him and winced
despite himself. It was bold, brilliant, ruthless, and risky. The amount of bloodshed it
would cause would be terrible to behold.
And Mithar help him, it would probably work.
You can do this without them being aware of it? he asked the heavy-set Dhatun
with shovel-sized hands and dark eyes with slide rules working behind them.
Yes. Its really not that difficult. Once you get it to a certain level, it simply
becomes lubrication. Release the final stops and The Dhatun made a pancake motion.
The Lion General closed his eyes. For all their faults, the Jytan were a noble race,
and to inflict upon them what this plan could potentially do would be a great weight on
his soul.
Prepare the failsafe. It is not to be used unless the Jytan openly declare hostilities
against us. And then, Aru have mercy on their souls. The Crown clan Dhatun nodded
once in agreement, grimly, and set off to prepare a truly nasty surprise the Jytan would
not see coming.

General Jenkins eyed the spot on the map where the tunnel had been driven by
magic and muscle in less then three months, and now great walls and barracks were
rapidly rising and expanding outwards from the mouth of the broad roadway leading up a
hundred meters over nearly a klik of distance, wide enough to drive three wagons down,
buttressed and supported and reinforced, but still trapped and able to collapse down.
Tell the Ryinthi to seriously consider the sale of any Plateau assets they yet retain,
except those that would raise suspicion, he told his waiting aide, feeling, as he
sometimes did, the awful sense of the future being laid out before him, as if a hundred
strings were pulling events in a narrow direction.
-------------------Master Darran Lone considered the small figure before him, face shrouded in a
small hood and cloak, outline seeming to waver ever so slightly, as if he was out of synch
with Time itself.
Or, rather, far too much in synch with it. The reason that hood was pulled down was
for his benefit, not for the benefit of the one wearing it.
Has not the Land had enough of apocalypse? the Master of Striking Lightning
whispered, Storm across his knees, hands upon it. Even a Source of his years and having
seen what he had seen could feel for what was marshalling against the Jytan.
The Land rebels against the Dark, and the Green the Jytan unwittingly weave to
support and legitimize it. You know the cost and the results of what has been done.
Sometimes, being heroic is simply not enough. His voice, although clear and steady,
faded from recognition as soon as he stopped speaking, yet remained truly his and his
alone. No one who had ever heard him speak would ever mistake that voice for any other.
Darran closed his eyes. Arguing with a Void Brother, especially the Wind and the
Dagger, was not an especially productive use of time. How long have you been
arranging this, sir? he asked quietly.
Paragons of the Jytans sent North, to either see the terrors there or avoid
themthey chose the latter. Enlightened ones seeking to their place among the Jotuns,
driven to anger and battle, depriving the Emperor of level heads and counsel. The wisest
and most perceptive marginalized as battle breaks out, and more folk die. The most
trusting losing all standing as Haxan moves across the Flow and the Beastmen seek a
homeland. Growing their reliance on Haxan farms, directing attention away from
investing in a cavalry force, making sure the prejudiced and biased earned their places so
they could spread their creed and cause further divisiveness and deeper hostilitieshow
long do you think, blood of Lone?
I think, a very long time, sir, the Master of Striking Lightning frowned. Was it a
Brother who brought them across the seas and set them against the dramojh? Often have

the Elders wondered just why the Jytan would bother to make such a trip, noble nature
aside or not.
The Wind hesitated, but the Man before him was a Source Eternal, and not one to be
defied in such things. He was beyond the purview of the Brotherhood.
The Jytan behold the Green, and unwittingly strengthen the Dark, although they see
it not. It matters not what land they walk uponthis is what they do. The Land is
rebelling not merely here, blood of Lone. The events of the High Throne are a minor
backdrop towards the true forces at play.
Darrans storm blue eyes narrowed. He of course did not claim to know much of
profound forces at playsuch were the domain of priests and gods, the realm of the
Divine. A Source, his feet were grounded in the blood of his people and their will to
survive and endure. Metaphysics was not his arena.
But this did not sound like metaphysics.
Master Wind, he asked calmly, were the Jytan pulled across the ocean as part of
some greater scheme? We know very, very little of the lands they came from.
Are you asking if it was coincidence? Or if the Land had a hand in it? Or if the
Brotherhood did? The Hyn behind the hood smiled thinly. It matters not, does it? They
are here, they came from elsewhere, a great and mighty fighting force to be pitted against
another great and mighty fighting force. And they continue in the tradition of the giantfolk, great and wise and mighty and not seeing the true picture for their own greatness.
Master Lone looked east for a long moment. He had commanded armies and
platoons, fought enemies of this world and others, seen the creatures at the gates of
reality and not let them in. He knew strategies well, having had centuries to ponder them
and observe them in action.
Were I to guess, I would assume that somewhere, sometime, a Void Brother acting
under the will of the Land motivated a powerful force of Jytan to leave their home and
travel to a new land, thereby depriving their homeland of the young, the ambitious, and a
significant fighting force.
And having divided the enemy, would then strike at him while he was weak.
The Wind again was slow to respond. That sounds like an eminently practical
strategy. Using heroic notions against themselves, depending on base instincts to
continue to do what they did best. Something the Land might do.
Darran Lone caught his breath. The implications were astounding. The Jytan
homeland is also being invaded, he breathed out. By whom?

Imperial Caraspan has found a foe worth the battle. From the south, they have
poured north in their millions across the great ocean, and drive the Jytan and their hosts
before them. The First Empire of the Jytans rages in Chi-Julud, unable to think with
enlightenment, to plan masterfully, to build. And they die because of that.
Invaded, by a human Empire. The Elders knew of Caraspan in passing, a highly
advanced human society, as a whole equal to the best of realms here, powerful, wealthy,
expansionistic, racist, martial. There was no traffic and little lore forthcoming, save by
the mighty who would seek to travel it in guisemost of what they knew had been given
to them by the Brotherhood itself. Much of what was known about Caraspan was
something that gave the Elders great pausehaving to prepare for such a foe was a
daunting task.
An Eternal Source is Emperor in Caraspan, a man who thinks to one day rule all
the world. Such ambition could be easily directed at a foe as formidable as the
Jytanenough, perhaps, to make up for the loss to the Council of Wyrms three Ages
ago? He did not know much of Caraspanbut he knew all that Haxan knew of it.
Indeed. They are a people not intimidated by a great and mighty foeespecially
one that cannot fly, and can die on the end of longpike and lancepoint. The Hyn Brother
shrugged. And as they pass, the Land changes once again, and the gods of Caraspan wax
stronger, to pick up where Haxan has lost ground here. Master Lone frowned deeply at
that thought.
We are not ruthless enough in pressing the needs of the Land? He grit his teeth at
what was being demanded of them. So the Land motivates those who can be.
The Land is a Mother, and then you die, agreed the Hyn softly. I would say I am
sorry, but empty words are not my way.
The Source Eternal of Haxan bowed his head. It truly is unavoidable, is it not? This
conflict between our races?
Yes. There. Simple and direct. Void Brothers did not lie. For them, vengeance was
a simple thingall they had to do, was nothing.
I do not have to like it, Master Wind, Darran said through grit teeth.
No, blood of Lone, you do not. But even you cannot change the Will of the Land in
this matter. You may only direct it in a manner that benefits you and yours. I trust you
will think on such matters and act as you deem best. The Hyns smile was mercilessly
sympathetic.
I will indeed. Go with the Land, Master Wind. From his seated position, he bowed
low to the Void Brother, who returned it to the waist.

A wind that wasnt, a rustle of time displaced, a shadow of chronology passing by,
and the Void Brother was gone.
Master Darran Lone of Striking Lightning stood, wishing that he had the
camaraderie with the Brotherhood that his ancestor had possessedbut his ancestor had
been a Source Reborn, possessed of heights of knowledge not equaled in Haxan before or
since. Some of the things he had informed the Haxan of were still great secrets centuries
later, being built up and expounded upon.
He would have loved to have his ancestors advice at a time like this. The mans
perspective, by all the writings, and by his great-grandmothers words, was unique,
strange, fascinating to watch and behold, and his legacy rippled across Haxan and the
Land even now.
He, he was a son of Haxan, born and bred, and even with his eyes opened to the
greater reality of the Land and the forces beyond it, he did not possess nearly that level of
comprehension of how things worked, and the ability of a Source to bend them to his will
in the same manner.
But he was a Source Eternal, and he would do what he must.
Caraspan. A Land ruled by an Emperor Eternal. A magos determined to rule the
world. A disaster in the making, but the single most powerful Eternal alive, undisputed
master of a realm of millions that had taken his country out of the disastrous invasion of
the realm of the Wyrm Council and built it into the greatest of Empires. The Land was
solving two problems with one stone.
The Land was a Mother, and then you died.
Grimly, Storm in his hands, he turned and strode away, every pace thrice as long as
a normal man, Racing Winds lightfoot sending him across the grasses with the speed of a
hawk in flight as he frowned and concentrated on the problem before him.
-------------------The Runemaster sighed and sat down, his sudden fatigue so heavy even a
Rockborns limbs could not bear the weight of it.
It is finished.
Before him glowed a great Rune, one that had never been carved or drawn before, a
massive thing of Equis, too much for a mortal mind to fully comprehend, seeming to
evolve and adjust even as one looked upon it. Or rather, glimpsed it out of the corner of
ones eye so as not to prod ones brain into overload.
Master Konstad, the holder of the Somewhere Seat, collapsed where he stood,

unmindful of the image he presented. The other Magi either stumbled back to chairs or
also knelt down in exhaustion.
Only Master Amacran remained on his feet among all those present, stretching out
leisurely as if the exhausting process of discerning and making this Rune hadnt been all
that difficult. Master Kvad Firetrencher wanted to scowl at the handsome Halvyr, and
instead found himself snorting with amusement into his argent beard as the Halvyr
winked at him.
A Geotao Liferune. Master Old Truth, you are truly almost as good as everyone
thinks you are. The Halvyrs easy humor at once made the old Rockborn blush with
embarrassment and flush with a snappy comeback he didnt quite bite off.
They dont know anything about me, the Rockborn spat out proudly, rolling his
eyes at Master Empty lying unconscious on the ground. Amacran burst out laughing
easily.
Come, come, you know hes a Master only because the others there hate having to
deal with the real world. He waved his hand at the other elder Mages there, most of
them of the Meta School, even now slipping into meditative contemplation of the wonder
they had wrought here. None noticed the flippant Halvyr, of course. The Master Changer
strolled over and took an easy seat next to the Rockborn, contemplating the Rune himself.
You know, he said after a few minutes, this is a great achievement and all, but its
kind of useless where its at, you know?
The Rockborn rolled a crystalline eye at the Halvyr, back at the rune, and tried to
hide a guffaw. I suppose we should have tried to make the first one right on one of their
loci? he salled with biting scorn.
Right on the Imperial Grounds, winked the Halvyr broadly. And, well, if it takes
this long to carve the next one, I think Ill just leave the work to you. This really cut into
my social schedule!
Figuring the blasted thing out was the hardest part, ya lecherous fop! the
Rockborn retorted energetically, almost but not quite managing to swat the Halvyr with
his black rod. Weve only been working on it, what, thirty years?
The Halvyr yawned extravagantly. Before my time, you old rock. Just having to
wade thru that mass of paperwork those Empty-heads call notes was enough for me. His
own significant contributions to the whole he left out completely. With an instinctive
knowledge of change and the processes involved in opposed energies, his help had been
invaluableand his teasing jokes breaking up much of the direly somber mood that had
prevailed before he came along.
We should be able to scribe such a beast within a day now, with the right force.

That alone could be difficult, given that after the first one or two, the Jytan might figure
out whats going onand move with all power to stop it.
Yes, a fine problem. Of course, lesser versions of the rune arent going to do
muchunless, of course, they were linked to a more powerful rune and conducted the
power thru there.
Master Old Truth glared at the Halvyr as he finally got the other Masters point.
One o these days, that clever tongue is going to get coated with blades and cut yer
mouth open, ye silver-tongued rogue. He considered the huge Rune, the first of its kind,
in a nice, safe spot, perfectly able to serve as a nexus for others. twill take perfect
diamonds at the heart of each pattern, perfectly matched, to link the runes up.
Laenwork would probably do then. The Halvyr smiled again, obviously having
given this some thought ahead of time.
The Rockborn ignored his cocksureness, nodding slowly, as he knew his opinion
would be needed to validate this. Aye, the Lord of Clan Sun could work the taskit will
take a great deal of his time.
Its going to take a great deal of time to locate all the loci in Eske and whip up even
lesser runes, let alone do it with some level of discretion. The students are already all
over the place lending help in the rebuilding process. Weve basically got to get Masters
off their keisters and actually putting them to work in the field! He sounded particularly
mortified at the idea he might have to do such work himself.
Be good for yer constitution, instead of all them late-night acrobatics yer so fond
of, the Rockborn prodded him acerbically.
What makes you think Id dare give up my gymnastic escapades? It takes a great
deal of practice to stay in shape for those, you know! was the instant merry reply. The
Rockborn harrumphed again, his silvery beard seeming to dance in the runelight with old
memories of more pleasant days.
Halvyr, ye know this Rune means war, should the Jytan hear of it.
The Master of Change went quietly grim. That I do. The power to crush them at the
heart of their race and psychology, to strip from them what they prize most. All these
years, theyve thought we were up to something. And when they do find out
How long has the Weirhold been scouting out loci? A century? The old Rockborn
lifted his eyes to the winking beauty of the stars above, his crystalline eyes segueing into
the Sight and the wonder of the great Nexus above the Weirhold. Weve the locations of
hundreds of them. We could cripple them as a people even now, without access to the
great loci most used by them.

I dont think they have the slightest idea that what weve done is even possible. It
would call into question everything they are or have done. That kind of second-guessing
themselves is not natural to the Jytan. They do know best, you know.
The noise the Rockborn made was a scathing insult if you knew how to interpret it,
and the Halvyr did. It was the sound of Troll innards mixing with something particularly
unpleasant before something even more unpleasant happened to the hapless Troll. You
still have the touch, Amacaran said admiringly, and the Rockborn harrumphed, but his
crystalline eyes gleamed proudly.
Once we start binding loci, they are bound to figure out something is up. Especially
if we do so in their lands, he tried to start the musings again.
The question is, do we take the risk of NOT doing so, when we know whats
coming? The Halvyr sighed, and pressed his hand to his chest theatrically. Such
weighty questions for the shoulders of the truly mighty. I feel like a drink in much
lovelier company to offset such burdens. His dark eyes sparkled as he rose again,
spinning nimbly about, a dancer born. When you tell me how to ponder such deep
matters, Old Truth, Ill perhaps do so. A question for the Council, or at least the High
Maga. And now, I believe theres a dozen or so lively ladies waiting for me at Nebulos,
and I would not wish to disappoint them of the wonder of my company. He swept into a
deep bow for the seated Rockborn, another equally deep one for the unconscious Master
Empty, and he swirled away, his robes already starting to change into something much
more fashionable and eye-catching.
Firetrencher watched him go, sighing and shaking his old head. Halvyr seldom
changed. Or maybe they just changed all the time, and no one noticed? Still, he was a
very entertaining distraction from this sorry lot of contemplative meta-mages with their
heads somewhere above the Nexus.
He watched the Rune hed crafted, the driving force behind the project, something
that had forced him to heights of skill in his craft hed not imagined possible those many
years ago as an apprentice to his own Master. A massive blow against a race of Giantkind, a stroke in the best of tradition of the Rockborn, cutting them down as only
Rockborn could.
Looking about, he made sure no one saw his beaming smile of contentment. This
Rune would set him down in history for all time, he knew. The Firetrencher Geotao True
Rune. His heart swelled at the thought. His name would be spoken of with proper
reverence for as long as the Rockborn endured.
And no reason not to add to the legend, he thought, beginning to work out the
simpler derivations of the linkage-runes in his head. He was reasonably sure the
Emptyheads were sussing out the nature of the ceremony and the scale of it that would
have to be used to make it work, and he left such work to them.

------------------------------------Armsbrother Matthew Holliver paused as the whistle blew for a break, gladly taking
a break to lean on his shovel and take a rest.
All about him, other Haxans, immigrants to Eske like himself, leaned on implements
or got themselves to a seat, taking advantage of the break, while the women began to
make the rounds with water.
A keen eye made measure of what was being built and shaped here. Armsbrothers
got a load of training in defensive strategythe whole focus of their training was in
helping others to stay alive.
This area was being set up very subtly as a killing ground. Hoof-breaker holes,
designed to snap the forelegs of mounted creatures, either forcing a slower pace or
crippling injury. Hedgerows being planted here and there in zigzag patterns, ideal for
hiding walls of archers or pikemen. Low walls that dropped sharply away to the rear,
defensive lines. Drainage ditches that could be set up with stakes to deflect and channel
this way and that. Even the homes going up, being made of stone with connolade roofs,
tunnels out of the basements where massive Tauren could not go, able to succor or
conceal large numbers of troops. Secondary walls cutting across the clear-cut landscape,
guiding a fast-moving force here and there, tempting gates to split the force of the enemy
into smaller sections.
A huge amount of effort being expended to make this a kliks-long deathtrap, that
might just be stretching from the south side of Eske to the north.
The Elders were up to something, he knew itexpecting a Tauren breakout, perhaps
relying on one? He watched two Dragons, Amberscar and Dawnfade, a Shield and a
Crown attached to his force, excavating massive drainage ditches with great shovels fit
over their claws, tons of earth flying away as they dug merrily along, turning it into an
impromptu race complete with thunderous taunts and teasing in Draconic, great voices
rolling over the hundreds of Men laboring about them as hundreds of meters rapidly
separated the Dragons. Theyd make kliks of such before the day was through.
He accepted his ladle of water from the flaxen-locked lass, taking one to drink and
one to dump over his head as he doffed his hat for her. Her smile was cheerful, the swing
of her hips more then enough to earn a chorus of whistles of appreciation, and he let his
eyes linger with a sigh as she sashayed to the next man on the line.
A whistle blew as the Elder in charge timed out the break, and good-natured
groaning accompanied the return to labor of the fighting men.
What looked like the making of infrastructure, of roads and walls and homes, was a
planned military effort on a great scale. He wondered what the leaders had in mind as he
got back to work building up the foundation for the road before the seed bearers and the

Geomancers came by with the Maderock partitions to transmute the surface. He knew
they had some difficulty working outside Haxan, but not as much as only a year or two
ago.
It was generally not good for morale to have soldiers working like common laborers,
but the purpose behind this was anything but common. There was a good chance theyd
be living on these lands in time, and an even better chance that theyd be fighting on it.
By the time all was said and done, theyd know these lands very, very well from traipsing
all over them, and building surprises into them.
Someone was going to find this area absolute Hell. It was hard to tell whom for,
thoughthe Tauren, or the Jytan?
----------------------------------They are aware weve pulled off the Northgate annex? Horse Lord Edwin
Smithers asked calmly of his graybeards and assembled scouts.
Both forces. Weve informed Freesword, who have begun pulling back their troops.
The Jytan are mobilizing a force to secure the villas, especially with all the nobles up in
arms. Thats good land there. His senior scout, an old leatherhided Hawk by name of
Chumley Dotters, indicated the troops positions quickly. The Tauren made probes to
the area almost immediately in response to the sudden lack of scrying interference.
Theyll probably attempt a sally quickly. The Free Lords to the south arent going to be
very happy with usthe Jytan are already accusing us of luring Tauren onto their lands.
As opposed to Haxans defending lands they call their own? I have to say Im not
impressed. That does send the refugees southare they making for Freesword or to Fort
Gold? Lord Smithers chewed the pipe set in the side of his mouth thoughtfully.
If theyre smart, theyll head for Freesword. Some will fight, of course, and enjoy
doing it. The smartest, of course, are asking us if well let their herds across the
Flowtheyre the most untouched portion of the Thronelands now, and the Demon Khan
is probably expecting a feast. Wulf Adamson, a practiced greybeard, studied the map
with keen eyes. He was a master diviner and one of the best strategists in Clan Horse.
Hopefully, they are going to deny him one. It then remains to be seen what hell do
once hes across the Flow. Lord Smithers tapped a calloused finger on the mark of Fort
Gold, rising with the speed and engineering skill and muscle only Jotun-born could bring
to a task. If hes smart, hell bypass Freesword entirely, given the defenses of the
placeassaulting it would destroy him. Coming in on Fort Gold is another matter
entirely. If they fail there, then no doubt hell head west, and make for the Broken Lands
after bartering passage from the Bone Magi.
And swing north? The foothills are much less difficult to transverse then the
heartlands. Wulf knew what he was talking about. Hed spent some early years hunting

down things of all kinds in those hills with a number of other foolhardy bastards, and his
ability to suss out the foe and their intentions had grown markedly from that experience.
Likely. Which means eventually he wants to get way back up north and head home
in clear territory. Smithers frowned. The Reevers dont have near the numbers to take
him unless he gets decimated. And if he gets away, we can expect another one back in a
generation or three.
We can probably expect something out of the Tauren anyways, unless the Reevers
make it there and start an effective slave rebellion. Theres just too many of the bastards,
Chumley noted.
So that means, at the least, we are dealing with cutting him down on his way.
Given that hes likely to eat anything he comes across, I dont think leaving warnings that
hes coming is going to hurtand the Broken Lands has a lot of hungry things too. At the
very least, hes going to suffer badly near the Wyrmbreak Wall. Lord Smithers smiled
grimly. Its going to be an interesting winter, to be sure.
Errantry X
Creatures of the North
You know, thats one BIG sonuvabitch of a Ogretaur.
The aforementioned creature was easily six meters high, and had to mass several
tons. With the lower body of a massively over-muscled dire bear, crowned by the
behorned and grotesquely mutated torso and head of a great ogre, it was racing about
with incredible speed and savagery, scattering the lines of Reevers who prudently werent
going anywhere near it. Blackened and spiked armor seemed to layer it in a wall of iron,
and the axe it bore had obviously been taken off a Jotun somewherethe head alone was
a meter across. Several dozen quivers of arrows looked embedded in its hide and armor,
none of which the creature appeared to be paying any attention to.
Hrafner scowled despite himself. The Haxan was rightthis thing was BIG, and it
was taking a great deal of effort for the hunting party to keep out of its reach. Half a
dozen Reevers had not been quick enough, and it had devoured them very quickly indeed,
after dividing them effortlessly into several pieces.
The arrows arent piercing its hide, and it heals with unnatural speed. They both
watched it pluck a lucky shot out of its hugely clawed hand, and a few breaths later there
was no indication it had even been injured.
Ill take the front. Ready the lancers for a charge while I occupy it.
Done. Hrafner peeled away as Errant tapped heels to flanks, and his pinto mount

Tender surged into motion.

Errant joined the press of archers sniping from all directions, alternately shooting
and racing away from the infuriated Tauren. He was the only human present here, but the
clothing he wore was similar enough that he didnt stand out much.
This beast had been enhanced with wild energies in addition to the unnatural vigor
of the Tauren joining. What had been coerced to make the barding for it he didnt know,
but that chest armor likely came off a proud Jotun warrior, and the thing was glorifying in
its own rage and power.
Time to get its attention.
He drew his crossbow and took aim. Tenders canter became smooth and flowing,
like drifting on a cloud, and he released after a careful moment.
The thumb-thick bolt of crimson-tipped steel flashed out with an eye-catching
streak, buried itself in the side of the brutes front leg. A loud growl of surprise overrode
the normal snarling exclamations of the frothing brute as it turned to look at him, and
bloody red eyes widened as they saw a Man among the Beastmen.
Tender surged into motion even as the creature dug in and drove for him at
tremendous speed, its vigor unnatural, as was its speed. But Tender was a Herd Stallion
of Haxan, assigned to Errant exactly for dealing with situations like this, and there is
nothing like an enlightened horse for moving fast when you have to.
Flowing with the motion of an all-out gallop, Errant drew and fixed another bolt,
twisted around smartly, and leveled his crossbow at the massive behemoth 20 paces
behind him.
For an instant, Tender kicked up, antelope-style, and they were floating.
He released, and the bloodsteel tore a dark streak across its manged cheek, less then
a fingers-width from a bloody crimson eye.
They hit the ground, and the gallop continued. He loaded again.
It was gaining on him, but then, it was supposed to. He leveled the crossbow again,
attention focused, trusting to Hrafner to do his job as the Ogretaur screamed its outrage at
him, axe moving back to prepare to strike.
A third bolt sank deep into its shoulder, was yanked out and tossed away. A fourth
drove into the right foreleg, near the first, almost making its charge falter. The fifth shot
was at less then ten meters as he coolly centered his aim at its left eye.
This time, it ducked, and the bolt tore across its ear messily and continued on its

way.
In a smooth motion, he slung the weapon over the horn of his saddle, set his hand to
his sword, and Tender falter-stepped.
The axe came in sideways, a huge scythe that would take his shield, armor and body
and divide them neatly in pieces if he allowed it to hit.
But he was already airborne. Palm force against the saddle and stirrups kicked him
into the air like a childs toy. Tender was driven aside and kicked away as nimbly as a
pronghorn, out of reach in an instant as the scything axe found empty air, and the
Ogretaur found itself charging right into a human who seemed to be hanging in midair,
his sword trailing rippling blurs of spiritual power as he completed his draw and cut in a
motion so fluid his long, straight blade seemed to bend into a liquid arc of strength and
purity.
Jotuns armor rent and split aside under the serene force of the strike, the
Waveslicing Stroke of a Master of Flowing Waters. Thick hide and thicker muscle split
under the keen edge of his family sword, iron-hard bone protested and gave way, and
Errant went spinning away as the mass of the brute clipped him, twisting and falling and
hitting the ground with an agility to astound most acrobats, Heavy Waters footwork
driving his feet into the soul and spurting up mounds of soil and grass as his momentum
was transferred to the land.
The Ogretaur had likewise skidded to a halt, ripping huge furrows into the grasses as
its massive claws dug in. The bottom half of its breastplate tore and bounced away,
revealing the massive wound across its chest from the stroke, splitting at least one rib and
dribbling out a steady flow of black blood.
Duty hummed in his hand, and the ripples in the air became black, the same hue as
that burning blood.
Flowing Waters footwork, Skating the Waves.
His feet didnt seem to move much at all, but he was in motion, circling away, his
feet not really treading on the ground. The Ogretaur spun to face him, roared loudly
enough to make his eardrums shake, and thundered forwards.
A touch of his toe between descending paws, and he was moving forwards even as
the axe came down, slamming a massive furrow into the dirt behind him, the force of the
strike driving him forwards and sideways as one huge claw came up to rip him apart at
the chest, or scoop him in close and rend him like a doll.
Bad idea.
He was sliding inside the claw even as it came across, Duty shearing in and parting

hide and muscle with anathemic hunger, underneath the massive body with a twist and a
cut and a long slice that opened up its side as he seemed to squirt free from underneath
the surging mass, and was leaving his feet with Fountaining Geyser even as the huge axe
came swinging back, head over feet and watching the huge weapon part the air between
his ankles, landing smoothly out of reach ten meters away and sliding along the grass and
churned soil as if it were smoothest ice. The rip in his leathers across his back he ignored,
sword again poised and his eyes finding the maddened glare of the creature.
It was just starting to turn on him when Hrafner drove his lance into its belly and up
towards its heart.
A thundering river of horses poured by, lances smashing in deep, punching out the
back of its ogres chest even as a reflexive swipe of that huge axe emptied two saddles
with one irresistible blow. The Ogretaur screamed and reeled back, clutching at fully a
score of lances buried in its belly, and yet somehow, impossibly, still alive.
Duty sang across, its banewaters path even darker now, and sliced deep into the back
leg of the brute, severing the tendon with wicked ease and hunger. The huge rear mass of
the brute fell to one side as the massive leg gave way under its weight. Then he was
sliding back and free out of range before the huge axe could reach for him, catching
Tenders saddle horn and up and into it in one smooth motion as his mount crossed by.
Crippled and most certainly dealt a dozen fatal wounds, the thing still refused to die.
Errant calmly picked up his crossbow, a movement reflected by the circling Reevers all
around, and steadily and calmly, began to shoot.
----------------------------------It took another twenty minutes for the thing to die, and it was trying to reach them
the whole time. When Errant came in and finally took off its head, the number of arrows
embedded in made it look like some great foul spiked thing, absolutely bristling with
hundreds and hundreds of arrows.
Hrafner rode up and looked down at the Haxan, and then at the great and headless
corpse of the beast, its body now beginning to burn white as the vivic fires caught hold
around Duty embedded in its heart.
Only a dozen more to go, the Reever High Chief stated calmly, watching Errant
stretch and rub at the bruises welling on his backside from the glancing claw swipe.
Errant rolled an eye at the littorian, reached out, and with one hand slowly withdrew
a long, broken lance tipped with blood-red steel from the white-flaming chest of the
beast, which he handed to Hrafner casually. The littorian waved it a bit, watching the
clinging vivic fires devour the black gore off the bloodsteel with fascination, and then
waved the rest of the Reevers in to retrieve arrows and the other lances.

I think we need more lances, Hrafner growled, considering the ruin of his weapon.
Unless you want to kill the next one all by yourself, of course.
The thoughtful look in the Haxans eye warned him of the serious consideration
being given the idea. More then a few of the Reevers stopped what they were doing to
look in astonishment at the Haxan pondering.
Well, you never said I had to kill it honorably
-------------------------------And he didnt.
Hrafner considered the headless carcass of the next Ogretaur merely three hours
later, Duty embedded again in its chest and burning merrily. The creature had not even
known Errant was there, had not had a single clue nor the slightest chance to retaliate
before the Haxan had simply come across behind it from his camouflage and removed its
head with one transcendently smooth blow. The massive body had traveled on another
five full steps before realizing it was dead and slowly collapsing.
You know, their camp is only a klik that way, if you want to go handle the rest of
them He very deliberately kept his awe of how anyone could hack thru an armored
neck as thick as that in one blow out of his voice.
Errant pursed his lips again, considering that, then slowly shook his head. The
Waveslicing Stroke takes a lot out of you. Best not to abuse it. I think they might get a
little perturbed if they find this one here with just its head cut off. He ignored the halfawed looks being sent his way by the other Reevers whod come along to watch, who had
never seen such an incredibly powerful strike.
Errant pulled out Duty, letting the vivic fires smolder without the blade there to fuel
them, and swung up on Tender easily. Quickly and quietly, the band of riders stole away
through the light brush country, back along the path they had scouted out previously,
where the tribal shamans waited to erase their trail.
I had thought that your Storm Dragon School was the mightiest of your sword
schools, Haxan, Hrafner growled, drawing up along side the human. How do they
surpass the ability to dothat? He inclined his head back at the lazily burning carcass of
the Ogretaur.
Ah, a Thunder Swordmaster can do that too. And Lightningwell, Lightning
would kill me before I could get the Waveslicing Stroke offand they are just parts of
the Storm Dragon. I dont think Id ever catch a Wind Master
Hrafner thought about that, and wondered how many Masters there were in Haxan,
and realized then how he really didnt want to find out.

Let the Jytans discover it back down south. And the rest of the Ogretaur, too, in the
days ahead.
---------------------------------Errant didnt have much human company among the Reevers. Haxans found their
presence and habits extremely uncomfortable over a protracted period allergy of the
mind, as one Loreguard had quipped dryly and so any fellow humans tended to come
and go regularly, mostly messengers relayed by the Adanche. There was too great a
demand for Armsbrothers and Armsisters in the Eske Lands, as the new territory being
claimed by Haxan was being called, in honor of the great nation of nine duchies that had
once formed the heart of it.
The exception was a Lion Scribe. The Reevers were absolutely enamored of the
Loreguard tradition of writing down stories and details, of recording deeds and names of
the fallen, and had not quite begged for the services of one to record their struggle for
future generations. Loreguards, however, were Purehearts and not in vast supply, and
furthermore, were needed in the new lands. Thus, the Reevers got the next best thing.
Lari Millsworth hadnt a Purehearts devotion or Harses blessing, but she was
young and energetic and willing to prove herself even here in the cold North, where she
was quickly becoming invaluable as the most organized being around. She had managed
to teach a few of the tribesfolk better penmanship, often selecting the more severely
injured warriors who were eager to contribute any way they could and had battle
experience. She annoyed many of the Reevers who relied on her more then they might
wish, but her willingness to hear battle reports as stories mollified them somewhat.
And besides, the lucky ones got to taste the extra stuff she cooked for Errant. Thus,
she never lacked for errands-runners.
Lari was short, rather on the stout side, with a perhaps shrillish voice and an icy
stare that would make her a fine Matron someday. Hearing her raise her voice made the
nearest Reevers wince perceptibly.
She was young enough to be his daughteror, upon reflection, he was more then
old enough to be her father. Errant sometimes wondered what it was going to be like. As
a Source, he was probably going to outlive all his siblings, and might even outlast their
grandchildren, assuming he didnt get killed. But soon such thoughts always left in the
face of duties and actions, time ever moving on and demanding things of him.
He looked forwards to human company after a slaughterfest or three, and coming
into the camp built quickly and to be mobile helped lighten his mood. Lari had a good
mind, despite her flaws, and reports came to her quickly of who was doing what and
where. All he had to do was find the tent with the most runners around it, and inevitably
she was within.

He swung down from Tender, a young Huul Reever bowing respectfully and
moving to remove the Horses saddle and brush him down. The lack of bridle and reins
always amazed the Reevers, even knowing Tender was intelligent, and it always made
Errant smile to see the young Huul pause a second before continuing on.
He opened the tent flap and stepped inside, and Lari glanced up, a startlingly warm
smile crossing her face as she saw him.
Master Errant! Come back for more decent cooking, I see. She rose primly,
matron in her own domain, and he respectfully lifted the paired hands she presented him
to his forehead, an act which never failed to amuse the old Reevers in the tent scratching
out copies of this or that deed or feat on fresh rag paper.
Miss Millsworth, I would not dream otherwise of going to my death without a full
belly of your provender, he replied gravely, earning an appreciative flash of her eyes. He
hooked up a rough stool and dragged it over to sit at her desk across from her. What
manner of news for the lore-starved?
Eskelev capitulated. His eyebrows rose sharply. The rebuilt city had been a
staunch holdout against Haxan occupation of the Northern Thronelands, and had muscle
and power to back up the claim. It had weathered Tauren attacks admirably, although
never facing the Host of the Demon Khan, and had time and time again proven a handy
anvil for crushing random Tauren tribes against as the Haxan had scoured the North of
the scattered Horde remnants pillaging wildly there. However, Eskelev and Carioux were
Jytan strongpoints, and very, very cold to the Haxan occupation. Once that coldness burst
forth into open fighting, the Haxan had moved quickly and surelyand the Jytans had
gotten their first taste of fighting Dragons.
The land for five kliks around the cities was burned to ash, and all land traffic was
stopped. This was hardly a threatthe Tauren had done something similar although far
more violent. But the Taurens didnt have Dragons to reach up from the waters and
completely obliterate or confiscate their entire fishing fleets, and to interdict any attempt
at shipping. A barrier to prevent transdimensional hopping about, and the Haxan had
simply left the cities to starve. Relief from the south was not forthcomingthere were far
too many Tauren making nuisances of themselves down there to free up the manpower.
The Haxan had freely let anyone leave the city that wished, with any belongings they
wantedbut no one got in.
Rebellion or the Stewards leave first? Rationing of food had kept them going for
over a yearan impressive feat, given the number of refugees whod clung inside the
walls.
The Jytan leftpicked up and marched South, trying hard to get someone to fight
along the way; along with their full army, as many loyalists and faithful and all they
could carry. Pretty much gutted the city, from the report I received.

As expected. The Elders only want it for the harbor and the walls. Theyll probably
knock down as many buildings as the Jytan did.
Carioux will probably follow suit. They need the manpower in the Valuzuvan lands
and open country to the South, and the fact that they can leave with their belongings is
causing a lot of desertionsespecially with the Haxans providing safe crossings at
Ahltar.
The Riverwall that had been thrown up the length of the Fleur had been a marvel of
organized magical and mundane laboreven Jytans had been astounded at the speed at
which the Haxans had fortified the entire length of the river, and then poured the wall up
into the hill country from which it sprang, exacerbating the natural divisions of the terrain
with geomancy to form perhaps even more formidable natural defenses there. Even
Errant was impressednearly a thousand kliks of wall had been thrown up in that first
year, a truly impressive feat of combat engineering.
It had been put to the test toothe Demon Khan had been most unhappy about his
retreat route being so utterly and totally severed, and made several attempts to break out
to the north. Again, the waters were his enemy, and the number of Haxan mounted troops
able to keep up with the deployment of his Horde sufficient to contain the battle. Too, if
he gave the Jytan any relief, inevitably they would extend out fortifications with extreme
speed to guard arable landfortifications he had to pay with blood to overrun.
And he wasnt getting any reinforcements anymore. The Jytan wanted him dead and
they were formidable foesand hunger was becoming ever more of a problem. The last
Errant had heard, his horde was fracturing under the sheer strain of demand for
suppliesthey couldnt eat one another forever.
We eliminated the Ogretaur. Lari raised her eyebrows, and the old Reevers pens
stilled, listening for more. Theres bulltaur and rhoditaur sign passing north of heredid
one of the other tribes pick them up? He wasnt the story-telling type, and the pens
began again in disappointmenttheyd have to wait for the council fire.
I believe Sparleye sent a message about the bulls, and Blacktongue is hunting the
rhoditaur as we speak, Lari replied quickly. But theres a new development the way
her tone drifted off uncertainly got his attention.
New development is old Lion code for bad news. Out with it.
Agg-Krenos sent word that he lost a scouting team, except for one raving survivor.
The scouts mind has been severely traumatizedhe keeps screaming about red tentacles
eating into his brain
Errant closed his eyes and frowned. Show me where. His gaze was hard and cold
as she quickly pulled out her map and quickly pointed to a location some thirty leagues

away, to the North, hard on the Jotun territories.

Errant scowled. The thing had probably been forced onto the Prime by planar tides
that regularly disrupted planar boundaries here, a spin-off of the forces at play in the Far
North.
Send runners to all the tribes for their Witches to be on high alert at all times. They
have a foe capable of moving ethereally, probably scouting out a good path south. Under
no circumstances are they to engageif they spot the enemy, I recommend a very quick
retreat and to spread the warning as fast as possible.
Ethergaunts, correct? Lari opined carefully, trying not to let her anxiety show.
Like the Kaorti, the Ethergaunts were Outsiders, from beyond the realm of mortals, and
more deadly in person. Where the Kaorti subverted and corrupted, the Ethergrim
annihilated. None had been seen in some timedecades, perhaps a centuryobviously,
such was no longer the case.
Yes. Ill be leaving tomorrow morning to join the Witchlord.
Sticking around for the cooking? Lari asked, whistling once and getting an
immediate set of runners inside.
Of course. He didnt have to ask if shed sent out word to Haxanthe Elders took
warnings of things that got past the Jotun Princes quite seriously.
===========================
How many?
The scarred Flind was a full klik away from the line of ghostly figures he could
dimly see, on his belly and between the grasses. They were drift-marching ethereally
across the plains in a strung-out battle line, obviously prepared for trouble. It was
startlingly easy to find them, because keeping pace with them was a good number of
mentally enslaved Tauren mind-thrallshyenataur, hapless fools whod stumbled across
them and been made pawns of for their trouble.
I count forty-two of them, the Flind said after a long moment, enhanced vision
leaping across the distance.
Damn. Thats a lot of Ethergaunts. Errant watched the progress of the enthralled
Tauren. I can do a lot of damage to them, if we can get rid of the mindslaves. But you
are going to have to do so with ranged attacks, and be ready to cut and rununless you
can whip up a planar disruption quickly.
Not magic I often resort tobut after conferring with some of my associates, I was
advised to. The old Flind licked his fangs nervously. Are they as dangerous as the tales

say?
To your folk? Yes. And with neither dragons nor dramojh sponsoring you now, you
are just ants to be toyed with and disposed of. Like the Tauren. Errant wormed
backwards down the hill, and the Flind followed. If you can set up the boundary, we are
relatively safethey will have to retreat to enter our world fully, and that will split them
off from the Tauren.
An ambush? the Flind asked quickly, managing a smile.
It will have to be a good onespring it on them, inflict as damaging a blow as you
can, and then pull the Tauren away or butcher them utterly. If you can do that, I can
really spoil their day.
We shall do our best. Stepping away from the Haxan, a wind quickly sprang up
around the Flind, whipping at the grasses. They swirled into a distorting fog of manifold
breezes, and then tore away south quickly across the grasses, taking the Flind with them.
Errant loped away south as well, hoping one of the things had the lack of insight to
go after him personally if he was spotted. Actually, it might not be a bad idea to let them
try
----------------The ambush went off very well. The area picked was still burn scarred from old
flames, sand and dirt more common then the rough grasses of the high plains.
Forewarned of the alertness of their foes, the Reevers had decided to use their perceptual
senses against them, and hid out right in the open, such as it was.
Errant heard the gentle change of the wind blowing across the group, and was
certain the Ethergaunt caught the ethereal change in the breeze as well. With a grim smile
he burst from the shallow hole that had been dug and covered by hasty spells erasing any
sign of the labor, along with nearly a hundred Reevers, coming up right in the middle of
the enthralled Tauren.
Minds fogged and slow to react, the first attacks from the experienced raiders were
lethal, hamstringing and gutting startled Tauren with ferocious skill and speed. Then
raiders were drawing bows and letting fly as others charged the remaining Tauren who
were taking up weapons, and the spellcasters let fly with their best damaging spells in
strikes of cold and lightning and fire.
In the confusion of the fight, Errant struck.
The Ethergaunts were momentarily barred from crossing to the mortal world, but
were still present ethereally. Which is a bad thing when facing a Source-wielded blade.

The eye lenses he was wearing were of some form of crystal, treated alchemically to
be sensitive to planar interactions with life energy, in effect giving the wearer a form of
spirit-sight if his awareness and spiritual power was strong enough. Errant was more then
aware enough, and could see most of the assembled force like misty phantoms, paused on
the Ethereal plane, able to give orders to their puppets, but not to phase in.
Pity them.
Duty crashed through ghostly flesh and hide, and on the Ethereal plane, something
writhed and died True Death. He knew attention would be diverting his way, and simply
followed the gaunts as he danced through the press of battle, just another ghostly figure
fighting and killing to each Ethergaunt observing until he came upon themand
suddenly tore them apart with the blade he bore.
The Tauren would normally have intervened, but now could not, and were dying
with commendable speed, numbers gutted by the initial strike and the no-holds-barred
spellcasting of the Reever Witches, the Flind Witchlord having a larger number of such
folk then the other strike teams.
Ten were dead before the last hyenataur fell writhing with a shaft in its eye, and
without slowing down the Reevers turned and ran full out for their horses.
All, but Errant.
Their attention was now on him, but they were now in his Source field, and as they
began to pull away he simply moved with them and hacked them down. They couldnt
sink into the landscape as they might wish, although some did rise quickly into the air to
escape him, a feat rapidly followed by the others.
Smiling as he paused over a flaming ethereal corpse, he drew his crossbow off his
back, loaded a bolt, drew aim, and let fly all in about two breaths.
The first startled creature went punching backwards through the air, and immolated
around his quarrel shaft. He calmly reloaded and drew down on the next one, cocking the
beautifully engineered crossbow easily with its lever action, aiming, and firing.
Another one exploded in True Death. Pump, reload as the creatures spread out,
looking for the boundaries of the interdicted area. Calmly, he pursued as they scattered,
taking down three more before the first zipping bolts of force lashed past him from
distant specks that had found the edges of the Interdiction field.
Skating the Waves lightfoot brought him in close fast, much faster then they
expected, dancing evasively as streaks of light whipped past him. One just coming into
material form caught a bolt as it did so, and he reslung the crossbow and drew his blade
again while the first volley of spells was unleashed at him from the things.

It was a fairly explosive array of lights and elemental fury, mind-bending energies
and the like. He ran right through it like water and was in their midst.
Their slashing weapons didnt mean much to him, and Duty cut and drove home.
Three more died, then they realized that they couldnt vacate the area as they wished to.
Force bolts hissed past and around him desperately as they peeled open the bisected
masks from their tentacled faces, towering unnatural forms lashing out wildly for him
with bloody red limbs and strange pole-blasting-axe weapons. Duty ripped and cut
savagely, and red-hued form after red-hued form was hacked thru and erupted in the alldevouring fires of True Death, while he ignored the volleys of magic being unleashed
upon him and closed in with deadly speed on each and every one of the things that were
now firing at him in wild abandon. The few bolts that were lucky enough to hit glanced
off him like hurled rocks, painfullyhe ignored them with the single-minded
determination of a hunter seeking his prey.
He saw more and more of the creatures popping into material form, and grinned.
Their life energies were feeding the Land, strengthening it, and it was reacting by
expanding dimensionally about them, literally pulling them into materiality. Some fell
flailing from the air, unprepared for sudden materialism, and were crushed to a pulp on
the ground...he cut them into pyres of white flame in passing.
Two whites ones, and a black oneTHERE.
He went straight for them, covering a hundred meters in something under eight
seconds, a blur of skating motion juking back and forth without slowing down in the
slightest. Smashing spells drove into him with the force of master magi, the landscape
around him erupting with power and withering under the assault and taking half a dozen
red ones into oblivionhe ignored it all as he drove directly towards the black
Ethergaunt waving its gangly limps with enchanted speed, trying to get awayand
failing.
The Waveslicing Stroke tore it right in two, continued on to the left and the right
with terrible, ripping force, sheering through spell reinforced carapaces, ignoring magical
protections and enchantments like the useless things that they were. The black thing fairly
blew apart in a spray of voracious vivic fire, hungry for whatever unnatural powers
animated these things, and the last two became pillars of life energy consumed with
unnatural speed and fervor.
And thats those, he thought, not stopping his movement as more force bolts flew
past him from every direction. He couldnt see a single one of the things in ghostly form
anymore, but there were a bunch of them in solid form, not looking the steadiest, but
definitely firing at him with purpose and trying in total vain to bend his will. A few were
hurling objects his way, probably bombs or somesuch; but he was already in motion,
Duty raised and ready to slay, and he certainly didnt care if they shot their own people
down trying to get to him.

Duty cut, red-carapaced creatures of nightmare fell and burned to feed the Land, and
soon the streaking bolts of force were much fewer in number, and then they werent
anywhere at all.
------------------------------Impressive, Master Errant, the Witchlord said hesitantly, sniffing the oddly clean,
pure air that was swirling off of the last, crystalline dust remains of the slain Ethergaunts.
It would seem these creatures are much less dangerous to you then I had been led to
believe.
They thought scattering and shooting independently would let them take me
downbut they arent used to shooting on the Material Plane at something that can
evade quicklynor that can use their own people as cover. Plus, they kept relying on
their magic working, since it affects everything eventuallythey dont have a lot of
experience with Sources.
Andtheir faces? the Windlord asked, hesitantly. Do they not drive one mad to
look upon?
Errant took off the glasses he was wearing, carefully unwrapping the wire rims from
his ears, and held them out to the Flind, who took them curiously. He peered about
through the tinted class, blinking several times, moving the glasses back and forth and
finally looking up at him.
These glassesare not very clean, he said diplomatically, turning them over and
eying them critically.
Actually, they are slightly out of focus. They distort your vision. Errant smiled
again. Hard to be mind-blasted by the horrible appearance of these fiends when you
cant see them clearly. You can do the same thing by wrapping gauze around your eyes.
The Windwitch thought about that, and then tilted his head back to give out a
laughing bark of deep amusement at the idea. And their weaponry? He pointed to a line
of white crystals in the dirt, all that remained of the fearsome axe-like weapon they had
all wielded.
Tech stuff doesnt work too well hereespecially tech stuff made on another
world, and powered by energies not native here. Vivic energy loves that kind of stuff.
The Flind Wind Witch gave forth another laughing bark of quiet glee. We must
procure more of this True Death equipment then, to surprise them.
A decent Runethane can probably make you someits anything but secret.
Errant shrugged as he surveyed the sight of the battle, the white streaks of the dead
Ethergaunts being rapidly dispersed into the soil, while the Reevers hauled dead Taurens

together to be immolated en masse. This place would be planar barred for a long time,
and grow richly, he knew. But unless you can withstand all that magic they tossed out,
they definitely are not something you want to mess with. The Flind nodded slowly,
remembering the almost nonstop cavalcade of energies he had sensed being unleashed,
none of which had slowed the Haxan down in the slightest. Just be awaresome of
them are going to be real curious when they dont get any reports from an advance group
this strong, and something might come looking. They might not be aware of how many
witches have the Sight and can see them comingor they might be too arrogant to care.
Dont engage if possiblerun if you cansend word definitely.
There will be more coming? Agg-Krenor asked thoughtfully, and Errant just
nodded. I will warn all I canand send for you if I see them.
You do that.
Errantry X
Fall of the Throne
It was something to see the fall of an Empire.
Errant had been annoyed indeed to be invited south by a descending Shield Dragon
swooping into the camp of the Reevers moving back across the Beastlands with the same
kind of progress that the Tauren had made in the other direction. Their progress had been
excellent, all things considered, sweeping pincer movements, ambushes, raids and fell
charges, whatever method worked most efficiently for slaughtering the four-legged
minions of the Dark.
As he had expected, the Reever advances had attracted a followingwild Lupinal
and Felin tribes from the Beastlands, coming north in more and more numbers as the
fame and fury of the Reevers spread across the Broken Lands of the Wyrm. These savage
tribes had problems of their own, however, including ancient tribal feuds, pathological
hatred of Men and the other races of the Wyrmbreak Wall, worship of bestial and evil
powers, and even demon worship.
The Reevers didnt mind the help, but they certainly werent going to take any
commentary on anything that might deter the Dragons of Valor and Scepter which flew
with them with some regularity, and the followers of the Great Totems had ferocious
distrust of the newcomers. A great amount of bloodwork took place between Reevers and
Wyrmlander tribes as pecking orders were worked out, and the Reevers made no bones
about the practice of new tribes having to prove their valor and their worth in battle,
which further winnowed down the numbers of the wild tribes.
The Six were great warlords by now, tribes swollen with both their kinfolk and a
large number of migrs who had left the Thronelands behind, covered in the scars and
tales of a hundred battles. Hrafner and Sparleye were the most revered of these, Littorian

and Huul warriors, living legends championing the cause of a dream of these lands for
their peopleand making war for their own people, not at the whim of others.
Having to cleanse the taint from their own kind rankled many of the Reevers, yet
they had seen far too much of what such twisting did to them to allow it to endure. In
unity was strength unprecedented, and nothing unclean could or would be allowed to
endure it.
At the heart of it, the only Man in the Reever camp watched impartially, a silent
figure of death and legend. The Warlords came him to with questions still, but not in
matters of war. Now, they came to ask him how to build, for they were in need of
independence from the supplies and craft of Haxan.
Fort-encampments were stacked with Throne Beastfolk trained in craft skills, the
knowledge of the natives bent to the cause of the people as they sought out mines and
natural resources, and the first farms were hesitantly drawn into the soil of the north.
From the most secure bases they had ever made as a people, the Reevers had points of
fallback, and pressed their claims to the truly ancient lands of their forefathers.
Errants duties kept him farther north for the most part, as continued difficulties with
Things creeping past the Jotun Princes demanded his unique attentions. Returning to the
Reever camp of the Goldenclaw Banner of Hrafner to find a Shield Dragon awaiting him
was annoying and exasperating.
The Dragon had made no commentary, simple stated that Errant was to return with
him for a period of time, and Warlord Hrafner was invited along, as well.
Hrafner was dubious, and there were grave suspicions among some of his advisors,
fearing the Haxans had finally turned on them now that they were proving successful in
pursuit of their dream.
The Shield Dragon had simply stated that she would die before allowing death to
come to Hrafner. Even the most biased of them would not countenance the dishonor of a
Shield Dragons word, and Hrafner had picked up Bull and strode up the lowered wing to
sit behind Errant.
With a Word and a howl of wind, they were a hundred meters in the air and rising
and spinning, and then hurtling south for the Wyrmbreak Wall.
Haxan? the aging littorian asked, mane almost completely silver now, but unbent
by time or battle.
Something Important is going to happen, Errant said, frowning. What news,
Bannerhigh? The silence of the usually voluble Shield Dragon made him feel uneasy.
The Horde broke through the defenses of Northgate. Both Felin and Man hissed at

the news. They did not seize the citybut they did make enough sacrifices to empower
a Bloodbridge across the Silverflow into the lands of the Golden Flow. They have
crossed the river and swept down the coast, sweeping aside all before them, and besiege
the fortress at the foot of the Zyayran Plateau.
Errant turned back to look at the Littorian for just a moment, golden eyes meeting
storming hazel. Treachery? he asked for them, seeing the only answer.
Champions of Death and Darkness among the Jytan forces, corrupted and ensnared
by foul sendings. The Dragons grandly strident voice was subdued and grim as she
sped through the air faster then any falcon born, propelled by the power of a Dragons
wings and magic to speed their way. They fed well in the lands of the Gold. With the
anchor position, we could not stop them from summoning their own scattered tribes with
Bloodgates from sacrificed Jytan. The full might of the Horde is again gathered.
Errant grit his teeth, but he knew there was precious little he could do. Freesword?
The General dared the Khan to both personal combat and to attempt to take Her
city from Her. The Dragons voice was a bit lighter in tone. Strangely enough, the
Khan knew better then to dare the wielder of Moondancer. He avoided the citys reach,
although he ravaged the lands about it with impunity, in turn daring the Steel to venture
forth and stop him. He gained littlemost of it was char and ash by the time his Horde
reached themthe Steel reacted quickly to his crossing.
To be expected. The Steel are terrifying behind the walls of Freesword, but the city
does not have the power to engage the whole Horde united.
It would take the entirety of the Imperial Legions to confront the force he has
massed now, and there are not ships enough to transport them all to the Imperial Capital.
Errants breath hissed out. You believe they are going to take the High Throne?
The Jytan made a grave error in establishing the Foot. The Dragon let the pair of
them dwell on them as she fell to silence, letting the two warriors to reflect on her words
as the wind howled past them on their way south.
-----------------------------------------They came plummeting into the Wyrmbreak Wall, breaking their descent with a
thunderous clap of brazen wings. Without pause, the Dragon paced through the great
gates, and Hrafner looked up at those gates that had claimed so many of his kind again
for the second time in his life.
They looked as mighty now as they had thenperhaps moreso.
Loping easily, the Dragon moved through the Wyrmbreak and its seven Walls,

Rockborn and Children saluting as she passed, Men in conspicuously fewer numbers then
the first time he had passed, and out the far side onto the White Road of Haxan.
If they had made good time coming down from the north, now they swept forth
above the White Road at a speed that boggled the mind, so quickly that Bannerhigh
scarcely beat her wings and a league seemed to vanish behind them, provoking a howl of
pure and utter awe from Hrafner at such speed and power, and even Errant could not
resist a smile at the magnificence of the feeling. At one point, Bannerhigh rolled on her
side, and a crystalline dot in the distance grew, shot by faster then any arrow ever
launched, also rolled on its side, and the two of them gaped and looked back at the Herald
Dragon, merely a glittering dot behind them and receding quickly.
Bannerhigh slowed only to fold her wings and drop beneath the Silver Spire, the
first sighting of the crossroads of Mithar Hrafner had ever seen, and even the mighty
Littorian could only gawk at the towering sight of that monument to the Silver Son
gleaming unblemished into the sky. He stared at it as the Dragon emerged from beneath
the monument, took wing again, and turned to watch it recede back over the horizon in
silver brilliance.
They came off the White Road at Hearts Ford with a clap of thunder that rolled
over the lands, shedding their terrific speed and sweeping grandly into a great arc down
the Golden Flow where it intersected the Silver Flow, and headed south.
Now they could see other Dragons in the sky. Hrafner saw great companies of
cavalry and Men moving south with grim purpose, most of them on foot, loping with the
ease of long distance runners while huge herds of horses spread out about them. The sky
was full of wheeling Hawks, silvered knights on pegasi, and Dragons of all hues Metal
and Jewel.
Hrafner looked around in mounting awe. He had never seen the might of Haxan
unveiled the way he did now, counting Dragons in silence, thousands and thousands of
Men falling away behind themand this after a massive occupation force sent into the
lands of Eskelev.
How many Men did Haxan hold? Dragons? And he had seen so many in the North
with his own folk, establishing domains in the Wyrmlands slowly but surely
Haxan does not take what it cannot hold. For the first time, the Warlord of
Goldenclaw truly understood what stood behind those words.
The land was scorched black with fire and taintsmoke overlaid the land, but the
wind was from the west and blew it out over the distant blue of the Krys Myr. Small
towns and holdings passed by, ravaged and fallen to the Horde, the lands polluted and
soiled by their very passage. Here and there he saw evidence of futile battle, distant lines
in blackened earth, and twice searing spots of darkness smote his eyes and made him turn
away from the sites of truly horrific sacrifice.

He saw the dark sky-stain from the horizon, and his lips curled back from his fangs
despite himself, recognizing the foul clouds of ochre and corpse-smoke and brimstone
that accompanied the Demon Khan. Below him, the forces of Men stretched along the
Golden Flow, dwarfing the numbers of Tauren riding wildly along the banks, everyone
moving in the same direction.
With easy smoothness, another Shield Dragon, half again Bannerhorns size, swept
in above them, speaking easily to Bannerhorn in the cymbals thunder of their native
tongue before sweeping grandly away. Hrafner bent forwards as Errant leaned back.
There is a Shark-folk Host of massive size boiling up out of the Deeps of the Myr,
and heading for Maidens Blood Bay, the Haxan translated grimly. They are playing
havoc with the Jytan navyand theres some very old, very nasty creatures of the Deeps
moving with them. Even the Dragons are keeping out of the watersand they cant get
close to ships full of Jytans without being fired upon, of course, so the aid they can lend
is limited.
Hrafner had seen drawings of Shark-men in books of Men on a visit to Freesword,
but never laid his eyes upon one. The tales of them were as fell as that of the
Taurencannibalistic, prone to mutation, devoted to Dark Powers and ancient Things of
the true Deeps of the ocean, savage as the beasts they were born oftoo much like his
own wild kin in the Broken Lands.
What does Haxan intend to do? he asked of Errant, running his clawed fingers
through his silvered mane as he considered the options.
Haxan wont move into the Lands of the Throne here unless the Horde turns our
waywhich would be passing stupid. On the other hand, if they do make it onto the
plateauwe cannot allow them to keep it, it is simply too strong a point to let them hold,
and we will come acrossThe Jytan might sacrifice their pride and ask for aid, but I
have grave doubtsand the price of that aid they might not want to pay.
Hrafner considered the massive numbers of Men darkening the land for leagues in
all directions, stirring up a dust cloud reaching up nearly to where they winged forwards
on Dragon-back. Haxan was making very sure the Horde did not turn west across the
Flowand poised like a great and fell sword to fall on the Tauren as needed.
He could now see the lightnings flashing down from the hellstorm sky ahead, hear
the distant echoes of thunder. An ominous bank of clouds was rising high, high, high into
the air in the west, behind the Haxan force, boiling like the wrath of the fabled goddess
who sailed the skies of Haxan. It was held at bay by a mighty force from that hell-storm
assaulting the broad base of a truly gigantic plateau whose base extended rapidly towards
the east and west as they approached.
The High Seat, as the Throne called it, was a good hundred and fifty kliks across, if

he remembered reading those books on distant lands correctly. The lowest sides
approached the lands about no closer then a hundred paces save at two placesthe
Fortress-Valley called the Spear, and the Imperial Capital at Maidens Blood Bay. Now
the Jytan had added a tunnel to the lands of the Golden Flow, a fortress now under
terrible assault by the massed might of the Horde.
The stench of Tauren Taint suddenly assailed his nostrils with savage
familiarityhe had Bull in hand before he knew it. Errant was exuding rage from his
poresthe icy cold killing wrath that had been the death of so many Tauren.
There, a sickening mass of mutant things, even at this distance seeming to writhe
and ripple like some pulsing, unclean beast, boiling around high walls as bloody lightning
fell from the skies above. From far above, a few brave Dragons flew, observing the battle
with eyes keen as eagles, ignoring the falling lightnings with stately grandeur, and
Bannerhorn banked and began to climb to join them, leaving the road of the Golden Flow
and the great host gathering about it.
The distance was still leaguesHrafner had forgotten how his eye-lenses could fool
him with distance, and it took several minutes to close that distance, watching the
bounding, gleeful forms of Tauren cavorting over the landscape below, the smell of Taint
and foul feasts rising inexorably to greet them from massive balefire cookpoints where
captives were burned alive and the power of their deaths fed the spellcasters of the Horde.
Hundreds of thousands of Tauren. Hrafner felt a hatred and nausea greater then any
he had ever known as he took in the ravaging below with enhanced eyes, and the pitiful
fortress attempting to stave off the assault on its walls. Even with the reinforcements he
could see on the plateau above, marshaled in disciplined legions, he did not see how the
Fortress could holdbut neither did he see how the Tauren could climb one and fifty
paces of stone to gain the Plateau above, save by constructing their own tunnela task
that would be nearly impossible with the Jytans ability to assail them from above.
And then there was a massive crack that had nothing to do with thunder.
Oily black vapor jetted out from the sides of the Plateau in falling streams of foul
power. Stone liquefied and decayed, raced along the Plateau as the streams descended
down on the base of the Plateau in a broad swathe curving up in a great and foul arcand
stone broke.
And began to move.
The grumbling and grinding sound was horrible to hear. Hrafner could scarcely
believe his eyes as suddenly a chunk of the plateau began to move, to slide outwards, a
slice like a wedge of cheese, ending precisely at the entry point to the tunnel to the
fortress foot below. Whole companies of Imperial troops screamed and lost their footings
as the ground shook and the earth broke and carried them away from their fellows.

Fifty paces off the ground, the mass of stone slid out with inexorable pressure from
its own weight, great putrescent blobs of decaying stone pouring away from the edges of
it as it slowly picked up speed, extending out, out over the fortress below as doomed
troops looked up and screamed at the shadow rising over thema shadow that began to
fall under its own weight.
Hrafner gaped as the narrow far end of the slice began to rise into the air, and
screaming Legionnaires began to slide down the rapidly rising surface helplessly. The
stone seemed to scream and groan all at once as it slid faster and further forwards, and the
far end rose into the air with increasing speed
The impact the front end made as it came down on the fortress was sickening and
final, the shockwave slamming a great number of the Horde from their feet and reducing
the work of the Jytan to powder and nothing beneath its mass, and all those within, the
wailing forms of thousands of soldiers plummeting to their dooms as the far side reached
the verticaland kept moving.
Hrafner watched in horrible fascination as that far point came up and over under its
own momentum, and began its long and terrible fall.
The Horde was scrambling madly out of the way, if they could, in the wild cloud of
dust and rubble, and the tail end came down, shedding Legionnaires like living tears, and
the slamming impact of that great wedge descended into the midst of the teaming Tauren
Host was as loud as any thunderburst Hrafner had ever heard, hurling the Dragon
skywards with its passing as if the mighty Bannerhorn was but a leaf in a gale.
A wedge, upside down, narrow side at the far side.
A sickening realization struck Hrafner.
Oh, @#%$, he distinctly heard Errant say, and something he was sure was similar
escaped the cymbals-tongue of Bannerhorn.
A ramp to the plateau, towering higher then a ready made road onto the high ground,
easily shaped by magic into a great and towering bridge.
From out of the dust, dark forms came hurtling up at them, foul creatures with no
right to exist on this worldfiends, demons, foul things from the Pits. Dozens of
themscores of themhundreds of thembearing demonfire and corruption and
screams of damnation growing louder by the second.
The Dragons beat for altitude, outnumbered and knowing it, turning to the west
where the host of Haxan waited. Like a black wall, the Demonhost rose into the air
behind them, a curtain of spinning blackness in the air, crackling with inhuman energies,
ready to meet the advance of Dragons.

Hrafner looked back, knowing what he would see.

Already the cloud of dust cleared, dispersed by demonic winds. At the top lip of the
fallen wedge, the spellcasters of the Tauren lifted their arms in supplication, and before
them the stone flowed out in a massive bridge. Behind them, a thick serpentine mass
boiling with savage fury and bloodlust seethed and raced up that fallen wedgethe
Tauren Horde, hurling itself up a ramp of stone towards the reeling troops above.
The Horde had gained entry to the High Seat, and the Heart of the Lands of the High
Throne.
----------------------------------Bannerhorn descended on the encampment of the Haxans, boiling now with activity.
Dragons were coming down all around, Men crawling all over them with shimmery suits
of gleaming mail, fitting on great maces to tails, blades to the edge of wings, scythe-like
horns on massive helms. Some Dragons wore massive claws of gleaming metal over their
own claws, some held onto Jotun-sized lances or double-bladed swords with an easy
power that indicated they well knew how to use them. Saddles were being fit, and robed
and armored Men fitting themselves for battle. Companies of pegasi bearing shining Men
in full armor pranced in a graceful, heart-achingly beautiful sight, white wings unfurling
in readiness to take to the air as their riders swung into the saddles, clutching lance and
bow.
The air fairly crackled with power as magic seethed, girding mounts and Men in
protective barriers. Along a massive front, the Host of Haxan was gathering on the far
side on the Golden Flow, preparing to hurl themselves across the river.
There was a great deal of sidelong glances at Hrafner, but a glance at his cheek and
the two silvery bars gleaming there, and his presence next to a Man similarly adorned
silenced any questionsas did sliding off the back of a Dragon.
They had alighted next to a flagpole bearing a stylized pennant of a ribboned horn,
and promptly a dozen Men closed on Bannerhorn, hauling pieces of plate and mail which
they scrambled to either place on the Dragon or gave to her to place on herself. A Man in
bronze-chased plate armor also stood there, watching them with some wary surprise as
they dropped off the Shield Dragon.
Her Rider, mused Hrafner, bowing to the Man respectfully, and earning a gratified
glance...the man wore only Triple Gold.
I trust you saw it all, sirs. It wasnt a question. Where would you like to be
stationed?
Get me a Horse, and the Littorian a Bull. Hrafner didnt miss the odd inflection.
Well be going with the cavalry. The Dragon Rider nodded and whistled for a runner-

Hound, who took the order and raced off on four legs, raising Hrafners eyebrows.
Get yourself down towards the River then, sirs. Well be heading across as fast as
the Dragons can get back into the air. Bannerhorn was lifting a great barrel of fish to her
jaws and emptying it down her throat with obvious relishthey had flown more then ten
hours straight. Experienced riders, Hrafner and Errant could deal with the stay, especially
as riding Dragonback was far more comfortable then horseback, but obviously the Shield
Dragon was both tired and hungrynot that it would stop her, as a pair of four meter
lances were brought up, touched to mithral bracers clapped on her forelimbs, and released
to hover there, claws-free. Her emerald eyes gleamed with eagerness for the coming
battle as she fluttered her wings at them, and the pair of them quietly removed themselves
from the area, stretching out for a quick minute before heading towards the Flow.
Our mounts? the Littorian asked, concerned.
Will find us, never fear. You dont have to fight, you know. The Littorian snorted
his disdain for that idea, following the Haxan through the racing ranks closing and
thickening as the river neared. I think you were brought along as an observer for what
might happen, to report to the Reevers as someone impartial.
A Witness to the Fall of the Jytan? Hrafner growled at the irony of that statement,
and nagging feelings of guilt.
As I doubt you would have been within Northgate, I doubt it would have made a
great deal of difference were you here or not. And you did not make the ramp up the
slopes of the plateau.
Hrafner snarled at the remembrance of that foul magic. Indeed. They were moving
between ranks of waiting riders, hard eyes of Horselords following them as their mounts
moved aside to let the pair through. For what are you searching?
Riders of Clan Ruin. I am the bearer of Dutyit is my obligation to lead them in
the fight. I doubt there is anyone in this Host with our experience in fighting the Tauren.
He tapped the knee of a rider, who looked down at him with a curious disdain that
changed instantly to wary awe at the sight of Twin Mithril. A clipped question, a pointed
hand, and Hrafner followed the Haxan as he quickly cut across the precise ranks of the
Horselords.
The silence and poise of the steeds was eerie. Hrafner knew well the quality of
Haxan horsesmost of the Reever mounts had at least their blood in them by now, and
he had ridden many of them. He could see the power and speed of the equines about him
with some envy and respectbut there was precious little of the shuffling, neighing and
nickering he was used to having in a force of cavalry, especially of this size. The air
seemed to hum with a strange serenity and anticipation, and he recalled the stories he had
heard of the Horselords, and their uncanny bonds with their mounts.

He could feel the curious eyes of many Haxans on him as he trotted through their
ranks, not knowing who he was, only that a Littorian was in the midst of a great Haxan
army for some strange reasonand following another Haxan. He snarled to himself, and
then laughed quietly to himself at the irony of not being recognizedjust another warrior
in the battle to come.
Past the ranks of women archers, on horseback and foot, the latter interspersed with
lines of spearmen with squared shields suited for making a shield wall, gleaming long
spears raised and ready to form an impenetrable thicket of steel thorns, protection from
all sides and above. The lines and companies of male infantry, with swords and spears
and shields and lighter armor, gathered up around their commanders with banners and
pennants waving Clan and House and city and town and village and whatnot in a
dizzying array of signs and signals. Hounds and Great Cats loped back and forth on
errands, many of them also clad in armorhe watched a massive lion waiting at the side
of an old Man, the Cat fully decked out in plate armor, and almost shook his head at the
sight. Hawks circled above, flitting to and fro as needed. A company of Halflings were
passed by, their mounts large Hounds and ponies, looking grim and lethal as they plucked
at their bows and array of long knives on bandoliers, hard eyes following him as he
trotted past in the wake of the Haxan.
He saw the banner first, being a full head taller then the Haxan. He knew the
emblem because Errant used it when needed among the Reevers, especially when they
had been fighting in the Thronelands. Errant obligingly altered course and in another
minute they were trotting up on an older, grizzled, and graying Man in patchwork armor
that nonetheless glowed intermittently with runic inscriptions across the various pieces.
That one saw them coming, and Hrafner saw his Horse turn to greet themlike Errants
mount, this one had no reins.
Master Errant. The older man looked down at the pair of them in some surprise, as
the mismatched riders all about looked on in great interest. Keen eyes noted the Mithral
bars, the hilt of a Clansword. This Elder wore Thrice Platinum, but his badge was a dark
moon, not a cresting wave. A member of the House of Stalking Shadow, the stealthy
killers and spies of the Haxans. You are a long ways from the North.
I received an invitation, Elder Engloss. Certainly you dont think Id be allowed to
miss such a fight as is coming here?
The Elders face broke into a broad smile that bespoke considerable hidden charm.
No, I imagine you would not. I shall thank Mithar for being relieved of this onerous
position. I am not supposed to lead armieswell, ones that are seen, anyways. Sharp
gray eyes twinkled dangerously.
I present Warlord Hrafner of the Goldenclaw. Silver eyebrows rose as the Shadow
Master considered the towering Littorian, and his Mithral bars. Hes here as an
observer.

Littorian and Shadow Master coughed in unison at that polite misconstruance. Well
enough. I think I can stay in his Shadow and keep things off his back. Hrafner saw the
gray eyes of the Master go completely black, right down to the iris, as the Elder nodded
at him. If the legends were any hint, he would very soon forget the Master was there at
allas would anything that chose to strike at him. He would make, as it were, a fine
distraction.
A few minutes later, their mounts came trotting up, barded and saddled and without
a rider or guide, complete with lances and javelins sheathed and ready for them.
Hrafners eyes widened as he saw the one intended for hima Buffalo, nearly as tall at
the shoulder as he was, with a tri-horned Helm accentuating sweeping longhorns, thick
armor that slowed the beast down not at all, trotting as lightly as the warhorse next to it.
Like that Horse, it had no reinsit did not need them.
He had never ridden an intelligent steed, other then a turn or four on Errants
marvelous mount Tender, who was simply not of a size to bear him for long. He knew
enough of etiquette not to presume anything as the Bull trotted fearlessly up to him,
spreading his hands as Errant did, letting the warm breath of the great nostrils huff in his
face as his scent was taken, and a razor-point horn carefully turned his cheek to see the
Mithral he wore.
Still, the Bull grunted a question aloud, with a shuffle of a massive foot, turning a
curious eye on Errant, who was swinging smoothly into the saddle.
His axe is named Bull, Errant replied sharply to the question.
That brought the buffalo up quickly, head rising proudly. Hrafner smiled despite
himself as the massive beast half-turned to indicate he should mount, and with relish lept
smoothly into the saddle. As he had with Tender, he quickly made points to show he
knew what he was doing, pressure of heel and thigh and stirrup guiding the buffalo
through an intricate series of prancing steps, with terrific power and an agility most
Horses could not match. He saw the approval in the eyes of the Haxans as the Bull went
through the formal motions, rolling a dark eye back at him and bobbing a shaggy head in
acknowledgement.
His name is Mass, and he is a Herd Bull, Errant informed Hrafner calmly, as his
Horse danced through the motions with the grace of a gazelle, clearly enjoying itself. He
wheeled sharply, and spoke with a voice that cut through the background of noise like a
knife.
Give me an Armsbrother.
Promptly a lean Man in battered armor and shield trotted forwards, Thrice Gold on
his cheek, dangerous and far-seeing eyes, his roan mount scarred and tossing his mane
proudly. On his battered shield, the twin kites of the Armsbrother gleamed with careful
emphasis, and he took his place at Errants flank.

Bannerman. Let the Tauren know that Duty and Goldenclaws ride with Ruin. The
pennant-bearer lowered his head in concentration, and with a snap, two more flags
unrolled beneath the rune-mark of Ruin, and Hrafner lifted his axe with a deep-throated
roar of approval for seeing his own flag there, held aloft above a Host of Men. To his
surprise, he was answered with lifted swords and a rising shout back, cut off like a knife
as Duty sang from its sheath, and perfection cut the air with mistwave and lightning.
Today, we are not warriors of Ruin, who go forth and kill the enemies of Haxan
beyond our lands, in the night and the silence and the shadows. Today, we are Warriors
of Haxan. Today, we follow the lead of the Code of Mithar. Today we stand tall among
our brothers, with our brothers, for our brothers. Today, we do not skulk, we do not stalk,
we do not hunt.
Today, we fight, and we fight as Men. Today we bring Ruin under the open sky,
before the eyes of the Maiden of Winds and the Queen of Storms, among silver swords
and silver shields.
Today, we do not die alone, we die among our own. Die well, and feed your foe to
the Land!
The roar of response was quiet, grim, but with an undercurrent of power and
appreciation. Hrafner knew that the Clan of Ruin was the most alienated of the Great
Clans, doing much work outside of Haxan, less tied to the community and people then
the other Clans. To fight and die among their own was not something that happened often
to these warriors, to show their steel and skill among the Men of Haxan.
Today, they brought Ruin before the eyes of all.
Errantry XI
The battle began with raised swords and bended knees.
Hrafner had seen Errant execute his Devotions to Mithar hundreds of times, but now
he saw thousands, tens of thousands of Haxans do so with them. It was an awe-inspiring
sight, watching those legions of silver swords move up and down in uncanny, impossible
unity, from one edge of his vision to the other, a low humming chant in some old tongue
filling the air and making the soil tremble with a subtle, spiritual power being unleashed
and then bound again. He had seen the serenity that cloaked the Haxan when he executed
the Devotions, probably the only time he ever saw Errant at peace, and now saw that
expression on the face of every Man about them as silver swords rose and spun, and Men
stepped and circled and chanted the while.
It was inspiring, it was humbling. This sort of unity was ages beyond anything his
people possessedhe was not sure such unity of purpose was even possible within the
structure of a Great Pack and the instinctive rivalries of his folk vying for alpha male

positions.
And then, those thousands of Men fell to one knee, and from their ranks strode the
Purehearts and the Priests.
Hrafner had had little use for servants of spirits in his youth, and even in his later
years looked on them more as a resource then as something for veneration. Good healers,
useful allies, staunch battle-companions, yes, yes, but no more so then a master
swordsman there to guard your back. Not even the Celestial Pack, spreading its faith
quietly among his people in opposition to the Taint and their own bestial instincts, had
truly stirred his heart.
He did not expect to be overly impressed. The monument to Mithar, the deadly
silver warrior-god that was the heart of Haxan culture, had been impressive, true. But
magic was magic, and as the priests with their symbols of gold, and the paladine with
shields and staves of silver lifted their implements of power and prayed, the Littorian sat
back and studied the seemingly thickening cloud of darkness gathering on the opposite
banks of the Golden Flow. The Demonhost seemed to be summoning in more of their ilk
to oppose the coming advance, a wise topic.
Thunder swallowed his soul.
It was soundless, a flash of more then lightning across the sky. The gaze, spirits save
him! He felt eyes, huge and old, sweep across his spirit from the skies above, tearing his
head around to gape up at that rising thunderhead towering leagues into the air, where he
could see, he could see-!
With a roar, the Men of Haxan were swinging into their saddles, and they were
moving. Moving, a wave of metal and silvered steel, towards the surging waters of the
Golden Flow.
Above, the dreadnought of the Queen of Storms was surging down towards
themand something was riding it his mortal mind just could not comprehend
The waters of the great river did not touch them. Ephemeral as mist, they flowed
away before the advance of the Haxan host, leaving behind a riverbed as dry and level as
a sandy beach. A half-klik of water, peeling away before the line of Men along a front at
least a league across, fleeing before the cavalry and the pacing long-trot of the infantry
behind.
Above them, twisting cones of Dragons in ranks began to hurtle forwards, and
behind them, the clouds came down, and above their heads, the wind began to howl like a
thousand banshees.
Thunder rumbled in his soul, hooves pounded the air, his heart and that of the great
bull beneath him joined the rhythm of power that was building, and a roar of savage glee

and fury tore itself free of his throat despite all his misgivings.
The Gods of Haxan were with them this day. He had never imagined he might
actually See a Godah, what he had Seen! And behind them, blazing so high, high in
the sky -!
That banshee wind struck the wall of Demonkind and smashed it asundergreat
creatures of the pits were sent spinning away helplessly in the grip of hurricane-force
winds. With roars like a thousand horns and cymbals of metal and crystal, the Dragons
and Riders in tight formations punched into the few remaining Demons, led by a fury of
spells and breath weapons that was nothing short of spectactular.
The Tauren who had remained to bar the way were gaping as the waters of the
Golden Flow split and fell away along that massive front, chased in gleaming strands of
silver and moonlight. Arrows arced out into the night, were scattered by that banshee
wind, and as the wall of the Golden Flow ripped open and the cavalry of Haxan emerged,
the plummeting Dragons came down and tore the front ranks of the Tauren open.
Hrafner was there as a great silver Valor Dragon, clad in mithril armor festooned
with spikes, turned a wedge of hyenataur to frozen ice as she smashed into the ground,
and her Rider lept free with a screeching Demon spit on his lance whilst the great bulk of
the Dragon proceeded to roll over and over and over, crushing and impaling Tauren like
dark fruit between her mass and the land, opening up a huge rent in the line which the
cavalry of Haxan tore right through.
Silver flashes went off everywhere as counterspells and wardings denied opening
salvoes, and then the charge hit with a crash that sent Men, Tauren and Demons flying.
Stunned and driven from the air, the Demonhost found itself restricted to the ground,
where gleaming lances and silver swords could reach themand where vivic fires
blossomed like hungry white seeds.
Hrafner had never felt so invincible in all his life. The wordless thunder beat in his
heart, and Bull rose and fell in a blur of crescent heads as Mass tore into the press. Near
him, Errant was drawing a swirling line of death around him with the liquid path of his
sword no Tauren or Demon endured more then a few seconds in reach of Duty as he
ripped open a path and cut the enemy off the impaling Horns of his Horse. Vivic fire was
raging in his wake, leaping Cats and Hounds with shining silverfangs were leaping on the
dead and administering Final Rest with the heartless savagery of the Beasts, leaving Men
free to advance with spear and sword and seeking arrows.
Their front shattered and spread across the landscape, the Demonhost tried to gather
to meet the coming legions, but their ability to teleport was as hampered as their ability to
fly, and they had to run, leap, hop, slither and crawl to join their own. The legions of
Haxan came pacing inexorably onwards, and Dragons reared in the midst of surging Men
to lead the charge.

Hrafners eyes set on the Plateau rising before them, a few leagues away, and the
wings of the Haxan advance swept in and onwards, driving the Tauren and Demons
before them without mercy. In the best traditions of the cavalry, those who fled were
ridden down one by one, and behind them, white fires raged higher.
The resistance at the ramp to the plateau was more spirited and organized, a
rearguard left behind to delay and to confound. Already the Host of the Tauren had
poured up onto the High Seat, and then shattered the bridge behind, sealing themselves
and their enemies withina struggle they were bound to win.
This did not deter the Haxans at all. A bridge built by magic could be easily replaced
by their geomancers, and the heights of the Seat were hardly an impediment to Dragons,
even with the cyclonic winds raging overhead. The Dragons drove their claws into the
stone of the plateau and snaked upwards easily and forcefully, while a raging spellbattle
over defenses and counterdefenses filled the air between the slab and the Seat as Tauren
and Demon magic aimed to stop the Haxans from forming another bridge. Above the
conflict, a monstrous thunderhead and a Hellstorm filled the air with unearthly thunder
and echoes of Dark and living power, and Hrafner kept his very eyes off the skies lest
they be seared by the sight of what was taking place above.
The first Dragons came over the edge, their breaths of fire and light and sound and
energy leading the way, tearing apart the defenders and driving the spellcasters back, if
not slaying them outright. Their Riders wove desperate spells to defy the slaying magicks
sent at their steeds, while the forces of Haxan lined up to surge across the bridge that was
now leaping across like flowing water towards the Plateau, runework blazing across the
shaping stone and drinking the shattering magic directed upon it to grow even faster.
Here and there, Dragons lept from the edge of the Seat, taking their foes with them,
spreading wings to sail raggedly away as their foes plummeted past screaming, bright and
burning blood streaming from dozens of wounds, but their efforts had been enough.
The Hosts of Haxan came on, even as the Tauren made a massive push to hold the
line.
Hrafner was there in the front line with Errant, but it was footmen who led the way,
wild-haired and storm-eyed masters of the School of Lightning Striking, racing out ahead
of the cavalry, their swords streaming mist of moon and starfire, and as the Tauren and
Demons came to meet them, they became blurs of steel and wind, hitting the front of the
Tainted line.
White fire exploded in all directions, cyclones of wind and steel, the Lightning
Masters dring deep into the wedge of the enemy, limbs and bodies sailing in all
directions. Into the chaos came the mass charge of the Haxans, shattering the front and
plunging into the thick of the Tauren host.
Nine Lightning Strikers led the way, the tip of the advance wave, and around them
nothing lived. Hrafner could only see the path of their blades by what fell behind them,

arcs of death and eternal oblivion, and Masters of the other Schools descended in their
wake. Errant was suddenly in the midst of these, and Hrafner found himself watching the
Wave Master afoot as Errant took Duty in both of his hands and joined a confluence of
Profound Masters in driving a path through the thickest part of the fighting.
Hrafner had never seen swordwork as fell and beautiful as he saw then. Fire and
Water, Storm and Crystal, Shadow and Sun and Moon, Wind and Steel and
Thunderwherever his gaze fell, the profound arts of the Haxan were harmonizing with
a terrible ease and majesty behind the deadly advance of the Lightning Masters. In their
wake, the Men of Haxan were raging upwards on a flaming white road, while above the
sky threatened to crack and the air was full of warring vivic fire and Tainted power.
Bull had never stopped moving, had never run out of targets. His mount stumbled,
and Hrafner slid free to let it stop, seeing massive wounds that Mass had not allowed to
let slow him down, and left the Herd Bull to recuperate as he let his Rockborn-forged axe
fill the air around him with death, drawing his own following as he smashed into
Rhoditaur, Centaur and lesser demonlings like a true beast of the Land.
==============================
He did not know when they were past and thru, but suddenly the Tauren were not
before him any longer, and Men were sweeping past ahorse to pursue those who were
fleeing. Men afoot gathered about him in tight ranks as the cavalry raced past, seemingly
an unending stream of gore-footed horses and grim riders, a living river of vengeance as
for the first time in half a millennium, the armies of Men rode upon the Seat of Eryl.
Hrafner pushed forwards now, knowing he was blocking the flow of the divisions
coming behind, and his troop followedMen, he saw, that bore the banner of Ruin with
his own Golden claw upon it! Feeling savagely proud, he led them away from the split of
the fallen slab, up the middle to where the infantry would reform, while the cavalry began
to break up to guard the flanks, and already the magi were beginning to reshape the crude
fortifications there to aid in defense.
Frogs, snakes and bloody rain began to hail from above, but earned only curses and
insults from the ranks of Men as shields were lifted and mocking voices taunted the
hellish powers contesting the sky. Only the foolish dared to look upwards, and then not
long before their eyes streamed red tears and older hands cuffed fool heads for such
idiocy. There were Things unmortal doing battle above them, things out of their ken, and
they were not spectatorsthey had their own battle to face, and trust in Mithar and Eryl
and Aethra to do theirs.
Hrafner had literally no idea of where to gohe had lost sight of Errant among the
numbers of Profound Masters, and had no idea where to begin looking. A callused hand
tapped him on the arm, and the Elder of Shadow Errant had relieved of command smiled
and pointed him onwards.

Ill keep the lads in place. Good show, Lionyou can ride with Ruin anytime.
To hear a Man say that was a strangely proud moment. Saluting the Elder with Bull,
Hrafner paced quickly away, forgetting the Mans face along with his name and his scent
within twenty steps without even realizing it.
Errant was indeed at what looked to be a central command point, with more Mithral
bars in one place then Hrafner would have believed existed. He noticed two fewer
Lightning Masters then had begun the battle, which was unnerving he could scarce
believe anything could have killed those Men in the midst of their killing fury. Errant saw
him approaching and waved him in behind as a man with the Sun symbol on his cheek
and the golden armor of a Lion general spread out a map of the plateau on a table made
out of blades stuck into the ground, and shields balanced atop them. With a start, Hrafner
realized one of those blades was Duty.
Its going to take us hours to get the entire force up here and organized to advance,
and scouting aerially is impossible while the Divine are at it upstairs. No one looked
upwards. Its going to take time to get the lay of the land, and weve got to be fast on the
cleanup and healing. What scouts are at work say the Tauren are raging across the plateau
and making for the Capital. The Jytan have maybe a day to get defenses in place from a
landside attack, but the mentalists have already reported the shark-man in the Bay and
swarming the harbor, and its drawing off their attentions at a very bad time.
The capital is doomed. Theyll be lucky if they can evacuate the Imperial Court in
time. The Fire Dancer who spoke up didnt sound too unhappy about that.
Their best defense is to go Chi-Juludif they can do that for most of the adult
population, they have an entire force of berserkers ready to fight and dieeven if they
dont have weapons and armor for all of them. It wont let them win, but it may allow
some of them to get off the plateau if they make a run for it. The General did not look
too keen on the possibilities if that happened.
Berserkers arent known for running, a towering Hiken in greyed and battered
plate muttered in a hoarse voice, and the Steel shield of his House on his armor, skin
scored by raking nails that had similarly left lines on his armor. The Jytan will fight, and
they are going to die. Perhaps the Court will fleeperhaps not. But there is no way they
will cede the capitol of the Throneto the Tauren, or to us.
There was a long moment of silence among the Masters there as they contemplated
that truth.
Then I pity them for attempting to deny us the Land of our mothers, a statuesque
woman with calm gray eyes stated in no uncertain terms, leaning on a gleaming recurve
longbow, the mark of the Hawk proud on her arm. At her side waited a darker-skinned
man in turban and robes with steepled fingersand startlingly out of place blue eyes, the
sigla of an Auroran Archmage gleaming upon his cheek. The Tauren are highly unlikely

to turn around and assault us, with an open, undefended land before them, replete with
unproven, unprepared defenders. The Jytan did not learn from our mistake, and they took
what they cannot keep.
And they pay for it now, the General said in no uncertain terms. If they go to
Chi-Julud, it will likely set off the entire population of their Empire. The Jytan will be at
war, as aggressive as the Jotun at their worst, and they will not let us keep the Seat in
peace. There will be war.
A war they will be in no condition to pursue. It was Errant who spoke now,
looking away from the map, eastwards. These fields have been their primary hold out
and breadbasket. They have lost all but the barest farming in the North. There is no
possibility that we can run down the Taurenmost likely they will flee South into yet
more Jytan lands, and further ravage their economic infrastructure. It is entirely likely
that the Empire is going to be facing a famine of massive proportionsand in the
Wardance, the Jytan will be merciless about securing first rights for food. The Lupinals
may endure the forced labor that is going to resultbut there is going to be revolt and
rebellion from the Felin and from Men. They are also going to lose much of their
shipping capacity to the shark-mens attack, which means trade is going to be
shatteredtheir Empire is doomed. It only remains what can be salvaged of it when the
Tauren are done.
That is the most likely scenario, the Lion agreed with a slow look around at the
Masters. We cannot simply run the Tauren to ground with their numbers and power, and
this much open space. We would need to restrict them, and the only way to do that is to
drive them into the capitol and force them against the bayhighly unlikely to happen.
They do not seek to hold land, merely to ravage and to slay. To split our forces is to
invite slaughter if they regroup. We will have to reave and raid as they do, force them
down and kill as many as we can.
And doubtless the Jytan will blame us for forcing the Tauren after them, instead of
simply trying to ride them all down, murmured one of the Lightning Masters in a voice
that crackled with power, clutching at his blade. Sparks shot between his eyes.
They will blame us anyways, regardless. Im not particularly worried about them,
especially if they go to Chi-Juludits likely well have to kill any we run across
anyways. Errant was cold and pragmatic as he surveyed the horizon, already thickening
and burning with thousands of fires. I suggest we do this problem our way. Take what
we can hold. Send out the Horselords and kill all the Tauren we can. Fortify this point in
case they decide to come back this way. He left deliberately uncertain who they were.
Sending out infantry is an invitation for disaster unless they can outrun a Tauren, or are
in full division formations and strength. This is going to be a running battle up until the
capitol, and then will be a running battle from the capitol.
Fight like a Reever, growled Hrafner, and earned appraising glances for the
words.

Aye, full Horse raiding techniques, a bow-legged Haxan with the single stallion of
Clan Horse on his arm stated grimly. When weve the force here to keep this point, then
send the foot on to the capitol to hold that too. That would give the Horse two fallback
points while the Tauren run willy-nilly over the plateau. If they take too long having fun,
well gut them with persistence.
More likely theyll pick a point off the south and ride down on magic to continue
the fun, Errant stated, and received nods of agreement. The Khan is not a fool, and hes
in it for the slaughter. Hes already guaranteed the fall of an Empirehis Gods are
pleased with him even if we catch him, now. A dozen Men spit in solemn unison.
Oh, well catch himthe South is not a rich land, and the cities there are
stronghe cant ravage all that much, and that means he will have to roam, and
disperseor ride for home. If the Jytan are in Chi-Julud, hes not going to have anything
as easy as he thinks anymore. The General studied his map for a moment. Those of you
who can, get some rest and start treating wounds. Horse, keep the riders going out. The
Lion will focus on the defenses here. Widen the circle. Hawk, scouting duties, deep.
Ruin, make yourselves useful wherever you think is bestjust try to let us know it. We
start moving again tomorrow. He looked up at the Hawk and her mate. I want Ryinthi
who know this place in every company, if possible. We need to know where and what to
look for.
And if we find Jytan? the Moon mistress, in the white robes of Amana, asked
softly. The Lion closed his eyes, and the other masters were silent.
Mercy if they are prepared to receive itand death if they will not. The Seat of
Eryl is no longer theirs.
Errantry XII
The Cloud Seat, Home of the High Throne, Center of the Empire of the Jytan, their
greatest conquest and greatest strongpoint, was aflame.
As had the Zyayrans before them, the Jytans had assumed the walls of the Plateau
were the greatest defense they would need, and had only reinforced the obvious
strongpointsthe Fortress of the Spear, and the defenses at Maidens Blood Bay. Internal
defenses, strongpoints, and the like on the plateau proper were few and far
betweenmagical wards made certain no mass undead invasions were going to
overwhelm them, and the thought that an invading army of size could gain access to the
top at any other point was fanciful thinking at best. The Seat had the greatest of the
Empires schools of magic, and hence, spellcasters aplenty, to thwart any magical attempt
to gain the top, and that had been deemed defense enough.
It was only those spellcasters, sending out desperate word and alarm of the Demon
Khans forces atop the plateau, who made it anything of a battle. Although the defenders

of the plateau far outnumbered those of the Khan, most of them were civilians, not
military, and individually no match for a berserk, bloodthirsty centaur, let alone the
stronger hyenataur, bulltaur, lupitaur, and felinataur. The Hellstorm that heralded the
coming of the Host was visible night and day with the bloody, unearthly lightning ripping
across the sky, seeming to crackle and rumble with malign glee for each Jytan after Jytan
fell to blade, claw, hoof, fang, spear, horn, and arrow, and their servants who died with
them.
The Jytan knew enough to burn it all, but they had no time to slaughter everything,
or bring it all within the few strongpoints that had any chance of holding out. The Tauren
moved fast and furious, crazed with bloodlust and looking for slaughter, and they
stormed across the plateau with a speed even elite Jytan forces could not have matched.
Before and behind them, they left death, fire and corruption.
The Imperial Capital was already under siege from the sea, as the shark-men of the
Krys Myr came surging up to do battle in numbers unprecedented. Great mutated beasts,
things from the darkest pits of the ocean, tore the Jytan ships apart one by one, and the
slimed and scaled legions of cannibalistic warriors swarmed ashore in seeming endless
waves.
Strong they were, often mutates with horrid powers and malformed bodies of great
size and power, but the land was not their element. The Jytan met them with armor and
steel and the skill of warriors taught in ancient schools of war, and soon the streets were
coated with the gore of the deadnone of which deterred those who came later.
The shark-men had little skill in siege tactics and little with military engineering. In
the deeps, the only defenses were being inside solid walls and holding the points of
entrysuch ideas as pits and walls and overlapping fields of fire were new to them, and
the Jytans were merciless teachers. The lack of a third dimension to move in, and the
unfamiliarity with an environment where water did not buoy their weight, meant the
forces from the sea had a distinct inability to maneuver in mass, nor did their usual means
of coordinating their forces work as well since sounds and horns did not carry so far and
so clearly. Fire and smoke cut into their vision and lungs not made to endure breathing air
for long, nor a level of heat that quickly dried their skins into withered scales.
Metal weapons and especially armor were not something they were used to facing,
especially the like of the heavily armored warmains that defended the capital with a
tenaciousness and power worthy of the sea giants themselves. The inability to surround a
great foe with the numbers they were used to caused whole companies of shark-folk to
literally throw themselves into a deathstorm of hacking metal before they learned that
such swarm tactics were nowhere near as useful above water. Lines of pikes spit
hundreds of the creatures used to simply swimming over and around any such fixed
positions, and the range and the power of archery above the water was quite beyond the
usefulness that such things saw underwater. While skilled with the spear and thrusting,
the brutal power of surface dwellers wielding great smashing and cleaving weapons was

something few if any of the sea-dwellers had any experience with, and they paid dearly
for the lack of experience. Their favored weapons of nets found precious little usage
against shields and solid lines of soldiers reinforcing one another and cutting the barbed
things apart, and the limited range of such devices made those who carried them easy
targets for high perching sniper fire, as the advantages of elevation soon forced itself on
the sharkfolk. Even the crudest barrier of fallen walls, furniture, carts and barrels could
suddenly become a strongpoint where dozens could fend off hundreds, a situation
impossible beneath the waves, and the shark-folk were ill-equipped indeed to overcome
them.
The arrival of the Demon Khans Host outside the city walls changed all that, as
suddenly there was now a war being fought from within and without, and the capitals
forces had to defend against sewer-crawling attackers quick to employ these tunnels
around the city, the mass and mindless assault of the blood-mad shark-folk, and the
unholy forces laying crazed siege to the external defenses of the city.
Only the early massacres of the advance Undersea Host allowed the Jytan
spellcasters to divert their attentions and hold the Tauren demon-speakers at bay,
reinforcing walls continually battered by spells while the walls siege engines took a
steady toll on the enemy. The Tauren rapidly assembled their own engines out of the
rubble and devastation they were wreaking on the countryside, and soon the exchange
became more evenbut the Tauren had the whole of the Seat to plunder, rape and
pillage, and they were doing so, raising a horrible deathtoll that seemingly fed the
Hellstorm raging above into greater and greater frenzy.
And the only army that could relieve them was pinned down securely in the Fortress
of the Spear, a hundred and fifty clicks away.

Except, of course, for an invading army following in the wake of the Taurenof
human Haxans, and led by Dragons. Burning, too, as they went, and followed by a Storm
of their own, also writhing with the wrath of alien powers and spirits, that harsh and
unnatural white fire of their old and dying magic painting the land, feeding their own
masters
===============
We are doomed.
The Magister Imperial bowed his ancient head. He was not a Paragon, having
chosen to pursue the secrets of power instead of the might of his race, but he was a
mighty Mage indeed, and guardian of the greatest secrets of the Empire.
The Haxan do not come to our rescue. The Emperors deep voice was both sad
and unsurprised.

I have been in contact with my opposite number among their forces. He bluntly
apprised me of the fact that the Haxan are not going riding hither-ho unto the walls of the
Throne and drive the Tauren away from usit is far too likely they would be encircled
themselves in open ground, and they are not going to sacrifice themselves for our
benefitand still lose the battle. They are here to kill the Taurennot to save us.
So much for their high moral codes, sneered General To-Graffet, his Harness
hacked, battered, bent, and stained by battle for all five meters of his height.
Opportunistic as any Manthey will take the Plateau from us regardless if we were to
win or not.
Undoubtedly. I believe their gods Eryl and Aethra are within the storm that follows
themthey were the patrons of the nation of humans who held this land before the
dramojh swept them away. The Magi Imperial held his staff more firmly. And the skies
above the Haxans are blue. It was a back-handed compliment to the power of those
gods, when the sky roiled blood and ebon above the High Throne, despite all the power
of the Circle of Magisters.
One wonders what they have sacrificed to gain such aid from their gods,
murmured the Emperor. It is a given that we cannot hold against the numbers and forces
pressing us from both sides. What are our options?
We must evacuate. The portals established long ago against such eventualities have
been securedand there have been two attempts by dark cultists to destroy them. Only
the extra precautions taken in the wake of Northgates fall has kept them secureand the
nightmares among the people increase. To-Graffets voice was bitter, but he was a
professional soldier first and foremost. The enemy will make recruits the longer they
assault by the madness coming when we sleep. We could hold them off, only to be
betrayed again from within.
If we could move to the Fortress of the Spear
That path lies directly through the heart of both the Tauren Storm and Haxan one. I
do not believe there is any chance we could make contact. Our best chance is south, to
Kar Lishar. They are best equipped to deal with the number of refugees we must move.
Begin doing so. Let them take with them our greatest treasures. And let the Magi
gift both of the forces behind us with our vengeance.
===============
Theyve activated the portals out of the High Thronelooks like two of them.
The High Maga Morningwind lifted her fathomless blue eyes from her trance. They are
gathering power for a ceremony of some size. It is not at odds with the corruption
spewing out of the wake of the Tauren HostI suspect an extremely destructive effect,
one that will despoil a large area. I doubt they will be prepared to handle such a ceremony

with the influx of corrupt power that will feed into it. The Hellstorm is affecting their
judgment. I imagine the explosion will travel the entire portal networkthey could
annihilate every Jytan city on the network, or open them directly to corruption of the
Dark.
Spite and revenge feed directly into the desires of the Dark. Of course, the Jytan are
above such base emotions and motivations. Adam Karros, the Master of the House of
Thunder, bowed his head as he looked down at the land rolling by slowly, slowly below.
He could feel more then see then White spreading up the land, as vivic fires fed on
Tauren who were too slow, encircled, and also on despoiled sites and locuses of power.
The sites where Jytans undertook racial advancement ceremonies were particularly prone
to corruptionthe magical attunement the Jytans had to these sites made those who used
them even more susceptible to the Dark once the sites were tainted.
Of course, the Jytan had no way of knowing this, probably thinking the storm
overhead was the center of these mental assaults, rather then their own ties to the magic
of the Land.
The advance, however, was very slow. They had to be sure to hit every site below,
to force back the influence of the Hellstorm, and the lack of even nominal aerial scouting
with the presence of invisible demons scattered here and there across the sky and the
cruel striking power of even a small party of Tauren forced the movement of forces in
larger companies. The Taurens speed meant their pillaging was equally hasty and not so
thoroughoccasionally survivors were found, or supplies such as livestock or food or
other items that had not been looted. More often, they found sites of mass slaughter, of
short and unholy ceremonies that dealt with lots of blood and the flesh of the dead. These
things burned like dark cancers to his enlightened senses, and would do the same to any
Purehearts among the Host below.
The Master of Thunder, could feel the conflict roiling on the front of the advancing
clouds, a seething play of divine energies, celestial powers burning against those of the
Dark in a conflagration of power invisible to the eye, all about spiritual might. The sheer
scale was beyond his true comprehension, and glad he was for itthe gods had their jobs
and he had his.
The Mitharn Host glided serenely through the clouds around themangels in full
war panopoly, spectral paladins long dead rising once again to serve the greater cause,
mages and priests devoted to the highest powers of Good, creatures of realms now sealed
to mortals, willing to risk all in service to their Lord and the peoples of this world.
The confluence of so much enlightened energy charged the Chariot of Eryl with a
supernatural splendor of elemental purity beyond anything mortally possible. Where the
Gods themselves were was ephemerealthey were here, in some form, contesting with
the forces of the Dark, and that was good enough for him.
The single windship from the Weirhold had only a spotty crewthe angelic Host

about them was far better protection then even a Flight of Dragonswhich didnt stop a
Valor Dragon from serving amongst the crew. From here, the Lady Morningwind could
more easily monitor the flows of magic through the plateau, which represented the true
forces and prizes of this struggle. While her magic would doubtless have been of great
use in the fighting below, those were mundane concerns for those who did not walk the
Road of the Eternal. The true battle was being fought on several levels, and this one was
hers.
Master Karros, we must stop their spell ceremony at all costs. Even now I can feel
the storm striking at the loci they used for their Advancements, feeding corrupt power
into the currents of magic. If the ritual they use goes offI do not think the race of the
Jytans will continue as we know it. Every Jytan who ever used a corrupted loci will be a
conduit for Dark power, spreading the Taint to everything close to themand that is
above and beyond the power of the blast that is coming The implications went beyond
mere deathtransforming a Jytan into something saturated with Tainted power would be
a nightmare at least the equal of the Tauren Host, perhaps worse.
That should be easy enough. We wade through the fanatical rearguard defenders of
the Jytan capital to take on their most powerful spellcasters shaping a spell designed to
obliterate a city and all its attackers, all in the middle of a war against a Demon-gifted
monstrous horde with a Hellstorm straight from the sewers of the multiverse spitting
madness overhead. Master Karros looked thoughtfully about the Angelic Host around
them, drinking in the glory, the serenity, the righteousness and the devotion.
Then he smiled, a radiant smile from a man at peace with himself and his life and
duty. The Masters of the Dragons that are present will go, led by those who are not
bound to God or the Land. His eyes darkened for a moment. They would not believe
the truth of what they are doing, would they?
The Magister Imperial conducts the ceremony himself, as ordered to by his
Emperor. Even were they to give our words the slightest heed, they are under orders and
certain that we would lie to gain the treasures of the capitol for ourselves. Azaia lowered
her head, silken blue-white hair playing mournfully in the wind of the clouds.
I will tell the Horselords to step up the pace. There is no doubt that we must
succeedand they must be in a position to take advantage of what befalls.
And without another word, he lept from the Windship towards the burning world
below.
====================
This is not about slaughtering Tauren, Hrafner. This is about magic on a great and
terrible scale. Ride with the Horselords and lead the Men of Ruin in the killing to
comewhere we are going, you have no place, in honor or dishonor. Errant saluted the
Littorian warlord with Duty, with a solemnity Hrafner could not truly remember seeing

before. With a start, he realized Errant thought he was going to his death, a death that
hed long ago lost all fear of, but which was insisting on being acknowledged when it
came.
If I fall, you will do my clan a great service if you are the one to find my blade.
Errant smiled thinly at the warrior of the Golden Claw as Hrafner looked down at him,
wondering what it would be like knowing the Haxan would not be around, not there to
unleash on some spectral or supernatural horror with a total lack of fear and the power of
his Clansword.
It was not a feeling he wished much to have.
I give you no luck, I give you no wishes. Succeed, and come home. Errant grinned
the wider at that reply, then his Horse spun and raced out after the line of Masters
streaming away to the EastPlatinum bars and Mithrals racing towards their doom as
they were raised to do so.
Without any further thought, he raised Bull and roared out, After them! They die
under witness of their own!
For a moment, the conflict of celestial and hell-born thunders dimmed to the
approving roar of the cavalry behind him, and then tens of thousands of Men and Horses
were moving into the kliks-eating canter that would bring them swiftly and surely to the
High Throne.
===============
They left the Horses at the periphery of the Tauren lines. Here, speed afoot was
more important then speed mounted, and the House Masters were as fleet or fleeter then
any steed. No need to lose Herd Stallions or Mares fruitlessly, although the Horses
themselves were more then happy to peel off and charge a line of rhoditaur of their own
merit, the Tauren quite forgetting just how dangerous a riderless Horse could be.
As one of the few Way Masters among them, Errant was a pivot point, a place where
the different internal powers of the Masters could meet and flow throughout their
formation. Storm lightfoot could buoy and speed the Crystal Breakers in their heavy
armor, the power of the Tide could swell up and drive the frenzied speed of the Fire
Dancer with terrible force, the Sun could hide within their own shadow, and the center of
the Moon could bind them all in a confusing web of mist and mindplay, and direct them
all with subtlety and power, like puppets on the string of a master.
Blades of Lightning backed by the Ocean drove the point through the lines of the
Tauren, who were not prepared for such a linear assault on their weakest point. The
Profound Masters of the House were on their best lightfoot, leaping over, past, through
and around the Tauren, and as they passed, the Tauren died, sometimes literally blurring
into dark lines before erupting in silver fire.

From the walls of the High Seat, it looked like a white spear had suddenly punched
into the roiling horde below, coming straight for the wall without slowing, and Tauren
were screaming to get out of the way, something they could not do fast enough. Then it
was at the walls base, vivic fire ripping outwards in a circle thirty meters across, and
then Men were flying up the thirty meters of the wall.
Not flying, hurled.
Spun on the hands of Ocean and Thunder masters, whipped upwards on the lightfoot
of the Wind, carrying behind them those made weightless by the Moon, focused by the
Sun, and led by the Lightning.
Nine chains of Masters, coming up the walls, reaching the top before the gaping
Jytan and sibeccai defenders, heaving and depositing like a living whip those who trailed
past them with a surge of chi so strong the defenders were sent stumbling a step back
from the ramparts as the Masters touched down on the battlements.
For a moment, a hundred Masters stared down a thousand troops across a section of
the wall, and then, of one accord, they lept again, over and past the astonished troops, to
the lines of houses and streets below, and began to move again as alarm horns sounded
over the entire city.
With a roar and a crash, bloody lightning hammered down from the sky and inside
the perimeter, and the northern-most section of the wall exploded outwards in a blast of
aged stone. The Jytans horns rose furtherthe Wall had not only been bypassed, it had
been breached, and now the final hours of the burning capitol were in earnest.
There were those among the defenders who sought to keep up with the Masters,
grim defenders powered by their oaths of service and duty. In speed they could match the
advance, but in the confluence of internal powers afforded by the Masters, they could not
match the pure agility and strength. The Masters streamed up walls onto roofs, lept streets
and raced across banner lines, keeping moving with a speed and surety that even the most
determined of the city defenders had a hard time keeping up with. Those rare individuals
who could command powers of flight and be airborne dared not use them with the
presence of the hellish storm overhead seeming to orient on anything not on the ground,
and the Jytan could do little but watch the Men race past and overhead, shooting arrows
that found no homes as the Masters of Haxan converged on the palace.
As they had the walls of the city, they came up the walls of the Palace, but here the
defenders were ready, and here the first battles of Jytan and Man took place.
Streaming swords rang on great spiked blades, steel screamed as it was split, and
noble Jytan warriors died shouting their defiance as the Masters of Haxan tore into them,
having no time to waste and no need to do so. The few magos among them could feel the
currents of power beneath their feet, in the distance what looked like pillars of red

lightning were pouring power into the earth at the corrupted ceremonial places of the
Jytan, and all about them they saw towering Jytan begin to leak black blood from mouth
and nose and jaws, reason dissolving to blind Tainted fury as the corruption took them
from within.
Five Masters of Ocean and Thunder hit the great door at once, Wave Slicing Strokes
and Heavens Thunder palms smashing into the enchanted adamant doors with a
precision more then mortal. Magical barriers shattered into dust, and the metal buckled
and bent and was ripped open, and the Crystal Masters smashed it open and took the full
brunt of the instant assault from within with shearing crystalline fields of force smashing
the deluge of missile fire from within.
Sun lances, Wave palms and Thunder fists drove past the line of Crystal Masters and
the shattered missiles all about them, silken ribbons became webs of steel, and Shadow
Masters arose from nowhere in the midst of the Palace Guard. In an instant, the ordered
ranks of the Jytan were tumbling confusion, and into the midst lept Wind and Fire and
Lightning and Water, and Jytan blood began to stain the tiles of the Palace a tainted
scarlet.
Their defense was ferocious, made only moreso by the Dark power pouring into
their blood, and their greatest and mightiest were almost oozing dark energies as their
dire weapons seemed to seethe with new and unholy power. Vivic fires spit and ignited,
and once-noble Jytans fell crashing, the white flame consuming them, unholy weapons
shattered with unliving shrieks of agony, and the Masters drove on, leaving their dead
behind with grim haste.
The constructed guardians did not deter themthe Crystal and Ocean Masters tore
them apart. No barrier was solid enough to deter their conjoined will and steel, and no
mere trap or pit would hold those who could walk on blades of grass. They tore through
the ranks of the Household Guard without mercy; the elite Lupinal Hounds of the
Emperor; the dedicated and ancient Imperial Fists, Champions of the High Throne; the
Throne Watch of Oathsworn, eternal in vigilance and loyalty; the Black Marines of the
Dragonbreaker Legion, the elite of the Imperial army; the Axeblades of the noble families
who warded the courts with wit and style.
Paragons of the Jytans died in numbers not seen since the Dramojh, fell defending
the Palace and the Magisters beyond, many in pure disbelief that Men, any Men, could
possibly have the skill and power to bring them down. Yet fall they did, although they
took a toll as they did so, and when the Masters drove into the central courtyard of the
Palace where the grand ceremony was taking place, less then half of the Haxan Masters
yet lived, and none were unbloodied.
Here, of course, were the Magisters of the Empire, and mighty indeed were the
spells that arose to defend the Ceremony taking place there. The Jytan did not see the
horror that the Haxans did, the darkness stealing out of the ground to whirl about
everything, tears of black blood oozing from the very skin of the Jytan all about, the

summoned beasts called from places much farther and deeper away then the Magisters
thought they were calling; the foul Taint searing the air with corruption and mutation that
ate at the body and the soul. The very ground was trembling with Dark power, seething
like a bomb ready to explode, and the words being shrieked out by the Jytan spellcasters
had nothing to do with elemental might, and everything to do with blood and souls and
the damnation of all that lived.
Here, where the Dark powers were mightiest, so too were the Sources of the Haxans.
The air ignited with vivic fire as True Death exploded among the spellcasters and
their workings. Raging Sources smashed through spell defenses like chaff and put their
owners to the sword with merciful speed and grim finality. Impenetrable barriers were
less then wind and mist; summoned creatures blew into vivic firestorms of death and
release.
Errant smashed aside the Paragon guarding the Inner Circle of the ceremony,
splitting the Jytans skull and igniting a great white flaming wound on the side of his
skull in midleap. The Paragon fell, screaming, as Errant came down on the first of the
senior Magisters, and cleanly severed his spine in mid chant.
A second later a Lightning Striker had turned a second Magister into a pillar of
white flame, and a Shadow Master was about the head of a third, which was suddenly
facing over the Jytans own back in disbelief. A great Paragon, weighing in at over a ton
of meat and armor, went sailing back into his own Magister and brought him to the
ground as the great axe he wielded buried itself in the fleshless skull of the Magister he
was guarding. A Sun Master alighted on his backside and drove the force of his finger
down through the back of the Jytans helm and out his right eye, and Master Karros of the
House of Thunder smashed into the central Magister anchoring the whole of the
ceremony (oddly enough the smallest in size of any Jytan there), his fist crushing ribs and
the force of it ripping through the Imperial Magister with enough force to tear his robes
off his back even as he went sailing through the air in agony.
But, it was not enough, and the Master knew it. The spell was almost nearing
completionup above, a maelstrom was forming, a conduit of power to places dark
beyond the imagination of Jytan or Man, a place that to the maddened and Tainted Jytan
looked like a place of elemental power to call down upon their enemies and deny them
all.
I need a Rune of True Death about where I stand, he stated with a whisper that
shook the air, and got everyones instant attention.
Blades of Water and Lightning sheared into stone and tore a path, Hands of the Sun
moved with unearthly precision while the yin power of the Moon shaped and cleared with
waves of will and influence. Heartfire and rigid elemental force warred and solidified
barriers and boundary with raging conflict and cooperation, and in a matter of heartbeats,
the Rune was done, drawn with a surety pulled right from the souls and forms of the

runeblades most of these Men held, and Master Karros stood at the heart of a great Rune
of True Death nearly twenty paces across.
Do not let them stop me, he said simply, nodding at the reinforcements coming
from the palace, the barracks, all around. Without another word, the Crystal Masters
surrounded him, spaced by the Moon, and the remaining Masters leveled their blades at
the Jytan closing in all about them, and began to move.
To the Jytan, it seemed the Masters of Haxan were sliding along the ground
laterally, in a great circle, not even moving their feet, the circle they warded expanded
and growing. Hurled weapons and arrows were cut from the air, great weapons on long
arms shattered with screams of dying demons and spits of white fire, and the Jytan
pressed in, howling vengeance as the last terrible line of defense began.
Master Karros knew no attack would pass the barrier of Moon and Crystal in time to
stop him. He could feel the massive well of Dark power rising to explode, welling like a
great dark wave beneath his feet, utter annihilation for all nearby, and perhaps worse then
that for the Jytan peoples bound to this place by their networks of portals.
Inside, he felt nothing but peace.
Long ago, Master Karros had been blessed by the Hand of Mithar, made into a
living exemplar of the faith of the Silver Son. The Sainted Master was a Pureheart and a
Vessel of the power of his God, his heart was a channel directly to the spirit of Mithar,
and his soul held the discipline and might of the Grand Master of the House of Thunder.
And as the black wave tore up from below, Master Karros lifted his arms to the
skies, and opened all that he was to the power of his god.
Beneath his feet was a waiting rune of True Death. And as the ceremony of ruin
burst forth in a wave of apocalypse, that rune was ignited by the direct power of the
Silver Son.
====================
The world went white.
All around the High Throne, raging battle stopped in a heartbeat, all eyes turning to
the expanding pillar of vivic fire punching straight up into the unholy heart of the
whirling maelstrom, seemingly pushed from below by a truly massive force and power. A
huge ring of white-hot flame was racing outwards from the pillar, sweeping over the
walls of the city, swallowing the Tauren who, although retreating from the apocalypse to
come, had not the sense to run farther and faster. Like a spear thrust from the heart of the
land, the vivic flame drove into the sky, and began to feed.
Crackling bolts of white fire flashed and flared as bloody lightning was chased into

extinction. Dark cloud-matter began to churn and dissolve in blasts of hungry vengeance.
The hole in the sky was seething with a building inferno of white flame that was getting
brighter and brighter and hotter and hotter as it raged into infinity towards the end of that
circle, the hellstorm ripping apart and the white flame getting sucked into that vortex,
upwards, upwards
Something screamed. Hrafner was not sure what it washe only knew that he was
on the ground, puking his stomach out, with the feeling his brains were outside his
eyeballs.
The hole in the sky tore apart.
Down came the white fire, plunging back along that column into its origin,
impossibly bright and pure, and all around them, for as far as he could see, shafts of white
light lanced into the suddenly blue sky in response, sparkling and dividing into a
thousand rainbow hues that dissolved into nothingness like fountains of liquid light.
He didnt really mind when the Tauren hed been fighting managed to get up and
stumble away in a shock and daze, trying to get as far away as possible from the pureness
of the rain that began to fall from the celestial storm above. He was certain he heard
Tauren shrieking in agony as the gleaming waters fell, and a glance confirmed dark hides
were steaming and smoking like acid was falling on them.
Approving mightily of that, Hrafner let his stomach heave itself up again, and then
turned skywards and opened his jaws and arms to let the rain in.
===============
Errant stumbled slowly to his feet.
He wasnt sure how he was still alive. Perhaps as a Way Master, hed been able to
tap more deeply into the fundamental skills of the Masters about him, and theyd kept
him alive, or something.
The whole of the ground beneath him was fused solid, a lump of solid silicon that
might well reach down to the heart of the world. Lesser lifeforms had flared into
nothingness at the pure fury of the power unleashed herenothing less then a Source
could have survived, and then, only the strongest willed of Sourceshe saw that did not
include most of his fellow Masters, now watching beside Mithar at the success of their
plans, or gone to their next lives in service to the Land and Aru.
He couldnt see much left of the Jytans besides hyper-purified dusttoo much Taint
in them to endure the flame. The Palace was a shattered ruin, obliterated by the
shockwave of the igniting Dark Tide, but it looked really pretty, all sparkling in the
falling rain.

There were Haxans who had survivedhe could see their forms under the sparkling
dust, still moving, still breathing. He had to make sure they did survive, and also that the
weapons of those who had fallen returned to their Houses.
There would be Jytan survivors, and they would be coming to investigate, and he
had to be ready for them.
Duty hummed quietly, and he lifted the Clansword in his hand, the metal blasted into
crystalline purity by the Torch of Mithar, veins of rune-form depths seeming to stretch
into infinity in the transformed blade. He studied the runes that made his eyes hurt and
pounded at his head with deeper meanings, runes formed of runes inside runes, and then
slowly slid the blade into the sheath upon his back.
He had work to do, and simply having his Clansword made over into a Laenwork
weapon wasnt going to distract him from his job. He lifted another crystalline blade
from the dust where a Lightning Master had fallen, noting that he held the Clansword
Valor in his hand, a sword even older then his own, shook his head, and got to work.
============
It was done. The Demon Khan was racing for the southern edge of the Plateau as
fast as his hooves could take him, chased by the pure rains of the Chariot of Eryl. The
Wormhole had been turned into a weapon against its own maker, his power turned
against him, and more power expended desperately to prevent that power from entering
the heart of his own realm.
The Lady Morningwind felt the air separate behind her, cloven by a blade sharper
then thought. Two fingers stepped quietly through that cleft in space, and when they let
go, it vanished.
Only two.
The General of the Halls of the Steel undid her infamous blank faced helm, seared
and warped by otherworldly energies. Darran Lone of the House of Striking Lightning
simply sliced the remnants of his armor off of his body, grimacing as he did so. Storm
and Moondancer were still naked in their hands, the Blade of Storms and the Blade of
Stars seething in the grasp of their mastersbut a quiet seething, tired and used and more
defiant then eager.
Only the two of you? she asked, already knowing the answer. If there had been
more, the pair would not have left them behind.
Yes, the General said softly, moving carefully, slowly to the edge of the railing, to
look over the land below, where green was spreading with more then natural speed. I am
sorry, Azaia. The Torch insured that they will remain pure even in death.

Nine Grand Archmagi of the Weirhold, three of them Seat holders. Two Archpriests
of Sylune. The Grandmasters of four of the Profound Houses. Two Arch-Paladins of
Mithar, a Sunrisen of Aru. Four Senior Mithral of the Steel.
We held them from the Hole just long enough, the General said softly. They were
not expecting resistance on their side of the barrier, especially one fortified by Eternal
Sources. It was a great risk, and the rewards greater yet.
Twenty-one Eternals fallenMaster Karros as well. The ranks of the Masters of
the Profound Houses gutted. The most powerful Grand Magi of the Weirhold, gone, not
even to serve in the North. Great rewards, indeed. The High Maga of the Weirhold could
not keep the bitterness from her voice as Darran helped her to her feet, stripped to little
more then a breechclout and his blade now.
And more power returned to the Land then we have seen in our lifetimes. A
colossal blunder by The Serpent, which will be haunting him for centuries in his dealings
with the other Dark Lords. Not only feeding his power to the Land, but almost letting
vivic fire into the heart of his own realmwe very nearly did it, Azaia. We almost
crippled him for an Age or more. The General looked back at the Weirholder, her
brilliant green eyes unrepentant. The whole world has died in this war, Azaiamore
then once, if the Void Brothers are to be believed. Our sacrifices are not so great.
He collapsed the Wormhole first, I saw it, and in doing so severed all his influence
over the Khan and the Host. This naturally throws the influence of all the other Dark
Lords into disarray. The Khan has now lost the foresight which drove himhe has only
left fury, bloodlust, and fanaticism to sustain him. Azaia leaned against the Source
Eternal, letting the power of his aura wrap her in a comfortable field of subtle might,
purer even then the power that had been returned to the Land.
We can rebuildwe always do. It is not as severe as the sacrifices made to keep
the Dramojh from Haxan, and we recovered from those, as well, and grew stronger.
Darran was far more sympathetic then the General, who had lost whole armies before in
the causes for which she fought. He knew hed lost most of his School in this battle, some
of the finest swordsman hed ever trained, and having to rebuild again was going to be a
heavy weight on his soul.
And will you take your Throne at last, Rihala? Azaia asked softly. It has been
nearly a thousand years. I think that it is time.
Yes, it is. But I am an Eternal, and an Eternal Queen over a land of mortal souls has
always been a path to damnation. I know that well, and so have contented myself with
Freesword, and my Steel. The longing on her face as she looked down upon the land of
her birth was unmistakable. If I take the Throne, I shall not wish to relinquish it, even
when my time is past.
Such was the nature of a Source, and a woman. She would be the Queen Mother,

and once the land was hers, always it would remain hers.
Now, now, you speak as if someone could not come along and take it from you.
All three of them turned on the Halvyr now leaning lazily against the railing,
regarding the three of them with his assured, cocksure smile that had not changed in a
millennium. He had, of course, not been there even a breath ago.
Grandfather, Azaia bowed gracefully to the Fire and the Sword of the Land, and
got a sweeping one in return, just before he opened his arms and she gratefully swept into
his arms for a warm hug.
I half-expected you to be at the Hole, Marcus, Darran said, a little miffed and
surprised despite himself.
Ah, well, I took it on myself to go a little bit deeper in. Ill tell you someday about
the three, ah, whatever they were, that were probably supposed to be at the fight with
you, and didnt quite make it there, and the other half-dozen who got distracted and are
probably being eaten by jRaztl now for their lack of ability to die instead of being merely
late
Darran looked a bit mortified at that, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, while the
General just shook her sable hair and looked away.
Someone could take my land from me, Marcus? Your little Emperor across the
sea?
Its taken him eight hundred years to recover from what Lone did to him and his
Empire. Hes got a lot of anger hes taking out on the Jytan, and rather remarkably, too.
He hasnt forgotten about this land and the people here, and hes kept remarkably wellinformed over the centuries. Hell be coming, and someone has to be there to stop him.
And that someone is to be me? the General asked softly.
I imagine you are going to be anvil, at the least. Youll need a good hammer, and
youll need a strongpoint the likes of which hasnt been built in an Age to take him on.
Dont be worried about your Throne. Be worried about who sits on it. He gave his
granddaughter a last friendly peck on the forehead, blurred like shadow in her grasp, and
was gone.
The three Eternals looked at one another.
Well, drawled General Rihala Wyrkathar, last of the true Eryl-blessed Bloodline
of Zyayr, Heir to the Throne of the Storm-Queen of Zyayr, it looks like Im going to be
moving. Time to finally choose me a successor in Freesword. She smiled at her great-

grandson, who just shook his head once and glanced down at his blade. He had his own
House to rebuild.

Errantry XIII
General Mi-Kraum. We do seem to meet under the worst circumstances.
The towering Paragon looked down at the drawling Man standing next to him with a
foul look in his eye. He had had enough of humans these past few days, and was
dangerously close at times to drawing his sword and moving to slay as many as he could.
Even now, his hand dropped to his sword as he regarded the speaker, and his oddly
familiar voice.
Then he swore to himself and moved his hand slowly from the hilt of his great
blade.
Errant of Clan Ruin, he stated uncomfortably, looking down at the Haxan. The
Man was a living legend now, a herald of unfortunate times for the Empire, the
figurehead of the movement which had ripped away the Lupin and Felin from the bosom
of the Empire and set them to the task of conquering their own homeland at a very
inopportune time. For all that, he was one of the most feared Tauren slayers in the
Empire, and Mi-Kraum had seen his work first hand. His sword was almost as famous as
he was, quoted in every tale about the Haxan and his slaying of the Tauren, a Haxan
Clansword older then the High Throne by far.
Im surprised they let a Paragon on land at all. He eyed the exodus of Jytan
boarding the ships, what belongings they possessed being shuttled on cargo vessels of the
Hlavans, whose naval assets had suffered much better then those of the Empire.
Were you involved withthis? Mi-Kraum growled, waving his hand at the city
sprawling up the hillside behind them. Half of the ornate and solid Jytan architecture was
a tumbled ruin, and fires still burned from the assault from the sea. The entire dock area
was a blackened, fire-strewn mass of rubble, including many of the older docks not made
of stone. At the apex of the hill, the Imperial Palace was a crumbling heap of glittering
white stone, and the high walls about it had been flattened as if by a great hand, as had
the city walls nearest the eruption which had hurtled down the heart of the High Throne.
I came late, but in time to save your people, yeah. Mi-Kraum blinked at those
wordsthe eviction of the surviving Jytan from the High Seat, or Zyayr as the humans
were calling it by its ancient name, was hardly something they needed to be saved from.
It was one of the most callous and galling events in Jytan history, surpassing even the
Ford of Roses and the annexation of Corixthe Haxans had capitalized on one of the
greatest slaughters of Jytans imaginable to take from them the heart of their Empire.
Save my people from the shame of being run from their homes, without even time

to mourn their dead? To watch your noble homeland steal from them all that they have
fought and bled for shamelessly? the Jytan asked spitefully.
Save them from becoming blood-mad servants of the Dark from one end of your
lands to the other. Errants voice was dry and cutting, and gave the angry Jytan pause.
Of course, you dont have any senior spellcasters left, so you dont have any real
explanation for what really went on, do you? He turned away from the magnificent and
mesmerizing blue waters of Maidens Bay, purified after nearly six hundred years, and
looked up at the Palace.
They seem to have all been slaughtered when the spell woven by your Aurorans
corrupted our vengeance on the Tauren host, Mi-Kraum stated icily, great hands flexing
as he contemplated vengeance.
No, theyd been corrupted before we got to them. I put as many to True Death as I
couldit wasnt their fault they were stupid, after all, and I think their souls burned
free. Mi-Kraum blinked as the Haxan touched his Clansword slowly. They played right
into the Darks hands. The Demon Khan knows how to corrupt the more powerful Jytan
now, and the love of your people for ritual and ceremony. The whole Hellstorm thing was
a carefully designed ploy against Jytan pride. They wanted you to work some great magic
of your own to try and counter themthe Hellstorm was pouring Taint into the land thru
the Ritual Focii you use for your Naming and Jytan ceremonies. The Magi were calling
upon the darkest of powers, and were so warped by the corruption of the loci they
couldnt even tell it. With the portal network nearby and opened to allow those who fled,
the great spell they threw would have unleashed a tide of Taint into the heart of every
Jytan city in the networkand into every Jytan who undertook a ritual at the loci of this
land. Conservative estimates place at least half the Jytan of the Empire would have
become suffused with Taint and servants of the Dark.
Mi-Kraum stared at him, the catastrophe painting itself slowly into his mind,
unwilling to believe it, but finding Errants calm, matter-of-fact telling of what and why
hard to not acknowledge. I find thatdifficult to believe.
Which part? That the Tauren can corrupt you thru the rituals you hold so dear that
draw power from the Land, or that the Haxans stopped it from happening? Errant looked
up at him, and waved a hand at the palace. I was there when the Grandmaster of
Thunder lit Mithars Torch with his very soul and the power of Mithar. I butchered
Tainted, frenzied Jytan to make it there. I know the Jytan were corrupt, and the power
they were calling was equally corrupt and equally powerful. If the Torch hadnt been lit,
the Jytan would be butchering their kin across the Empire, and joining the Tauren in
mindless slaughter to the greater glory of the Dark Gods. Couldnt quite allow that to
happen now, could we?
Mi-Kraum looked at the tumbled Palace, slowly recounted the tales from the yetstunned Jytan soldiers of that pillar of white vivic flame stabbing into the sky, and
something far beyond mortal screaming in the very souls of the survivors. Mithars

Torch, the Haxans were calling it.

Of course, we couldnt stop them from Tainting a large number of Jytan who have
undoubtedly gone through the portalsincluding the Emperor. I dont even want to think
of what is rotting the minds of those bastards and what they are going to turn your people
into as they go madbut not a lot we can do about that.
Mi-Kraums eyes widened at the implications, loyalty warring with the idea of
profound corruption and the dangers of which he had seen first hand, the danger which
the Tauren embodied. What do you mean?
The Torch purified most of the Jytan who remained herethose who couldnt be,
died. But those who fled have got the Taint in them, and got it nicely, from their
corrupted loci here. Theyve got things whispering in their nightmares and all their worst
fears and paranoia driving themI imagine theyll declare war on Haxan before they
even think about driving off the Tauren, and begin a mass purge of humans from the
Jytan lands in short order.
There is little trust for humans after what the Men of Haxan have done to the
Empire. Stealing away the High Throne has only made the problem far, far worse. The
problem of racism was already beginning to rage in the Southern remnants of the Empire,
and held at bay in the North only by the need for every soul to reclaim law and order
there.
Which means no one who sees the problem is going to be able to oppose itand
its going to get very bloody, very quickly. He looked up at Mi-Kraum sharply. And
now that the Khan knows, soon every Dark Cult will, and every Jytan who seeks Stature
is going to be a target for Taint.
Mi-Kraum flushed, and found his hand on his blade again. You are saying, that the
very ceremonies which are the greatest strength of our people, can be used to destroy
us? He wanted to scream, and instead found his voice dropping to a whisper.
Errant just lifted an eyebrow. It takes immense amounts of power for a Jytan to
advance from his natural size to five meters in height. Surely your wise folk had to know
that such a demand for power could be used against you, as well as for you?
Mi-Kraum inhaled deeply. From a soldiers standpoint, it was eminently logicala
warriors strength could also be his greatest weakness. You have learned thisfrom
your Aurorans?
Actually I was told it by one of the healers, but Im assuming they are the ones who
found out. The Haxan scratched his unshaven face absently. It wouldnt surprise me at
all if they knew how to strike against you thru your Stature rituals alsoand if your
Emperor goes nuts, which Im sure he is going to, theyll probably have to do it. Haxan
doesnt want to fight an army of three-meter Jytan in Chi-Juludand if tainted Jytan go

into the Wardance, thats a disaster waiting to happen.

Mi-Kraum stirred uncomfortably. The calls to enter the Wardance come from all
across the Empire. Vengeance for what has been taken from us, from the Tauren and the
Haxans both. It is likely the great Ritual will be enacted before another Moon passes.
Kinda figured. Errant took it in such stride, Mi-Kraum had little doubt that the
Haxans must be prepared for that state as well. Which probably means the next time I
see you, Ill be having to kill you, General.
Had it come from another Man, Mi-Kraum might have either laughed mockingly or
drawn his blade then and there.
He did not draw a blade on Errant of Clan Ruin, and took his words nothing but
seriously at this point, one soldier to another.
If the Emperor is Taintedthere are people who must be told, he said softly,
considering the matter. Am I in danger of beinginfected with Taint? he asked
carefully.
Where were your Stature rituals enacted at? If the Tauren have control of the
locations, you have a definite problem Errant trailed off meaningfully. Eske or
Northgate should be okay, if the ceremony didnt take place outside the wallsbut any
ceremonial center is now a prime target for sabotage and corruption by Dark
cultistsand theres going to be more Jytan cultists around now then ever. And they are
going to be very, very eager to undertake more Stature ceremonies of their own, and draw
in more Tainted power.
Mi-Kraum did not like the thoughts of where all this was going. He had been there
when the Jytan saboteurs and cultists had seized the gates of Northgate and thrown them
open in mad service to the Dark powers of the enemy, and he would not underestimate
such malevolence.
You are saying that Stature is going to become the vehicle of corruption for our
race. It was an undeniable cause-and-effect relationshipStature would make the Jytan
more vulnerable to the Taint, not less.
Its already started. How many of those at Northgate were of least Stature?
Mi-Kraum narrowed his eyes in thought. None of them, he finally murmured,
trying to remember if any of those slain had been Least. No Paragons were among them,
either
They probably resist betteror knew it wasnt their timeor the loci werent
corrupted enough yet. But they will be.

The Jytan General swore under his breath, turning to look about at the ruined
Imperial Capital, the lines of stricken Jytan soldiers and citizens who did not wish to
fight, only to be away. They could be going from one nightmare, and into another.
I think I will be directing the Hlavans to deliver the survivors North, he murmured
under his breath. Tell me, Haxan, why I believe you in these matters, now that you have
admitted to killing Imperial Guards and Magi?
Because if I hadnt, youd probably be killing your own kind right now, and thats
much worse then me killing them any way you look at it.
Mi-Kraum had to agree with that. His fear now was, that he would be doing so
anyways.

================
Its good to see you again, Mick. Hows being a Colonel treating you?
The Mick looked older, leaner and if possible even hungrier then when last Errant
had seen him, his dark hair streaked with gray, fresh scars on him, and an undeniable air
of command about him that only someone used to instant obedience from fighting men
could radiate. He still wore his McMikal tartan, but overlay it with the Crimson sash of
command all their Captains wore. His dark eyes were harder, stronger, colder, but his
smile was as artificially cheerful as ever as he took Errants hand in a strong grip.
More slaughter then ever I thought Id be seeing, ye bloody bastard of a Haxan,
the Daen admitted cheerfully, leaning against a dock piling and glancing past Errant
continually as he watched the unloading of his flagship. We cooked a kraken on our way
here that thought we werent ready to take on an oversized squid. Even managed to
salvage some for the stewpots afore some whales showed up to dispose of it.
The Crimson had led the ships of Freesword, including the Steel Blues, into the
harbor, with their hulls radiating electricity out into the waters and cooking hundreds, if
not thousands, of over-eager shark folk alive. The bay was still swarming with carrioneaters and thousands of sharks taking advantage of the feast, although the hydromancers
were slowly shifting currents to carry the bodies out to sea. Hopefully they would be torn
apart by scavengers enough not to be animated as undead, or residue from the Torch
would make such impossiblebut few believed it, and were quite sure necromancers
somewhere were having a field day salvaging the dead. With flashing swords and fire,
they had cleared the stunned land-bound elements of the sharkfolk from the capital, and
begun setting up a form of government, now that General Rihala had made it plain that
she was going to claim her ancestral home and title.
The Hlavans had taken that news very well, and the Ryinthi had also, remarkably
enough. Freesword, of course, was in a fine tizzy over who would succeed the woman

who had ruled the city for almost a thousand years, and built it from nothing to greatness,
twice.
Thinking of changing bases? Rihala is going to need some strong traders.
The Mick just snorted. Shes had the Hlavans in her scabbard for generationsme
wife says the Hlavan Queen is one of her grand-daughters a few times over. Supposedly
there be whole clans of ex-Zyayrans itching to come back and reclaim their homeland,
and bringing their boats with them. He inclined his head at the dozens of Hlavan vessels
still in port even after the evacuation of most of the Jytan population. Some Jytan had
elected to stay to help with the rebuildingbut only those of Least stature and vouched
for by Ryinthi were usually allowed to stay, without good reason. The General not be
needing more naval assets. Freesword, however, will be needing all it can get if she
siphons off Steel to solidify her rule.
I doubt shell have need to. If the Ryinthi acknowledge her as the rightful heir - and
I cant see them trying to get in her way, can you? then shes got a bunch of Haxan
raised folk at least as loyal to her as their Elders.
Aye? How many Ryinthi? The Mick caressed his famous sabers absently, and
almost shouted something past Errants head before the mate beat him to it.
A few hundred thousand. The Mick blinked. Its been six hundred years. Theyve
had time to grow, and theyve been wanting to reclaim their homelands all this time.
Aye, but can Haxan afford to let them all go at once? The Mick was no fool. The
Ryinthi know the value of coin, and they have a lot of land in Haxan.
The Ryinthi actually own very little in Haxanits all been on loan. Big stretches
of the south are going to go fallow when they pull outnothing that cant be resettled, in
time, or even immediately. That said, theyll be taking a lot of the wealth theyve made
with themwealth they and Rihala are going to need. Theres a lot of work going to be
involved in cleaning up Zyayr.
Aye, I can picture that. The Tauren fled, right enough? Took a smoke bridge off to
the south or somesuch? Errant just nodded. What do ye intend to do about the Jytan at
the Spear? It isnt like ye can just walk up and evict emand as long as they hold it
he trailed off meaningfully.
The Spear doesnt exist anymore. The Mick blinked again. This was news. The
geomancers took a page from the Taurens book and began taking down the walls of the
Pass of the Spear and collapsing them into the valleyand the fortress with them. They
did give the Jytan time to get outmost did, some didnt. But the Spear is a rubble-filled
valley that is slowly being filled in from the inside, and will soon be as impassable as the
rest of the Plateau. Theres no Jytan army going to come marching up it to reclaim Zyayr
in the name of the High Throne.

Yere a ruthless bunch of landlubbers, thats certain enough. The Mick was slyly
admiring of the tactic. Of course, ye hold the other way up, and the Jytan are going to
have to go around Freesword and whatnot to get to it, giving Haxan plenty of time to
make their life miserable in the doing.
Thats about the size of it. And having to cross both the Freesword and Zyayran
navy isnt going to be good for their supply lines. He looked up at the towering triple
masts of the Crimson Maiden, the Micks flagship. Your kids earn a ship of their own
yet?
They earn one like everyone elsewhen they can do the job of everyone else on
board, and outfight em, and command em. Learned that lesson well from the
Loreguardsye start showing favorites to kin, ye cut the throat of those who come after
ye.
The rest of the Maruaders still in service? I imagine theyd be retired for the most
part.
Landlubbers, the lot of them. Never had the life for the sealiving all over now,
factors and trainers and the like for the Crimson. Vades got his own school in Northgate,
as Im sure ye know, Tocs is training spearmen full time in Freesword, Red was up about
the Windhammer lands and Corix and the like hunting Tauren last I heard, and Glaede
was with em training arbalesters and engineers for the Throne. Hodre is in Corix
representing me interests there and living better then most of the nobles. They all got
families and gaggles of younguns, and some of em are even on me ships getting their
dirty feets cleaned up with good salt spray.
Good to hear theyve done well. I imagine the continual income has been most
helpful.
The Micks flashing white smile was genuine this time. Aye, aint much like a
guaranteed payment of gold to help keep ye calm in the worst of times. That, and the
occasional fellow with green eyes and a healthy dark tan stopping by to give some
trading advice, aye?
Errant found himself smiling back. It does tend to help. He peered more closely at
the Micks crew. Now, is it my imagination, or do you have a lot of Haxans among your
crew?
The Mick looked both ways quickly, and made the slightest of chopping motions.
Been training a lot o you grasseaters the last few years, he noted in a low voice. What
with yer writ on this side of the Golden Flow, it could be said yer going to be a sea power
at the last, aye?
Ah. Errant understood that implicitly. Very soon, every Free Lord on the Golden

Coast was going to feel Haxan pressure in many, many ways. It would be impossible not
to, with the sheer amount of area under Haxan auspice now. Haxan and Freesword had
been tight allies for centuries, dating back to the founding of the city, and that
relationship wasnt going to separate with a great Haxan Clan now moving en masse to
Zyayr. The General was the General, and probably one of the few non-Haxans in
existence who might be able to order Haxans to go to war.
What of yourself, grasseater? We hear all the tales of ye butchering the Tauren up
with the kittens and puppies and the like, and ye look damn good for yer years.
Im a SourceTime is kind to us, Fate is not. Errants smile was hard and
knowing. Slow workwe are talking generations. Even recruiting natives wont speed
up the time table much for a counter-invasion of the Tauren landstoo much Taint
among the feral tribes, too much land to secure, too many things to plan. Ive a feeling
Ill be staying down south full time, and hunting Tauren full timewe lost over eighty
Mithral-barred Masters getting Mithars Torch lit, and more diplomatic liaisons can keep
up contact with the tribes. I dont think they need me looking over their shoulders
anymorethey just need to know Haxan is watching.
So yell be a-horse chasing four-legs willy-nilly over Throne lands, while Jytan are
trying to kill ye? Aye, a fine task for ye. The Mick beamed, and managed to get another
dry chuckle out of him.
Ive got my point set on the Khan, Errant said in all seriousness, earning a raised
eyebrow. One way or another, I intend to see him dead. Theres a lot of killing going to
take place between now and then, however.
Duty never stops, mused the Mick, eying the Clansword slung over Errants
shoulder.
No, it doesnt.
Errantry XIV
Cant say as Ive ever met one of you before. Errant poked a stick into the fire as
he eyed the cocky Halvyr across from him. The fellow gave him a weird sort of feeling,
as if he was drawing away some of Errants Source field, like a big hole in spaceor a
leech. Regardless, the Halvyr seemed to be enjoying himself.
I am Marcus Ruin, the Halvyr stated calmly, showing empty handsalthough if
he was a Void Brother, empty hands were not going to save Errant if he had death on his
mind.
Then again, remembering the stories, Void Brothers always had death on their
minds.

The Fire and the Sword? This Halvyr was at least a millennium old, thenhed
been there at the Crashing of the Crowns, and every major turn of events since the time of
Lone Ruin, if the Loreguard were to be believedand the Loreguards never lied.
That would be my title among my peers. You may call me Marcus, or Brother
Marcus if you prefer.
Errant lifted an eyebrow. The Mark of Ruin himself. Im a bit more respectful of
my Elders then that informal, Brother Marcus. He scanned the area around, but of the
riders nearby, none were very close, and certainly having a Halvyr at ones campfire
wasnt all that badif they could even tell he was present. Seeing a Void Brother when
they didnt want to be seen was like trying to catch a glimpse of the wind, by all
accounts. You got something you need done? Errant wasnt a foolVoid Brothers
popped up when things were about to hit the fanthey didnt bother normal folks with
the kind of stuff they had to handle.
Always, and always too much. The Halvyr didnt appear to be fazed in the
slightest at his job description. This is more a courtesy call then anything.
Errant was appropriately intrigued. I rather thought you paying house calls tended
to get a mite bloody, Brother Marcus.
The Halvyr just laughed, a bright and startlingly alive sound. Well put, Master
Errant. No, I came to say that it is time for you to take your next step. You have been
deferring it, dithering, and vacillating. It is time to push.
Errant blinked once. Pretend Im thick and lay it out for me.
The Halvyr half-smiled. It is time for you to advance past mortal status, you
ingrate. Time to quit being a doltish follower slaving away for the good of your people
and Elders and Haxan and the Land and become a legend and join the Eternals like
youve been on the road to your whole damn life.
Errant coughed to himself. Well, he had said to pretend he was stupid. I havent
been in any hurry to do that, sir. Being a Source gets you a lot of time, and theres been a
lot of work to do, and stuff to learn
Your caution is admirable, and your desire to improve your foundation worthy. But
an Eternal is not made in caution and carethey are made by will and by power. It is
time for your Test.
Errant said nothing for long minutes, wheels turning in his mind as he pondered the
significance of that, at last looking back up at the Halvyr, relaxed as if he had all the time
in the world.
We lost some at the Torch, didnt we?

The flash of a smile was polite recognition of his insight. Yes. Your efforts were
needed, but another key part of the battle was not on the ground, but beyond the
Hellstorm itself, on the border of the realms where jRaztls power lay. The powers that
were poised to leap into our world if the Jytan had succeeded in their warped magic
would have wrought as much ill as the dramojh did, if not more. They were held at bay
long enough for the Torch to turn their might back on them, and consume enough of the
Dark Lords power to cripple him for a generation or more.
And I survived the Torch. He tilted his head. A trial by fire, as it were.
You are the strongest non-Eternal Source alive in Haxan today. Rather a foregone
conclusion, but it was nice to see. Errant frowned for a moment at that description of
himself, then shrugged it off.
Its time for me to become an Eternal, the Land needs me. Ill assume the
Brotherhood needs more pawns in place to kill things when they have to kill Big Things.
That didnt bother him at allhe did that right now. The Halvyrs smile had just a spark
of gratitude for his empathy in it. Ive always been a very good pawn, Brother
Marcustoo good, probably. What exactly did you want me to do to earn my halo of
blood and fire?
Marcus Ruin laughed again. A most apt description! You are to gather a band and
Hunt the Demon Khan to his death.
Errant thought about that, half-nodding. I was intending to offer my services in
butchering as many Tauren as I couldtheres a lot of Horse and Lion itching to put their
lances into more of them, now that they are ravaging the Southern Throne.
The resources you bring to bear are yours to decide, but you must not let your
fellow Men limit you. You are a Source, a Wave Master, a Way Master, and one of the
most adept killing machines to grow from the soil of Haxan. There was utter seriousness
in the Void Brothers dark eyes, eyes that had seen death and things far worse on scales
Errant didnt have much inclination to go looking for. When I say Hunt him, I mean
Hunt him. You must be relentless, untiring, vengeance incarnate. He must know you are
coming and not be able to stop you. He must flee and you must chase him, and you must
kill anything he places in your path to stop you. And when you catch him and drive him
to ground, he must die by the sword and by True Death before the eyes of gods and
mortals, to show all that live what mortals can do.
Errant considered those words, glancing at his Clansword leaning next to him. You
said to gather a band. Other prospective Eternals?
I did not say thatbut it would seem a good idea, wouldnt it? Dark eyes sparkled
with a private joke.

Im assuming you know pretty much anyone and everyone who could take the step
Beyondis it alright if I clear a few names with you? Wouldnt want to do something
really stupid at this point in time.
Me? Give advice? Im just supposed to kill things, the Halvyr said in selfmockery.
If it makes you feel better, you are helping choose a bunch of killing
weaponsand Im sure you have a vested interest in exactly who gets chosen for this
Huntespecially when we succeed. The Halvyr just rolled his eyes theatrically and
pretended to inspect his nails. Right. If you want death by the sword, then I need
warriors who know how to kill Tauren. If the leaders are to die that way, then I need
people who can clear out the riffraff so we can rip into them. Heres who I am thinking, if
they indeed qualify And as the Halvyr pretended not to listen, Errant continued to
speak.
===========================
Agg-Krenos rose slowly to his feet as the Storm finished speaking to him. He had
never felt anything so strong and powerful from the elements as he did now. The power
of it tingled in his old bones and sent his blood racing with anticipation. His acolytes
looked up in surprise as the Witchlord rose, his eyes sparking with power, his fur, all
going white, standing on end with anticipatory power.
I must go. I am being called by the Wind.
He had all he needed, and he gave no further explanation. He had known this time
was coming, and slowly and subtly prepared for the day when he would no longer be
amidst his people. They would survive without him.
With a Word that was as much will as sound, the winds howled about him, and he
was gone.
------------------Hrafner chafed.
That was the word for it. It was not boredom, or even irritation. It was niggling
things that piled up one after another, things that did not need his attention but were
nevertheless desired of him. More and more, he had been delegating duties to proven
warriors with the wisdom to make the right decisions, who had the value of the people
over their own gloryblooded warriors who had lived through the battles, and knew the
enemy and the uphill battles they faced.
He had seen a God. And seen the deeds and glory of Gods at war, on a scale that
was beyond him in a manner he had never expected. And suddenly, this mundane game

of building and expanding and declaring territory in the name of his people seemed very,
very trite and, ah, small. Yes, that was the word.
There were bigger things out there. Glories to be won, roads to be trodroads that
led to the Gods themselves. Battles that the Haxan had hinted atthe Things the Jotun
Princes waged war against, up in the Norththe Evil on a vast scale down in the south,
that had wanted far more then merely seeing a Jytan Empire destroyed.
It seemed his whole life had been battle and leading his people into battle. But the
war being fought now had multiple aspects to it, of building and not fleeing, of changing
the lifestyle from that which he had been born into to something that could be defended.
It was not his life, it was the life of the young, and to them would fall the duty of
defending it and building it for a new generation.
None would gainsay him his place. He was the greatest Warlord of his people, the
one who had given up so much so that they could endure, survive, and now conquer. The
manifest destiny of his people lay before them, and they were claiming it now, acre by
acre, soul-by-soul of reclaimed feral, corpse-by-corpse of burning Tainted and Tauren.
But he had witnessed the Fall of an Empire, Gods at Battle and the Hand of a God
ignite a Torch that led beyond the heavens. In the face of such grandeur, the life of a
Warlord seemed almost...insignificant.
When Agg-Krenos walked into his tent on the wings of the wind, with Sparleye and
Grassrager as graying and grim beside him as the old Witchlord was, he did not hesitate a
moment. The thoughts he had been voicing to Grisnarl the Golden had come alive, and
now was the time.
He had taken up Bull, said goodbye to his mates and his children a last time, and
gone gladly, with the Blessed of the Celestial Lion beside him, to confront his Doom or
his Destiny.
--------------------------The Haxan was waiting for them. As he always seemed to be.
He looked up as the five Beastmen swirled once more into existence, the howl of the
storm fading from about them and depositing them on trampled earth. The sky was
overcast, but there was no fire hereonly the horizon, dancing with dark pillars.
Have a seat while we wait for the others. He had only a rough pack of his own, his
crossbow, and Duty with him, as ever. Despite all that, there was a look and a feel about
him that they had not sensed before, a dangerous focus and sense of purpose crystallized
and pure that dovetailed sharply with their own.
Even Sparleye had respect enough for the Haxan to do as the Man said, and place

his own pack down and prepare a place, a band of old warriors knowing how to wait.
Haxan, Hrafner said, unable to hold his eagerness this time, feeling strangely
young again, why are we here?
The Man opened his eyes from where he leaned against an old tree, secure,
weathered, hard, and full of a strange and thrilling power hed never truly let show
before.
We are going to Hunt the Demon Khan, and we are going to kill him.
The five looked at one another, nodded, and toothy smiles broke out all around.
This, this would be a glorious way to die.
And for whom do we wait? Sparleye asked, looking about at their number.
Four others. You know of all of them. That was enough. Flind, Huul, Terrig, and
Littorian made their places, and like the Man, relaxed to wait. The killing would begin
soon enough.
---------------------------They did not come upon the wind, but upon the land. A rolling wave of earth, like a
great chariot being paced across the distance, come grandly and theatrically sweeping in
from the horizon with deceptive speed. About it, the land parted and then closed again as
if it had not passed, and upon it stood four more souls to join the Hunt.
The five rose to greet them, recognizing one immediately, the one who towered over
all the others, and looked most uncertain of what was to be done here, and whether he
belonged here at all General Mi-Kraum, clad in full harness and the massive, elemental
presence of a Paragon of his people, representing the might of the Jytan.
One was a Man, introduced as Estemar, clad in ceremonial armor and the robes of a
Knight Excelsior, the Silver Sword on the Suna Master Warder and holy warrior of
Mithar, the staff he bore fairly shining with sacred might. They had indeed heard of him,
one of the greatest living knights of Aru, one of the rocks anchoring the Windhammers in
their ancestral realm of Ahltar. His job was to see to the security of their souls against the
Taint and Dark Arts of the enemy.
The third was a Halvyri, dove-haired and golden eyed, with the badge of the
Hillguard upon her shoulder and a longbow in her hands that fairly cried out to the
Beastmen there of the power and love that had gone into its making. Her name was
Estrel, and she was one of the finest archers living among the great people that were the
Halvyr. She was to be their reach and their guide, and through her, they would follow the
Demon Khan wherever he fled.

The last startled them all, for they had not expected to see a Rockborn upon this
Hunt. But of those present, it was he who Errant stepped to first, and offered his warmest
hand. Eyes like dark and smoldering coals looked back at the Haxan, skin harder and
more stone-like then ever, and the Rockborn who had forged Bull returned the Mans grip
hard and sure as he stepped forth from the stone chariot upon which he rode.
Manling, you havent grown up, down, or sideways, but you have grown,
Trencher stated in no uncertain terms, more respect in his voice then hed ever given the
Man before.
I had a legend to live up to, Errant replied respectfully, touching the hilt of the
blade on his back.
That you did! The Rockborn looked over them all with characteristic grimness.
Well, are we to be about killing the bastard, or what?
I believe we have some preparations to make. Old warriors arent stupid warriors.
No one disagreed with Errant, and without further preamble, even the resplendent Knight
Excelsior crouched or sat upon the ground, with Mi-Kraum carefully sitting down upon
the Chariot and overshadowing them allwhich was serenely ignored, even by the
Rockborn who had come to the very walls of Northgate to retrieve him.
--=====================
They talked a long time, of the task before them, of what needed to be done and
what needed to be ignored. Of speed and tactics and how they would recover, and how
the powers of those wielding magic would mesh together. Of the weapons each had
available, the resources they could call upon, and how to deploy them. Of the power and
the tactics of the enemy, what they could expect of the Hunt.
And just how much they were willing to commit to carry it through, to the very end.
They had a great deal they could bring to the fight, to harry and hound the enemy,
how he would react, and what they must do to break him.
----------------------------Estemar of Ahltar. The loresingers say that you are a holy Man, and can speak to
your God personally.
The graying, yet vigorous, Knight smiled humbly. Any fool can speak to a God,
General. Its hearing the reply thats the hard part. Grisnarl rumbled his confirmation of
that fact, nodding agreement.
Errant has made known to me the fact that the Stature ceremonies of the my people
take a great deal of power from the landand they render us vulnerable to corruption in

the land by so doing. He did not wait for agreement. He also indicated that many of the
people of the High Seat were Tainted before they fled to other citiesa fact that has
become more and more evident this past season.
I have heard of the atrocities spreading through the South, the Knight said quietly.
The Men of the lands of the South, being killed by Jytan in Chi-Julud for the slightest of
offensesand the mounting erratic behavior of the Emperor, and his court. I have heard,
also, that you spoke strongly against joining the Wardancethat this was a time for clear
minds, and not for savagery, if the Jytan were to retain anything of what they had
builtwise words, and for the most part, heeded.
And yet the North has its share of blood violence too. Too much land was Tainted
for our people to escape its touch, and those were the ones most likely to join the
Wardance. It is a dangerous time.
The Jotun races are great in their wisdom as well as their savagery. To master both
sides of their nature is a great thing for any Giantbut nearly impossible under the
influence of the Taint, which is about indulgence, not control. The average Jytan is not
equipped to deal with the power of the Taint, for you have little to fall back on to defy its
message that twists your innermost desires to its cause.
Then, I am the most vulnerable among us to the power of the Taint, for the enemy
does not even need to strike at me.
That is correct. And highly likely it is that it will happenyou are a dangerous foe,
and were I the Khan, I would seek your corruption quicklyand likely a great number of
others with you, by Tainting where you gained your Stature.
Then despite my Stature, I am, in truth, the weakest among you. The Jytan said
this in a slow and thoughtful voice. They can strike in places I cannot ward, cannot
resist, and strike me down in a manner I cannot defendand perhaps even turn me into a
weapon against you.
This is true. You are a Jytan, and you have drawn great power from the Land. This
power also ties you to the Land in a fundamental manner. I cannot ward such a link
without changing all that you are in so doing. Estemar was sympathetic, but not mincing
his words.
That is unacceptable. Mi-Kraum lifted his gaze to the skies above. I am a Jytan. I
will not be made a pawn of my enemy. Tell me how I may stop this.
Estemar shrugged. You know what must be done, Jytan. It simply remains whether
or not you are willing to do so. His eyes moved briefly to Errant, back to the Jytan. I
believe you would not be here if you were not willing to pay the price to see the job done.
I confess as to being puzzled how you came to the decision, however.

The massive form sighed and seemed to settle in his Harness, deflating yet still
towering over all of them. The stories told by the survivors at the High Throne, he
admitted after a long moment. I had notwe had notever encountered something so
far beyond our capabilities. And yet the skill and the power of the Haxan Mastersmere
Men, striking deep into the heart of our most strongly held ground despite all that was
done to hold them back. Even the stoutest of the Jytan can barely bring themselves to
speak of the conflict of the storms, and the Torch that stretched beyond the skies. Clearly,
there is far more to the world then we have chosen to believe.
Helluva way to find out tho, General, Errant murmured, unperturbed by the
admission.
Perhaps the only way, Haxan. We have never truly lost a battle to any foe. Is it not
in the wisdom of Haxan that you find your greatest insights when you fail?
Yeah. I prefer to let other folk do the failing, and let them learn the lesson, then
teach it to me. More efficient in being about doing what I need to that way. Said without
an ounce of humility. Even the Jytan had to join the quick grins and teeth-barings all
around at the practicality of that example.
I will not be able to join this enterprise as I am. Yet I sense that you would not take
another of my people in my place. Dark eyes fixed on the Haxan, who looked back
calmly.
I can think of at least three other Paragons with formidable fighting reputations.
Not a one of them would I bother to take on something like this. If the Jytan want a piece
of the bastard who took their Empire, you are the one. Errant was again unsympathetic.
Do what you have to do, Jytan.
Indeed. There was a long moment of hesitation, and then, with quiet power, MiKraum rose to his feet. I will need the aid of six of you. His great hand indicated the
beast-men, Estemar, and paused over the intent stare of Trencher. Rockborn, I think you
will find this most enjoyable, and appropriate to your people. If you would assist me?
Trencher hesitated only a moment before nodding assent. If you got the guts to ask
me to help, Ive got the nerve to agree.
------------------------------Im a mite bit blind to whats actually going on, Estrel, Errant asked of the
Halvyri, his old crossbow instructor when hed been recuperating from deep probes under
the Wyrmlandsand one of her assorted lovers in his more liberal moments. Halvyri
enjoyed Sources, too.
They are all magos, of course, the huntress replied with certainty, watching with
more then mere sight the flow of power. Any Halvyr with sense indulged their magical

talents to some extent, and Estrel was far from a fool. With their help, he establishes a
tie to the Land once more. But they are not Jytan, so these ties are not those to reinforce
the nature of his race and to draw might into himself. These ties are to weaken him.
Errant scratched his cheek thoughtfully at the circle of warriors about the slowly
chanting Jytan. The magnificent timbre of the Jytans voice was indeed profoundly
moving as he chanted, at once sad and proud, unmoving, a great tower of steel and
muscle, truly an awesome martial presence.
And now, they strike him.
Enchanted weapons flashed in the starlight, trailing streams of elemental power.
They slashed and they tore across the form of the Jytan, ripping great furrows and gouges
in him, and out of those great wounds streamed pure golden energy, racing through the
slashing and stabbing figures and out again, back down.
Back, into the Land.
Mi-Kraum staggered, and fell to his knees, his entire form rent with glowing scars of
energy. Massive arms spread wide as Trencher strode up, lifted up his great cudgel
Forge, heart blazing and beating like some divine hammer, and smote the Jytan in the
center of his chestplate.
The blast of light was blinding, a silent explosion of deafening sound as everything
that was Mi-Kraum seemed to shatter, and the energies within roil forth and away in six
great beams of living energy. Errant felt more then heard the agony in the Jytans voice
as the ceremony tore him apart, and did what no Jytan had considered doing before.
The light faded, not that it had fazed Errant anywhere near as much as it had Estrel.
Errant eyed the tableau before him keenly, and then slowly lifted his eyes upwards.
The moonlight that illuminated the figure of the Jytan was much too focused and
bright to be natural. Mi-Kraum had shrunkconsiderably, perhaps only three meters tall
now. He seemed unharmed by the ordeal, nor did the kneeling aides all about him,
blinded and a little stunned perhaps, but unharmed.
I think Sylune is watching, he mused to the Halvyri, who had a much more
reverent expression on her face as she nodded slowly, and turned her eyes to the silver
moon wheeling above. Thought hed go down to birth Statureand I think someone is
coming down from Up There.
The archer blinked at the descending light, and then slowly fell to her one knee
herself.
Mi-Kraum seemed surprised, too, that he had not fallen farther from the towering
might of a Paragon. He lifted his hands, then looked skywards into the light coming from

nowhere above himand stared at the figure descending with speed and grace upon him.
Celestials were next to unknown in the High Throne. Oh, certainly, there were
summoned beasts and the occasional one called on for rare aid against this or that ancient
evil, but as a whole Celestials were treated with the same care and distance as any other
otherplanar entityunfathomable motives and undependable as allies, and certainly not
something to revere or worship as Men seemed to.
Yet there was unmistakeable and undeniable Presence about the angelic figure of
silver, with great feathered wings that glistened of the liquid light of stars and a simple
shift woven of the shimmering dust that trailed after the Silver Queen on her path. She
bore in her hands a blade, one suitable for a being as tall and proud as she, still within its
sheath, and when she alighted before the kneeling Jytan, it was plain she was as tall as he
would be were he to dare to stand.
Sylune and Mithar have seen your actions and your courage, Paragon of the Jytan.
The Silver Son offers a gift to a noble soul who would so honor the Land and the Silver
Queen would you wish to bear a blade worthy of those who do battle with the Dark,
instead of a sword crafted in the image and manner of those you are to face?
Her voice was like tinkling wind chimes, at once beautiful and serene, powerful and
gentle, dangerous and merciful. Her crest of silvered feathers was like a sweeping and
bejeweled crown of the night. She offered the blade in her hands to the kneeling Jytan,
who caught his breath at the sight of a weapon of the angels being offered to him.
Thats Shimmerfall herself, isnt it? Errant muttered aloud, eying the Handmaiden
of Sylune with great interest. He took note of Estrels properly outraged glance at his
easy acceptance of her presence. The things you see in this business just get better and
better. He was quite sure the angel heard by the merest glance of her eyes, and grinned
despite himself.
Mi-Kraum had not, however, and took the blade offered him with due care and
silence. The Handmaiden smiled as he handed over the great Dire blade that had
accompanied him in so many battles, the look of it somehow unclean, even vile in her
grasp against the profound beauty of a Celestial. At her touch, it began to burn, then
flashed into motes of rainbow stars that sped away in all directions, gone in but an
instant.
Fare thee well, noble Jytan. Many eyes are upon you. A pearly hand rested gently
for a moment on the Jytans broad head, and then the moonlight seemed to flash and pull
away, and the angel went with it, receding with the light into the vastness of the stars
overhead.
Niiiiice, murmured Errant under his breath, and took the blow on his leg from
Estrel by barely noticing it. I always like a good show, and theres one thing about the
Divine, they know how to put one on. His calm expression made Estrel roll her eyes at

him as she got back to her own feet, slugging him again as the others also rose, the
beastmen looking particularly awedeven Grisnarl.
A song of steel rose in the air as Mi-Kraum drew the blade, silvered light, pure and
true, drawn from the heavens above and bound in a blade of celestial forging, lifted high
and proud and perfect in his grasp.
A Jytan with an angels blade, ready to go where no Jytan had before.
Errant smiled grimly. Theyd be dirtying that blade soon enough.
Errantry VX - Bringing Ruin
They started with fire and stone and dust.
Trenchers Chariot of Earth went in hard and threw up a boiling cloud of dust before
and after it, spewing out superheated ash in its wake as Forge drew up the fires of the
earth and trailed a line of devastation behind and about them. Unaffected by the cloud,
the riders went to work.
Experienced marksman all, they calmly picked their targets and shot them down
with fell precision as the Chariot tore through the lines of Tauren, tossing flaming and
twisted bodies to the sides and away, or burying them beneath a molten wave eager
enough to seize anything that didnt escape the pyroclastic wave of their coming.
Fiery missiles came out in an unending stream as the Chariot ripped through the
center of the Tauren lines, shrugging off spells and sending the camp into chaos. Gouts of
earth and fire ripped upwards from the ground where the foes were densestwhere fires
already burned, they exploded into molten agony for those about them. Speeding arrows,
more like shooting stars then mere missiles, buried themselves in chests and eyes and
ears and sent Tauren spinning away in agony and death, concentrating on the fell forms
rising with impressive speed to oppose themthe elite troops of the Demon Khans
personal forces, over a thousand in number, the deadliest of all the Tauren.
The Chariot smashed through the lines of malformed Tauren in their twisted and
hell-forged armor with a thunderous impact, acknowledging no impediment, and even
when the fire-resistant, demon-blooded elites converged upon them, did not slow down.
The bladework was bloody and furious, but Estrels effortless singing buoyed the
riders as she sent arrow after arrow leisurely on its way, dropping Tauren after Tauren
with merciless precision. Agg-Krenos alternated between a hurricane windblade and
turning the dust cloud about and behind them into choking fumes, acidic vapors,
shredding vortices, static-charged clouds, and mind-wrenching confusion. Opposite him,
Grisnarls claws and teeth blazed like golden bonfires, rending mercilessly any Tauren
that came into his reach, while Sparleye, Grassrager, and Hrafner held the front flanks
with Bull and Crusp and Wildhunter, or used their lovingly carved horn bows when the

foes fell away.

At the rear, Errant and Mi-Kraum waited with the weapons of angels for the
magically swift that rode up behind and attempted to board the chariot. At the center
front, Trencher guided the vessel, and in the middle stood Estemar in meditation, deep in
the awareness of magical forces all about, twisting and redirecting spells to sow even
more confusion in their wake, defying the most fell of energies directed their way with
steadfast faith in the power of Aru.
The Chariot tore past the edges of the Host, weapons were set aside for bows, and
casually the Chariot slowed for the benefit of their pursuers, and salvos of shooting stars
began to streak out once more at the massive Horde streaming blood-mad after them.
They did not get tired. More importantly, they didnt run out of arrows. A hail of
black death descending from above never made it to them, whirled away by elemental
winds which didnt deter the arrows of those within at all. They happily took a deadly toll
of their pursuers, sending Tauren after Tauren tumbling and falling in their wake,
feathered deep and trampled remorselessly under by those behind. Trencher idly swung
the Chariot back and forth, and raked the pursuers mercilessly with the arrow fire of those
within.
At last, after over an hour of dogged pursuit over terrain that didnt slow the Chariot
at all, and that had cost the lives of hundreds of Tauren over kliks of ground, the Tauren
realized they werent going to catch the Chariot and slowed, then halted. Blackened dust
rose into the air behind them as they looked impotently after the Chariot streaking off
into the distance.
And then the silver horns sounded, and four thousand waiting and battle-hungry
Horse lancers came streaming over the hills into the dispersed mass of the Horde, and
took a toll of their own with shining lances and distinct surprise.
--------------------------------Summoned demons and elementals, brought in to stop the Chariot, winked out of
existence as they got close to it, disruptive fields flaying apart the magic which allowed
them to remain on the Prime. With grim readiness, the riders repeated the tactic again.
Again, plunging towards the heart of the Horde, leaving a trail of devastation,
moving faster then any Tauren could naturally, spewing the vengeance of the stars and
the storms all about as they did so. With aplomb, they veered away from the line which
sprang up rapidly to bar their way, and the magical defenses which rose to gird itand
disruptive spells tore out to Flash those magicks into raw energy which tore apart the
very clusters of defenders they were meant to defend.
The Chariot smashed through magical walls without slowing or stopping..flame,
stone, ice, even magical force shattering and falling away about it, and the clever pits that

yawned before them did not deter the wave of earth that preceded the Chariot from
washing across their openings, crossing the pits, and leaving them deep behindwhich
hapless Tauren often fell into.
More Earthfire raged up from below to seize the lives of the Horde as Trencher
raced along the line, and the dust cloud shot through with holy golden fires that
consumed hundreds of the Tauren before they could break and flee from its approach.
Erratically, giving them no clear path to predict and wary of encirclement, Trencher
pursued, and the starfire volleys kept up, singling out the strongest for attention the
fanatics, the commanders, the leaders, the creatures which drove and inspired this Horde.
A great bolt of dark power smashed down from the churning sky, was deflected
sideways by a golden shield springing instantly up to defend, and ripped messily through
a mass of Tauren in a writhing explosion of demonic fury, killing scores of them
instantly. Vivic sparks descended on the dead, and they blew apart in white-hot infernos
of purity, setting ablaze anything unclean nearby.
Then they were riding away in a cloud of dust and the few Tauren who pursued died
quickly as the Horde watched them go.
From the security of his banner, the Demon Khan watched them retreat, and gnashed
his fanged teeth. Smoking hooves, clawed and flaming brimstone that defiled the Land
with every step he took, pawed and blackened the soil beneath him into weeping ooze.
His living armor, more carapace then forging, bulged and flowed with the souls of the
sacrificed spirits it had been fastened from, their screaming skulls leering into shadows
within it at his irritation, before falling away into the voids within. A massive weapon,
part sword, part axe, festooned with irregular blades, spikes and scythes taken from the
weapons of those who had challenged him in personal combat, and a full five meters
long, was held in one hand easily as ghastly demonfire eyes full of enlightened madness
blazed vengeance after those who were taunting him and his Horde.
------------------------------The Hunt continued.
They made no move upon the Khanindeed, they kept away from his ready reach,
content to whittle down the heart of his forces. His Elites fell, one by one, vivic fires
consuming them and feeding the power they had been bestowed into the Land, each one a
blow to morale, each one a statement of impotence. Earthfires consumed those who
grouped and clustered and tried to swarm them in numbers, rending the weakest of the
Horde as volleys of seeming stars took their deadly toll time and time again. Clouds of
holy mist and steam and blessed ash and sacred winds tore at their unclean flesh, while
their own magicks and minions were deflected, destroyed, dismissed, or cut down with
impunity.

Thrice, the Chariot planted a Jumping Focus, and over forty Magi teleported into
place over the Horde. The spellcasters Whizbanged away as fast and furiously as possible
before teleporting off, leaving hundreds, even thousands of dead behind, scattered across
huge swathes of ground.
The Hunters watched the desertions take place, as slinking tribes of Tauren of all
sizes stole away from the deadly attention the Demon Khan had earned. No longer was
there safety under his banner, no longer the fell Hellstorm, the favor of the Dark Gods,
the might of great rituals, towering sacrifices, easy plunder and easier slaughter. The
forward advance of the Horde stalled in its sweep of the Southern Shore, unable to take
up a defensive position, unable to besiege the well prepared cities, and now bands of
Jytan in full Chi-Julud were crawling over the landscape.
Many of the Jytan were corrupted by Taint, especially the taller and mightier of
them. Where these walked, death followed, only their most loyal followers spared. Men,
especially, were cut down for the least of reasons, but they were no friends to the Tauren,
and the rage of Jytans unleashed upon the Tauren for good and ill took a tremendous toll.
Behind them, companies of Clan Horse crawled over the deserts and plains that once
were the homes of the Azari, seeking, finding, slaying, taking what they could hold;
retreating, raiding where they could not.
Their Dark gods had abandoned them, and the fate of the Horde was becoming more
and more final by the day.
And at last, the Demon Khan turned, and began his run.
----------------------The Jytan didnt have the speed to pursue a Tauren army, but the Haxan did, and
they did so ceaselessly. Elite runners, lightly armored, could harry the creatures, but at
the risk of being rapidly encircled and annihilated. Mounted Men on the swift steeds bred
on the high plains of Haxan had no such difficulties. They worried the flanks of the
Horde, they tore into the advance scouts, they ambushed foragers and deserters without
mercy. Dragons high in the sky watched and observed, and ancient elemental powers
once mighty here stirred again and took wrathful note of the nature of the invasion, and
the Land sent aid in its own wayof sudden floods and storms, dust storms that could
bury Tauren alive, icy sheets of rain as deadly as anything from the far North. The priests
of the Horde were adept, but battling against both the Land and Dragons quick to counter
their efforts from far above, and the unearthly power that had empowered them before
was not to be found.
And always, there was the Chariot.
They could not outrun it, nor could they ensnare it. The Hunters came in to kill, as
content with sniping as a mass charge into the heart of the Horde to reap and slay,

seeking, ever seeking the strongest of them, the spellcasters, the banners and the brazen,
and bringing them down. Their vigor was every bit the equal of the inhuman pace the
Tauren set; their wrath deliberate, measured, calculated, feared.
Twice, they rode into the heart of ambushes and tore them apart, giving the Tauren
the first good look at their enemy as vivic fire illumned the Chariot in the elemental fury
of life itself. Again and again, they drove through the Horde with impunity, slaying all in
their way and who caught their eyes, slicing apart the Horde ever more as more and more
Tauren abandoned the banner of the Khan, until only the most loyal Centaurs dared to
travel with him aside from the brutes and twisted things that formed his ever-shrinking
personal guard.
Across the Crystal March, where the Mark of Mithar split the land, and where from
the gleaming soil rose death in gleeful silence. For here the Bone Guard lived, the
damned souls of Haxans worst, consigned to fight and to die for the people whose ways
they scorned, and who delighted in murder in ways even the worst of the Tauren could
appreciate.
That first night in the alien, crystalline landscape, virtually every remaining
spellcaster in the Horde died, murdered painfully by dark souls who delighted in their
duty and who would not be stopped by wards against holy power and light. The dead
slowly burned away in guttering vivic fires, flaring to blazing brilliance in time as body
and soul were consumedbut far too late to warn the Tauren who were ignorant of the
nature of those upon whose realm they traversed. Murderers with souls as black as their
own stalked them and brought them downhundreds of traps littered the lands, pits with
crystalline shards, holes dug to snap Tauren legs, springing impalers and swinging
stonescrude, painful, easily made, masterfully hidden, and lethal.
Still the Chariot hunted them. At one point, there was even another passenger, with a
soul so black the Demon Khan himself might have feared to look upon him, using the
Chariot to move about the great Horde to places where he could sow the most terror and
fear, and let the Centaurs know whose realm in which they walked.
Rue, son of Lone Ruin; Prince of Murderers, Lord of the Crystal March, Greatest of
the Bone Guard, and Master of nearly a thousand years of murder and madness in the
name of all that he hated. A Damned Eternal bound to the fate of empty lust and baseless
desires, left only to his butchery. His laughter taunted the Horde from the beginning of
Crystal March to the end, his sign in the skinned corpses there to greet the Demon Khan
as he arrived, and the piled carcasses as the Khan plunged into the Dead Lands of Adryjr.
-----------------------The Bone Magi were opportunistic in the extreme, and happily picked off Tauren by
the dozens about the fringes of the Horde, not bothering to tempt the center of the bands,
wiping out the smaller ones with necromantic power to rival the strength of the Host at its
mightiest, enslaving the dead body and soul to the service of the lich lords and

necromancer priests of Adryjr.

The Chariot they left alone. Vivic fire wreathed it in True Death, but the riders made
no move against the holdings of the Bone Magi. The Magi contented themselves with the
fresh addition of thousands of new slaves as the Chariot hounded the central Host of the
Khan himself through the chalky canyons and valleys of the Dead Land, leaving him far
too busy to interfere with their predation on his followers, and former army.
--------------------------------The Southguard is whelmed. The Bone Magi were polite enough to take almost
half of his surviving forces to plague us with in the futurea good thing Rue slew all the
Tauren spellcasters to make sure the deadheads didnt get their bony fingers on all that
Dark Lore. Estrel watched Errant stirring up the stew for the evening meal.
A good thing, aye. Estemar still had a look as if hed eaten something
uncleanhaving the searing darkness of Rue next to him had been like bathing in acid
and worms, and even days later he still could feel it. The camp is warded. We may
meditate as normal.
Fortuitous. Errant had half a dozen remnants of fresh scars across his chest,
healing nicely, the Taint in them burned off within seconds of being inflicted, while the
rest of the party had been ministered to by the Knight of Aru. Id say the Khan is down
into the hundreds of followersperhaps a thousand totaland I think weve dealt with
most of his personal guard nicely.
His personal might must be immense to so command a pair of Ogretaurs, and
faithless creatures like these, Mi-Kraum rumbled, his blade across his palms, where he
was prone to contemplate what bearing such a weapon meant.
Errant lifted an eyebrow. Got a good look at him, did you?
I have seen him from afar, but this time I could feel his eyes upon me before his
guards drove us away. Fell, and possessed of dark secrets he attempted to secrete into my
souland found no purchase. Great hands caressed the blade he held.
It wasnt the blade, you undersized pipsqueakyou dont hold any power taken
from the Land. He was looking to seize that and corrupt itits how the Dark works,
after all. Errant tested the stew, made a face, turned to Estrel, and grabbed the pouch she
was already holding out for a quick inversion.
Estrel was considering Mi-Kraum more intently. She looked back and forth between
him and Errant. Jytan, she asked softly, do you not know who the Demon Khan once
was?
He looked up in surprise at her words. He has a Name? The things warped by the

powers of the North are said to lose their Names when corrupted!
The strong ones that embrace the Dark willingly can keep them, and grow mightier
for doing so. It is not a common phenomenon. Estrel glanced at Errant, who was
remaining quite silent, a thin smile playing at the edges of his mouth. That hard smile that
took in unwelcome news and kept on going. Such power does not come easily, nor the
favor of Dark powers. The Khan is centuries oldhe has waited a long time for his
revenge.
The Jytan was not a fool, and could feel an uneasy Truth about to breakand as the
Haxans liked to say, eating a Truth was often unpleasant in the extreme.
His name is Mi-Balkar, and he was a Paragon of the Jytan.
Mi-Kraum stared at her for long, quiet minutes, his emotions and disbelief rippling
across broad, noble features, dark eyes moving from the Halvyri to the silent Haxan.
The High General of the Jytan, who fell at the Ford of Roses. He took a deep breath.
My own ancestor.
There IS a reason I wasnt going to let any other Jytan come along with us. Errant
tested the stew once more. And before you get silly ideas about redemption, just keep in
mind that your ancestor was willing and able to bring down your entire Empire just to
force you all into Chi-Julud, Taint every Jytan who has undertaken a Stature ceremony
and anyone on the High Throne portal network, and then forge them into an army he
could throw against Haxan, regardless of cost of lives, to avenge his defeat and to punish
the weakness of those who followed him. He glanced up at the grim stare of the Jytan.
Regardless of what your histories say, it was the Jytan who threw the first arrow at the
Ford by attempting to invade our lands against the specific warnings of Haxan. We also
know that Mi-Balkar was indeed slain at the Fordthat he has survived means that he
had some means of healingprobably a gift of Taint gained from the slaughter of
Dramojh. It wasnt exactly policy to hunt down dead Paragons heading down the Flow
when your folk would gather them up yourselves.
The Jotun Skalds spoke of a Paragon heading northone powerful enough to
slaughter the Jotuns who attempted to bar his path. He made it into the Far North, and by
the description of him we know it was Mi-Balkar. How he ended up in the Tauren lands
is his businessprobably realized they were the best tool he could find in the attempt to
take his revenge. He knew the weaknesses inherent in Jytan-kind and how they could be
exploited and turned, and has been working centuries for his revenge.
And now he has failed, his gods have left him hung out to dry, his army is spread
across a thousand leagues in bits and pieces, and hes a long, long way from the power
base he built for himself. And we are going to make sure he doesnt make it back there.
Errant took a big spoonful and nodded approval. I think seeing one of his descendents
wielding an Empyreal weapon is going to be good for his sense of morale. Especially one
who gave up the power taken from the Land for the sake of honorand with the favor of

Mithar and Sylune, whove been kicking the tail of his masters for eons.
Yeah, stews done. And he grabbed a bowl and began to help himself while the
Jytans gaze fell again to the sword across his thighs.
Errantry XVI To Ground
The Tauren died badly.
Hill terrain isnt conducive to any kind of hoofed creature except the most nimble,
like the rhoditaur and the feytaur. Hostile hill terrain with natives who love to fight and
with long memories and a great deal of experience is even less friendly.
The Southern Jotunbones were the border area with the largest remaining number of
Serpen Enclaves in the Wyrmlands. Fell foes were thesestrong, ambitious, intelligent,
vengeful, with strong magical ability, hatred for all who were not like them, an almost
paralytic fear and disgust of the Dark, and many monstrous allies.
They also bordered the lands of the Tauren on the east, and had bitter and cruel
experience with the twisted creatures spawned from the touch of Taint. Now, the Tauren
were coming into their lands, lands dared only by the best of the Hillguard and only in
small numbers, lands cracked and broken and reforged into a killing maze and
deathlands, and the Serpen took their tolls.
Passage was denied. The Serpen well understood that letting the forces of the Tauren
pass, however dispersed or gathered, was tantamount to admitting their weakness to stop
them at all, and that their ancestral lands, which they had held onto even when the
Wyrmkings fell and the Crash of Crowns sundered their world, would never, ever be
safe.
They fell upon the Tauren with all the defenses they had built up over the centuries
to defend against the inevitable invasion by the soft-skinned races, and they reaped a
savage harvest only the emotionless reptilian mind can truly picture.
None of the scattered tribes and clans of the once-great Horde made it thru the lands
of the Serpen. Scattered strongpoints fell; whole Serpen clans fell in the battles of
unremitting homage to bloodthirsty gods; legions of scaled troops perished in ambush
after ambush; the Wyrmlands shook with the power of Dark and elemental magic
contesting savagely. Linnorms did battle with monstrosities called from the depths and
beyond; abomination and anathema clashed with the mightiest of the Tauren to mutual
destruction; dracoblood and tainted blood mixed and ignited and soaked the thirsty soul
as it had not for hundreds of years.
No Tauren passed the lands of the Serpen.
-----------------------------------------------

They stood and watched him from across the valley, half a klik away.
The fools in the splintered Horde segments were killing and being killed across
hundreds of leagues of ground, dying in fanatic battle to the last to serve their masters'
thwarted wills. The equally obedient Serpen were cold-bloodedly doing the same. The
Demon Khan had swung further north, where the sway of the Serpen was more dispersed,
and where he might bring sufficient might with his speed to punch through any resistance
and escape to the lands beyond before the Serpen could or would want to whelm to stop
him.
He had not reckoned on the Southguard.
Whereas the Hillguard of the central Jotunbones was carving out space in the
Wyrmlands, dealing with feral tribes and scattered Serpen clans and beasts and monsters
and the like, the Southguard was engaged in unending skirmish with the Serpen and the
Serpen alone. No other organized force contested the Serpen's grip on the lands of the
South, and they were always testing the mountains and their defenders for weakness.
Here, too, was the School of the Wild Flame, the House of the Fire Dancers, who
had lost their Grand Master and more at the Torch of Mithar, and were up and eager for
revenge.
Here also was where the Dhatun and Rockborn dwelt outside Blackstone in the
greatest numbers. These mountains had the Earthfire deep in their hearts, and here the
Geomancers came to practice their arts of war and mining, unlocking the treasures of the
earth that their ancestors had once delved, and forge them into implements of war and
trade. They knew these lands better then they knew themselves, and the Demon Khan felt
the fire of their wrath immediately.
He could not outrun them. They knew the hills too well, and had the endurance of
stone and the strength of the land and the speed of fire to carry them. The Land itself was
eager to purge their presence, and the BOOM of athame drawing power from the Deep
Places sounded time and time again in a death knell for his servants. Lava and avalanche,
the rage of earthfire and choking dust, scouring sand and shearing glass, ripping lightning
and crackling electromagnetism; all the tools of the Geomancers were put to use, as the
Southguard preyed on his forces every step of the way, led by a relentless Chariot that
would not stop and came at them again, and again, and again.
And now, here he was, across a valley from them, waiting.
A few hundred paces past him gaped a great chasm, a shattered wound in the Land
from the Crash of Crowns, extending for leagues, perhaps a hundred meters wideas
good as a hundred kliks. There with no purpose, no evolution, just a scar in the Land
from a cataclysm nearly a millennium agoand the Demon Khan was trapped, with less
then twoscore of his followers left with him.

Errant scanned the terrain, seeing only the most subtle of movements where the
Southguard was hidden, watching, waiting. The Tauren were waiting as well, tense with
the ominous feeling of magic building all around them, eyes roving earth and sky in an
attempt to ward off attacks. Their mightiest spellcasters were dead, singled out and
butchered with great thoroughness, allowing no sudden escapes. The Land lay heavy on
the skein of worlds, and no escape would there be by bending the rules of space and time.
Thin the herd. Errants voice was a whisper, but it echoed off stone and sky like
quiet thunder.
The ground heaved about the Tauren, massive tentacles reached up to drag down the
least of them, an acre of stone sloughed away into mud and began tumbling down the
slope, carrying screaming Tauren with itto the deepest point, where a fountain of lava
was rumbling up to great the creatures with the vengeance of the Land. Tumbling,
crashing, breaking, the guards of the Demon Khan were flung and fell to their deaths, Fed
to the Land as white-hot magma formed searing runes of purity in the blazing pool below.
The Chariot started smoothly forwards.
The Khans power was enough to defy such mass-area spells, and the despoiled
ground about him denied the might that took from him the last of his faithful. Only his
greatest servants and officers, those he kept closest to him, survived the onslaught.
His two faithful Ogretaurs, working themselves into a frenzy for the battle, clad in
the rent and reforged and corrupted armor of slain Paragons, each with two massive Dire
blades in huge fists, terrifying meldings of mutant bear and Statured Ogre, muscle and
hide massively warped and twisted by the gifts of the Dark.
Oschalchine the Hiver, perhaps once a dark elf, now a great and twisted scorpion
thing, whose merest touch was poison, with a spare set of pincered arms and arching tail,
a scuttling thing of horror that had breached many walls to open a way for the Horde.
General Goremane, whose great mane looked like the hanging entrails of creatures
of every race he had slain, a massive Tainted Leonitaur with a flail carved from the bones
of Jotuns, roaring challenges in fury now as he waited for the Champions to come forth.
And the Demon Khan, once Mi-Balkar, General of the Jotun Host that had laid
waste to the Dramojh, fallen to the mere Men and Rockborn of Haxan, towering over
them all. Four arms had he, each wielding a axe-blade fully as massive as those born by
his Ogretaur bodyguards, great and twisting horns rising above his head in an
asymmetrical crown of Dark power, eyes sulphurous pools of hate, his lower body that of
some monstrous hellsteed, legs multi-jointed and hooved feet clawed as well, his Armor
of Damned Souls encasing him in imperviousness and despair.
Fixing on a Man and a Jytan who stood opposite him, across the Valley. Symbols of

all that he had tried to overcome, and failed.

Errant turned his head as three others walked up, one of which he knew by sight,
two by reputation, all of whom hed known were in the area. A gap-fanged smile with
rubies set in prominent tusks accompanied the grin and ham-sized hand that Rorg
Faustusk extended to him, and which he took gladly.
I come representing the Northguard, was all the Urkhar said, his fell rakeblade
Shrek ready for the conflict to come.
The Dhatun warrior, coming perhaps to Errants shoulder, and looking almost as
wide as he was tall, had a pick in his huge hands that looked like it could spit a diamond,
and simply nodded at the Man. Hard Blackhammer. I come representing the
Southguard.
The last was another Man, radiating a perceptible fire of the spirit, little flames
dancing between his eyes and fingers as his hands played about on his Wings, at once
ageless and definitely into middle years all at once. Matthias of the House of the Fire
Dancer, he identified himself with a smile of anticipation, and vengeance waiting. The
new Grand Master of the House of the Flame Dancer. Twin Mithril gleamed on the throat
or cheek of them all.
Everyone ready for some blessings? Errant asked calmly, alone among them
unable to profit such things. The non-spellcasters knelt to accede, including the grim
mass of the Jytan, as Trencher and Estemar began to chant.
The Chariot drove across the lava pool at the bottom of the nameless valley with
impunity, raced easily up the other side, and hove to a stop about a hundred paces from
the waiting Tauren. The last of the Dark Host obligingly spread out into a broad line,
offering individual combat, as behind the champions of the smaller races, the land
seemed to ripple and rise as the Southguard rose to their feet all around, an impassive and
impartial circle of death they would not escape.
They were going to die, and die here, by one means or another. All that was left was
to determine how to make their last stand.
The hunters came down off the Chariot, even Trencher. This was their time, and
now it was theirs to see through. These creatures would die by the blade and by arrow,
and be Fed to the Landor they would die, that was all there was to it.
The blessings of the Celestial and the Land glowed upon their weapons and forms,
such power that the Tauren were squinting into the deadly grace of it all the weapons
shining, armor gleaming, skin like steel, armor that rippled like second skins, holy light
and power surrounding them all with the blessings of the Divine.
Errant and Matthias began the show.

The Tauren were readying themselves for a charge as the far smaller folk dispersed
to match up, the Beastmen warriors to General Goremane, Hard and Trencher to
Oschalchine; Matthias, Rorg, Mi-Kraum and Errant to the center of the Ogretaurs, and
the Khan. Estemar and Estrel waited behind, with ready bow and stave, to back the
warriors before them.
The Demon Khan had not faced Dragon House warriors for centuries, and indeed
not faced any for the duration of his ravaging of the Thronelands. The mightiest of the
Oathbound he had faced were bound to cities, or had been felled before they could reach
him in personal combat, and so even knowing of the speed of which mystical warriors
could move, he was not prepared for a charge by mere Men.
The Fire and the Water formed a Way, and came for them.
It was like watching a spray of liquid flame erupt, the Fire carrying them with speed
and grace, the Water driving them onwards with power and fury. Chi roiled the air in a
spiritual inferno of mixing internal powers, a Child of Water and a Child of Fire coming
together in two grand coils of intertwined energy that seemed to just leap across the
distance directly for the Demon Khan, faster then a striking arrow.
Four monstrous blades dripping with the foul power of purest Dark energy snapped
up to defend and the coils split.
Waveslicing Dragonhearts Fury.
The Fire and the Water tore through the massive bulk of the Ogretaurs, went white
with the power of vivic energy, and the first blows of the battle ended in an explosion of
vivic flame from their rent forms so intense the surviving three Tauren reeled back in
shock. The bodyguards of the Demon Khan died so fast they did not even get a chance to
scream.
A single golden arrow followed the firewater coils past the crossed Pitsforged
blades, and the Demon Khan had no time to even flinch as it drove feathers-deep into his
left eye.
With his roar of outrage accompanying them, the Hunters converged on those
remaining, Matthias spinning to flank Oschalchine, his Wings wreathed in flames an arm
longer then the blades themselves, his laughter already rising as he began his Dance.
Errant slid to a stop behind the Khan, Duty trailing spiritual waters that yet danced
with the heartfire of the Fire Master. Immediately, he was in motion, more skating then
sliding, using the lightfoot of the House of Flowing Waters with sure speed and skill,
commanding instant attention and respect as he began to move in on the Demon Khan.
The Waters gathered around him in coils and flow, waiting to become a river and a tide
once more, readily apparent to anyone with expanded awareness and senses, as was the

phantasmal shield and sword of a Master of Mithars Rules, and crackling between it all,
streaks of electricity in a building storm.
There was no doubt that this Man was a terrible foe. He was wearing his power on
his soul like a great banner, fairly shouting at the Khan exactly what he was. Source
energy radiated from him like a subtle, deadly breeze, impervious to the Dark, to fear, to
doubt. His entire soul was committed to one deed now to see the Khan dead.
And for the first time in centuries, the Khan knew doubt of his own once more,
doubt that had not touched his heart since a Rockborn King stepped forwards and took all
that the once-Paragon could dish out, and then hewed him down.
With a scream of rage and hate, ignoring the arrow in his eye, the Khan lifted his
slaughtering blades, and charged for the Man with unmortal speed and power.
Instantly, the Waters gathered, surged forwards into Duty, and Errant countercharged.
The Khan was impossibly nimble for something of his size, with a vigor and power
no mortal creature could truly matchbut still, he was of size, and Errant had spent all
his life killing things bigger then he was. He could read the Khan with ease, twisted
anatomy or no, and he slid off the path of the Khans charge without breaking stride,
suddenly off the ground as if riding a cresting wave, and Duty coming around to meet the
converging path of the two great Dark blades sweeping in below him.
Flowing Waters screamed, and a Laen Clansword seemed to howl silently with
unwhite runefire. Only preternatural reflexes saved the Khans hands as he let go of both
blades, before they exploded from the power that had split them apart like shattering
rock.
The other two blades continued their sweep, coming around and behind the Man to
take him apart from behind.
And thats when Mi-Kraum hit his forebear.
The Celestial sword, seemingly made of solid light, punched through the Damned
souls of the Khans armor, and they screamed in terror and ecstasy as holy power and
True Death sent them burning free in a spectral cloud like a punctured balloon. Tainted
flesh blazed like tinder as the full mass of a charging Jytan in full Harness smashed into
the Khan, and with the full might of his people and the Divine, Mi-Kraum lifted the Khan
and drove him back.
The two black blades missed their target as the shocked Khan scrambled for balance,
agony greater then any he had ever felt burning him from the inside out with a power he
had never felt, only seen in action. The blades rang on the armor of his descendent and
were hurled away with an explosion of Dark and Celestial energies as Mi-Kraums

Harness denied the soul-thirsting powers of the massive blades, but the impact alone was
enough to send the Jytan back a step, and allow the Khan to recover his balance.
Another golden arrow came lancing in like a slice of the sun, and with an audible
crack, smashed the right horn on his head off halfway down.
The Khan reeled as the nimbus of Dark energies about him dwindled abruptly,
disrupted currents of Dark power writhing inside him and spurting free of his shattered
horn in oily streams of Tainted vapor. He could see the Halvyri drawing back another
golden arrow; standing next to the Knight Excelsior girt in so much holy power he was
soul-blinding to behold; her golden eyes were intense and calm, a serenity about her of
transcendent nature so profound he could scarcely fathom it.
She would not miss.
Errant and Mi-Kraum were coming in again.
The Demon Khan reared, and his two remaining blades swept out, his hooves
crashing down with magical power and force, and he breathed on them.
Errant was already off the ground, riding the cresting wave of his lightfoot, and
smashed into the center of that acidic gout without stopping. The vile stream hissed past
him like a stone in the waters, while Mi-Kraum set his feet, smashed his shield into the
lower sword, and rode the impact wave of the shock with the stability of a Titan.
Duty came down behind, another Dark blade exploded into vivic fire and had to be
released. But this time, Errant continued the spin past and between the Khans own arms,
executing a pirouette as fluidly as the Waters spinning around him, and a handspan and
more of Duty slashed through Damned breastplate, hide, muscle and bone, sending the
killing force raging into the Khans body like slicing liquid metal.
The Khan screamed and lashed back instinctively, catching Errant in midair and
smashing him away as if he were weightless. He took the hit and soared away with
incredible control for such a blow, landing nearly twenty paces away, on his feet, sliding
in an arc that brought him around directly for a charge again, his shield flipping onto his
arm as the Khan rained thundering, metal-bending blows down upon Mi-Kraum and his
shield with unearthly power and fury.
A golden arrow took him full in the throat, punching right through his gorget as if
driven by a great hammer, and the Khan coughed blood and acid that seared his mouth as
it ignited in his throat.
The archer
Mi-Kraum drove his blade forwards perfectly in the gap between breastplate and
chestpiece of the Khans cursed armor, and the Khan howled again as the power of the

sword seared his very soul with the ripping power of the Divine. The Jytan tore the blade
free and levered away as the Khan fell back, raising his fists to meet the Haxan he knew
was coming up for himand who instead was coming down.
Errant slid between his segmented legs, Duty cutting across and under his lower set
of ribs as a razor of silvered holy water. A smashing kick sent him tumbling, but he had
taken it on his shield, and rolled and bounced and was on his feet, beyond reach and
ready to come in on another charge instantly, ignoring the black smoke writhing about
the imprint on his shield. Mi-Kraum was on one knee, battered shield yet raised and
defiant, poised for another deadly thrust to match the two massive flaming wounds he
had already inflicted.
Errant came right up him, up the Jytans back, off his shield, into the teeth of the
Khans fury, and now Lightning cut the Waters.
The Khan howled and reeled back as his breastplate tore apart under the assault of
the Clansword, a thousand Damned souls screaming free to their final fates, and barely
heaving back before the impossibly fast blur of the Haxans blade could take his
remaining eye. The cutting force still slashed across his twisted, yet still noble features,
and then the Haxans shield snapped up and his legs were behind it to take both of the
fists that drove into it, launching him away like a childs toy.
Mi-Kraum heaved upwards with the strength of a Titan, seeing his opening. His
blade came around and in as he straightened to his full height, ripping, tearing,
impossible to stop, driving up past unmortal organs for what was still the center of life
and power
A golden arrow streaked past, and the Khan's second horn snapped free with the
impact.
Mi-Balkar tried to howl his defiance as both forelegs caught his descendent and
smashed him away with terrific force, ripping open the terrible wound in his chest. How
had she known? His chest was burning up from the inside, he could see dark bones about
the inferno igniting beneath his skin, crawling currents of Taint snaking around the blaze
and trying to stifle, to quench it.
Lightning across the Hill, the Waveslicing Stroke.
Not the Haxan, not again
Both hands were on the Clansword named Duty. A Hurricane of force and power
was rising behind the Man, his feet were fully five meters off the ground, riding a wave
of power that was pouring into the Clansword, the same power that had slain his
bodyguards in one terrific blow.
And now came for him.

Duty descended, and the blade never made contact with the Demon Khan, the killing
force slicing out from the sword, down through the impaled eye, the horrible chest
wound, and out the bottom of his torso with enough force to split the stone before the
Khan and send rock shards flying into the air.
From the ruins of his heart, an unwhite pulse beat once, as severed strands of Taint
ignited, and the Demon Khan died.
The last of his armor went with him, the souls screaming fear and release as they
were sent on their way. Searing white light, greater then that which had accompanied the
destruction of an artifact long ago, heralded the vivic flame of True Death as the entirety
of the power and gifts invested in the Demon Khan was Fed, body and soul, to the Land.
=============================
The Dancer stuck his Wings in the bastards tail, and ignited the suckers poison.
Shoulda seen it, bouncing all around as the fires lit up the tail from the inside musta
been like having a bladder full o acid inside it. Vivic fire was having a feast with its
poisoned shell, seeing as how Taint-heavy the stuff was. Hard and Rorg took off the
claws first, while I concentrated on smashing open the bastards carapace a few
timesonce I broke into it, Rorg had a field day with its insides, and Hard finished it off
by putting his pick into the suckers skull and nailing it to the Land. Werent quite as
much fireworks as yours, but right satisfying.
Trencher left out how hed had to purge the Hivers poison from his body with a
surge of Earthfire that had limned his skeleton inside his flesh with the sheer force of the
molten power hed summoned, an agony greater then any hed had to endure before. Yet
endure it he had, and kept on going. The Hiver had literally been a walking pyre from the
slashes and hands of Master Matthias, and still kept right on going with terrible strength
and fortitude.
Our foe was no less formidable. His mane of innards was alive, reaching out to
suck the life and strength from us and heal it even as we sought to hack it down. Estemar
and Agg-Krenos kept us alive until Grisnarl could burn the things mane away with holy
fire, although it took all his strength. With only its flail, the abomination was no match
for Crusp and Bull and Wildhunter together, and we Fed the thing to the Land.
Hrafner and Grassragers fur were covered with dozens of round, white scars where
theyd nearly had the life sucked out of them by the mane of the Tauren General. All of
the Beastmen save the Wind Witch Agg-Krenos had similar scars, and the life-sucking
power of the General would have won it the battle had not Estemar restored life and
health to them almost as they fell, to keep on fighting. Agg-Krenos had managed to
weave a whirlwind of ice about the Generals head, flaying apart the tendrils of animated
innards before they could reach the others, allowing Grisnarl the chance to leap on the
Tauren and wrap his head in a ball of golden fire from ripping claws and teeth. His

greatest weapon denied him, the General had been unable to keep up with the raw
punishment the infuriated Beastmen had unleashed on him, especially after Crusp had
shattered his weapon arm with a particularly well-placed blow.
Hrafner could not remember ever feeling such a sense of profound satisfaction as
when the warped monstrosity of his people had been Fed to the Land, even as the light
had risen behind him and literally torn him from his feet as the Khan died mere moments
later.
They were alone now, all of them, a few leagues from the glittering hill where the
Demon Khan and his final guard had fallen, a tor awash in crystalline purity from the
power released with his death. That place would become a strongpoint of the Southguard
sometime soon, a place where Serpen and Tainted alike feared to tread, but for now, it
glittered in the distance beneath Sylune, waiting.
As were they. Something had changed when the Khan died, something inside them
crumpled as the wave of vivic fire lept over them and dispersed into the land, carrying
with it remnants of the lives they had once lived. It was like a door had opened in their
souls, and they were looking on the first steps they could take beyond it, and wondering
and fearing what was to come to pass.
My people have a saying. Transcendence, born in glory, opening the door to
humility. Mi-Kraum shook his noble head, joints creaking audibly as he moved, out of
his Harness for the first time in weeks. Here and there were streaks of white where
consecrated fire had lashed Taint from his body and soul, and his Harness would take
days of work even by Rockborn smiths to be made whole. But he was whole and sound
and radiating an impressive mien that was even more profound without a Paragons
Stature. I did not understand such a thing, until now.
Heh. I heard tales from the Borderguard, that things like the Demon Khan arent all
that uncommon, way up North. All of them shuffled uneasily at that news, but no one
said otherwise. The Jotuns deal with them, for the most partand love doing it, too.
And others, tooothers, like us. He looked into the blazing fire before them, springing
up from dark rocks placed there by Trencher. He was just a pawn too, you see, a tool for
greater desires. Once he lost his usefulness, he lost much of his power and his patronage.
With the full power of the Dark behind him, we probably could not have beaten him as
we are.
It was a terribly sobering thought. They had Hunted the Demon Khan to ground and
to bay, and brought him down with the sword, a tale and saga that would be spun by
bards into a truly epic story of divine vengeance and righteousnessthe Halvyr were
already conspiring on the work after getting all of their tales from them with gleeful
patience.
There is always room, in the ranks of the Eternals.

They turned as one to that voice, none of them truly surprised as the Fire and the
Sword strode into their midst, his Helices coiling about him in six strands of power
colorful Prime, multihued Flame, crystalline Earth, prismatic Radiance, chiascuro
Shadow, and whorling vapors of Air. It was a rare and simple display of power that few
ever saw and lived, and those were among the mightiest and most influential beings alive.
Even in the heart of the Throne, the saying was known All the Void Brother needs
do, is nothing, nothing at all.
His eyes were dark, and he was not smiling. He met all their gazes at once, raking
over their souls, and even the least enlightened of them knew they were in the presence of
greatness, and living death incarnate. This was True Fire and Sword of the Land, over a
thousand years old, tasked to endlessly wander and slay that which threatened the Land,
be it subtle or overt. While there were lesser Void Brothers who did the same tasks as he
at smaller and quieter scales, equally driven, none were as adept or had endured in their
office as long as this Halvyr.
Marcus Ruin.
Well done. His voice was neither grim nor humorous, simply honest
acknowledgement. You have broken the Divine Ceiling, and are now on a new road,
children once more. That did earn a quirk of a smile from him. As Errant has said, you
have faced mighty foes and triumphed. More importantly, you triumphed with the power
of sword and steel, to become an inspiration for those who would follow after and
emulate you. Magi, the chosen of the Divine, those who wield magic; such people find it
often painless to go beyond mastery of mortal magic to something greater. Those who
must do battle with hand and arm and muscle and sinewah, there is the greater
struggle, to overcome a mighty foe by skill and power together. Few make it to the road,
but to inspire them to trysuch is the greatest way Eternals come to be born.
His gaze turned on the Beastmen, and instinctively they shrank before him, the
endless death that roiled off his soul. They had no trouble believing that all they had
done, he could have accomplished without aid.
Long have we wondered what the final fate of those assaulted souls born of the
forebears of Adryjrs need for slaves would be. Always have you been an enemy to the
Children of the Land, feral and wild and slaves to greater wills and beings then their own.
The end for all such races is extinction, enslavement, or mutation into pawns of the Dark,
as you can see with those of yours who fell.
But finally, there are those who have stepped beyond their pettiness and forged a
destiny for their people. You have taken the Great Step and set foot upon the Road of the
Eternal. Congratulations. You are the first of your kind to join our ranks. You have
cemented your race into the approval of the Land for now, a rare and precious thing. I
salute your courage in doing this, and hope that others of your people who come after you
will be so Enlightened.

The five stirred both uneasily and proudly. The very first of their people! Flind and
huul and littorians and terrig glanced at one another in approval and trepidation.
There are certain things that you need to know as an Eternal. I am honored to be the
first to tell you of themmuch will become known to you later.
You will find that you will no longer age as you did. Your hair may grow white,
you may find new scars upon you, but true old age will never catch you. If you stay
strong in spirit, you will remain strong in bodyyou will find old strength gradually
returning to you, the vigor of lost youth and more, and you wont have to worry about
teeth falling out, joints aching, eyes going bad, or losing your hearing or sense of smell.
If your spirit is strong. If you go slack or lazy, you will find that as your spirit rots,
so does your vigor. Being an Eternal is not a road for the dithering, and it is not a goalit
is the start of another journey. Those who fall from the Eternal, the Dark takes gleefully,
ever quick to give power to the foolish and those who do not wish to earn it, and so make
them their own.
There have been Eternals for Ages of this worldthere are Eternals on many
worlds, although few as organized as the world upon which we stand. We are to our
world what Demons and Angels are to the hereafterthis is our world, and we defend it
and its place against all those who would seek to claim it, to make it a plaything and a
tool in their games, and we exact our toll upon them and Feed them to the Land to
strengthen it against their incursions.
To be Eternal is to be on the road to a greater Destiny, treading the way for those
who come after you. We do not dictate the types and the terms by which you find your
way, by which your legend will grow. Sometimes Eternals come into
conflictsometimes they Fall as utterly as any Paragon General. His eyes glanced to
Mi-Kraum tellingly. The best of them realize that this is their world, and no one and
nothing is going to take it from them, and they work together despite their differences to
make sure this stays true.
The Order of the Eternals is the name of an organization many like yourself work
with in assorted ways. It seeks to minimize conflicts amongst the many goals of the
Eternals, assist in cooperation against the Dark and those Outside our world who threaten
it, share information, and form a network of contacts that you can use in this world and
Beyond as you continue along your road.
There are Good folk and Evil among the Eternalsall have their part to play, for
their own motives. In the Order, the overriding goal is to secure this world against that
which comes from Outside, a struggle that has been going on for over forty millenniaa
war that can only be waged by the Eternal.
There will be those coming to contact you. Many will be spellbinders, seeking

martial allies. Some will be mentors, sponsors, or servants of the Divine. And some will
be tempters in the most subtle fashions, for you are now the rarest of prizesa newly
born Eternal.
I am of the Brotherhood of the Void, and I serve the Land. While I can work with
the Order, I cannot be bound to it, nor can I lead it or be beholden to it. My task is greater
then the Eternals, and the Land does not sleep.
Some of the Eternals you certainly know, and there I would place your initial trust.
From thence to the Order you will find out more, and make your own judgments on your
place and efforts and how to apply the very force of what you are to your goals.
Best of Fates to you. I have work to be about.
And between flickers of the flames and shadows in the moonlight, he was gone.
-----------------------Your people are called often Heroes Born, Mi-Kraum asked Estrel softly, as they
prepared to part ways. The Halvyri glanced up at the somber Jytan without judgment as
she secured her pack. I know that others of my people have tread the road I am onbut
I have heard nothing as formal as what the Brother spoke of.
The Jytan Eternals seldom join the Order, Estrel answered softly. They have a
Council of Ancestors, and cleave to their own rulings and actions and views of what is to
be done and what is not. Greatness runs in the veins of your people, Jytan, but you are a
young race, despite what you think, and much of what you know is wrong or in
errorand even your Eternals do not wish to open their eyes and see the whole of things.
Your Council deals frequently with the Jotun they feel themselves to be a part of, and do
not concern themselves with 'lesser' races as they should.
Mi-Kraum tilted his head, studying her. You are so informed on the politics of our
status so soon? he asked, both amused and concerned.
The Halvyri gave him a dazzling and wise smile. Hundreds, if not thousands, of my
people have trod this road, Jytan. My First Step has many predecessors, and I have many
mentors I may seek out. You must decide whether to follow those who have preceded
you, or follow a new path. She reached out and touched the angelic blade riding at his
waist tellingly, reverently.
Mi-Kraum smiled despite himself. I shall endeavor to think small, fair Lady. His
gaze turned aside, to where the Beastmen were crowding about Errant, in oddly somber
conversation. And the Haxan?
He is a Sourcehe too, has many who have gone before him, but Sources follow
their own pathsthey are strange and dangerous and truly formidable. Estrel glanced at

the Beastmen conversing with the Haxan. He is a Source Eternal nownot the equal of
Lone Ruin, or of Darran of the House of the Storm, but he is a builder of Empires and the
breaker of them. The fact the Beastmen stand among us is due to himwhether they
realize it or not, that makes them bound to the Destiny of Men. A Source can change the
world, and he already has by giving the Beastmen their first True Eternals. He is the
leader of their pack, and they know it by instinct if not by reason, and trust him because
he is the Beast called Man, as pure in what he is as they are, if not more. He will make
them eat the Truth, and let them choose their path, and their path will be bound to his by
one means or another if he has any desire to make it so. The same, of course, could be
said for all of usit is what Sources are and do. She did not sound unhappy about the
fact, merely resigned. Although I do sometimes wish I did not listen to the tales of the
senior Bards so well sometimes!
Mi-Kraum chuckled despite himself, wondering how he was going to take this new
status and what he would do with it. Perhaps I, too, should go speak with him.
At the very least, he will not lie to you. She smiled again, glancing at him. I
should wonder how long it will be before a bondmage comes calling on him, only to find
herself in much over her head. She laughed at a joke Mi-Kraum did not get, but knew he
would, in time.
Girding himself, he, too, turned to walk over to the Haxan, to ask him his plans and
his advice. It would not hurt, and if what the Halvyri said was true, simply having plans
that meshed with those of the Haxan might well be a very Good Thing to have

New Post Daenlander!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------/*DAENLANDER*/

I had a bit more fun with this story then I think I should?2 p if you
name the module I modified it from!
The members of the Mick?s Merry Marauding Marines?.all male humans.
*The Mick* (Miklin MacMikal of Clan MacMikal, the black Daen): Level 9
unfettered/Nicellian Duellist 2, str 17 Int: 13 Dex: 17 Con: 13 Wis: 12
Cha: 15 Specced in sabers and using Nicellian style feats. His Ladies
are +2 or +3 Keen blades, maybe with defending. Who knows? 5?7, glib,
charming, a rascal, fiery-tempered and always up for a fight. In command
due to Charisma and having more bars then the others. Experienced at sea
fighting and on land, has a gimp leg with a nasty cut on his right knee
that can slow him down slightly in a fight. Wears an Elfcraft chain

shirt under his tartan, and his kilt and tartan are enhanced as well to
defend him.
*Hodre*: Corix Fighter/9 (has not attended a Warmain training college).
Str: 20 Int: 13 Wis: 12 Dex: 12 Con: 18 Cha: 11 Speced in Greatsword.
Wears full plate +1. Big, strong, a lot smarter then he looks. 6?6 and
about 275 lbs, all big boned muscle. Experienced mostly in land combat
actions. Comes from a poor background and tends to resent snobbish
warmains. Hodre is Homo Primos, a big representative of the race.
*Vade Coxgrim*: Northgate born, Warmain/10. Str: 19 Int: 14 Wis: 14 Dex:
11 Con: 14 Cha: 14 uses Bastard sword (new claymore +2) and Shield,
dresses in Devanian (Elfcraft) Plate. Also smarter and slyer then he
looks. 6?4 and about 240 lbs of strong, solid muscle. Tossed out of the
Throne military for one too many cutting remarks about his superiors
(all chiefs, no Indians! sort of thing). Probably the best tactician of
the group.
*Glaede*: Unfettered/4 Fighter/5, Free Lander crossbowman of some skill.
Far-sighted (glasses stowed away). Str: 15 Int: 15 Wis: 10 Dex: 17 Con:
13 Cha: 12 Generally the first to speak up with a sometimes misplaced
sense of ironic humor?loves to read and find out odd things (bookish,
given the spare time). Good at defensive fighting atop walls and the
like, with training in siege and combat engineering. Elfcraft Chain
shirt and leathers. Friendly rivalry with Red. 6?4, 180 lbs, very gaunt
but broad shouldered. Prefers short sword for close work, but very
devoted to his crossbow (has the BRASS and MEAC feats from Freesword
training (see Wyrmguard Watchers above))
?*Red?*: Ahltaran ranger/5 fighter/4, a half-devoted Mitharn, yeoman
mentality with a casual respect for superiors (including the Mick). Str:
16 Int: 14 Wis: 13 Con: 16 Dex: 16 Cha: 10 Elfcraft mail shirt and
leathers. Major burn scars on his head have removed all his hair for
fiery scar tissue, hence his nickname (he?s actually a blond).
Longbowman who tries to stay out of melee combat. Has some casual
affinity with Nature magic he?s not realized since the Green and Dark
interfere with his casting ability. As an Ahltaran, the least devoted of
any of them to Throne rule. Tends to watch people more closely then most
realize. Favored Enemy is humans (although he is not evil). 6?3, 205
lbs, rangy build that is stronger then most people think. Favors hand
axe and daggers if he has to fight. As an Ahltaran, he is also Unbound.
*Tocs*: Eske Spear/staff fighter, Unfettered/5 Fighter/4. Str: 18 Int:
14 Wis: 12 Dex: 15 Con: 15 Cha: 13 Biting, short, sarcastic wit. Proud
of his staff skills and versatility with ?commoner?s? weapons. Has a
returning throwing shortspear, and a longspear he uses as a double

weapon. Extremely effective against single weapon wielders, with

multiple attacks, reach and throwing all possible, or fighting in second
ranks (usually behind the Mick). 6?3, 215, burly. Tends to be fairly
contemptuous of the wealthy, but would die for his friends. Elfcraft
Breastplate is his usual armor.
The Marines are disciplined and largely trustworthy, out to get ahead in
life with their fighting skills. They?ve been most of a unit for about
five years, falling out of other military units or soldier jobs together
and finding they were good at pulling ?special jobs?. They are all
looking to hit it rich so they can retire comfortably somewhere, but in
the meantime are dedicated and professional soldiers in their mid to
late 20?s (the Mick is the oldest).

The Crew of the Maiden?s Challenge average level 4 unfettereds. They are
one of the best ships in the Hlavan fleet (hence the contract).
Captain Riassa is a level 11 Seawitch.
Silavai is a level 10 Oathsworn.
The Flesh-Eater Cult is composed of Felin and Lupins who have all 3
racial levels and have come to enjoy the taste of Men (and probably
other races). The Elites were at least level 4 Oathsworn in addition.
*Errant* is a fighter/8, Water/3, with some zero levels in rogue,
ranger, /Primos/ Human and Valuzuvan Swashbuckler. His fight with
Silavai was a case of using Power Attack to match her superior unarmed
damage. Against the Elite, he used Sword beats Fist for the additional
AoO. They?d have been better off picking up clubs! He?s definitely seen
a lot more constant activity then the Marines (almost no
downtime/carousing) and so has a broader feat base. He gives respect to
the Mick because the Mick is older and it causes less friction that way.
*Trencher* is a Rockborn Geomancer/10 with zero levels in fighter and a
couple in mageblade. As a Geomancer, his spells are limited largely to
those of Earth and Fire derivations, and must be focused through his
staff lest he be corrupted by jRaztl?s Taint. His athame/focus Cudgel
works as a mace or morningstar, adamantine +3 at least, with the flanges
capable of dealing pierced or slashing dmg when they pop out. He?s
strong, tough, smart, and a very experienced combatant, especially good
at underground fighting and dungeon delving/exploration. At this time,
he?s been hooked up with Errant about three years on and off, and had a
crazy time of it, at first dragging the Haxan hither and yon for his
contracts in deep, dank places, and then being caught up in Elder
machinations time and again. His magic is affected by the Green and
Dark, but unlike human spellcasters, Rockborn Geomancers are able to use

some Divine magic (including healing) much like AU spellcasters can.

===Aelryinth

/*Daenlander I*/
/Some Twenty years prior./
You said you had the one on the left!
You always take the left, I always take the right!
You always take the short one, I always take the large one!
I do not!
You do too! Ever since you thought kneecapping an Ogre would
shut the brute up that time in the Moitre Downs!
The Dwarf clamped his mouth shut and concentrated on making
speed instead of arguing an obviously fruitless point. Haxans were too
stubborn to admit when they were wrong.
Besides, he was sure the one on the right had been shorter
A lot of people were running thru the streets looking for
themit tends to happen when you put a noble lord to the sword in his
own manse. The fact that this Hyen had been a flesh-eater preferring
human prey, and an adherent of the darkest and most vile traditions of
his ancestors, just didnt seem to enter into the equation when other
beastfolk saw that wide-brimmed hat, and yipping lies from fellow
cultists got them all started on the hunt.
They didnt miscommunicate much, but theyd put down a pair of
stalkers one at a time instead of both simultaneously, allowing a single
startled yip out before the situation could be corrected with utmost
urgency.
Is there a reason were making for the docks he asked, as
they dove down another side alley, the Dwarf with his better night
vision leading the way for his bespectacled colleague with his
night-lenses on.
Smell blocks their noses. Trencher wrinkled his big nose at

the odor of the refuse in this alley as they wove their way thru the
maze, yet moving with startling quiet for all their speed. The Haxans
sense of direction was unerring as they moved from street to street,
seemingly outpacing the efforts behind them to catch up.
Hthh! Trencher knew that sound, and stopped cold so quickly
the Haxan almost ran into him, a solid block of immovable Rockborn
muscle. A steady hand found his shoulder, and Errant crouched down in
the dark between two warehouses.
High. Trencher took a pace to melt into the shadows of cast
moonlight, eyes lifting upwards.
Good ears the Manling had, to catch the sound of those bodies on
the roofssome had taken to the Theives Highway and raced ahead of the
street-bound pairnot unexpected, but extremely annoying.
Somehow the Haxan folded into that same shadow, looking at the
light rising in the east. If we hurry, we might catch a ship going out
on the morning tide, he said in the choppy grunts of Dwarfspeech, the
military intonations designed not to carry in stone tunnelsor between
wooden walls.
Trencher considered with somber brow the idea of going on a
ship, or dying fighting to his last breath. You are a bastard, Haxan.
Why do I put up with you he huffed in less then a whisper.
Damned if I know. Lets go.
Tow me. /Cudgel/ tunked on the ground once, humming softly as
he called on the Earthpower, channeling it thru the powerstones in the
head of his mace-like focus, which glowed dimly in response to his will.
The Haxan grinned as a big hand dug under the strap on his back
for his sword. Then, quite abruptly, he was on his feet and in motion.
Trencher always got a thrill when he felt the power the Manling
could call on, surging through him with more then mere muscle. Dragging
the Rockborn warrior-mage a little over knee-high off the ground behind
him, Errant drove into motion, arms and legs pumping with the precision
and power of someone who knew how to run.
There was less then five seconds before a call went up, a high,
rising yowl from a littorian, and arrows and bolts were hissing down
around them. Trencher trusted to his handy steed to lead the way as he
wove a one-handed blur with the weight of /Cudgel/, spinning it as

rapidly as a Man might a batona baton made of fingers-thick adamantine

with a five-pound head, knocking away at least three arrows.
Errant was racing flat out now at full speed, and Trencher had
to admit the boy could move, scenery hissing by. But behind them, he
could see lithe forms taking two story leaps from buildings to the paved
streets, and bounding after them with single-minded determination.
We missed a few of his Elites! Trencher called out. Damn, but
they were going fast, and Trencher roared his alarm as suddenly the
Manling lept, caught a stone porch, took another too-long stride off a
vendors awning as they reached the area of the Market, grabbed a
jutting clothespole and half-spun, whipping the mass of the Dwarf in a
great arc heading upwards, releasing and being carried along by
Trenchers momentum as they shot over the edge of the roof two stories
above the ground, spinning back into the lead as their momentum and arc
faded, feet hitting the rooftop, and off and running along the much
clearer view of the shingles and tiles with Trencher breathing rapidly
and with disbelief behind him.
And how long have you been working on THAT little maneuver, you
Haxan cur! the Dwarf roared out to hide his admiration of the stunt.
Six-meter gaps between buildings didnt slow them down in the slightest,
and he could see the masts of ships aheadand was it his imagination or
were some of them moving
Theres a ship pulling out! he pointed ahead, but the Haxan
was already moving that way, trying to outrace the howls and yowls
behind themand a significant number of very quickly moving forms behind
them as he bounded over the shaky rooftops with sure feet and grim
determination.
They sailed across a twelve-meter gap with consummate grace and
the Rockborn whooping with glee, Manling heels pounding down on a last
warehouse roof and the dock ahead of themwith a ship pulling away.
Hlavan vessel. Trencher blinked at the sleek lines of the
trader, with its double masts and trademark sailsfastest thing on the
waters. Already it was catching the morning breeze and starting to move.
GO GO GO! he yelled encouragement, aware the boy had already
run a dizzying half-klik, and taking somber note of the numbers of
dockhands and fishermen thronging the dock ahead of them.
But Haxans were stupid, and did things like this, especially
this Haxan.

Off the roof, and in a slow arc towards a stack of crates.

Trencher held the Manling up by the strap on his back with one arm,
their combined weight dragging them downbut not too fast to make that
stack and surge once more into motion.
Men, Jytan, and Beastmen were slowly gathering to block their
way a quick glance back showed other trackers surging down off
rooftops with preternatural ease, eyes wild with rage and mouths foaming
with hate and bloodlust.
There was a woman standing on the back of the ship. Hardly
surprising, it WAS a Hlavan vessel. She seemed greatly amused by the
whole scene as Man and Dwarf raced across stacks of barrels and crates
after them, pointedly turning her eyes to the end of the wharf coming
rapidly upand no more crates and quite a few folk in the way.
Without missing a beat, Errant skipped to the pilings, three
paces between each of the massive logs driven into the bottom of the
harbor, and as the shocked dockworkers gaped, like some great leaping
monkey, drove past them the last ten long high-kicking steps, and lept
once more.
A cattle-drivers whip lashed out, caught the edge of the rear
railing, wrapped tight. With his other hand, Errant grabbed the big fist
holding onto his sword-halter, kicked up both feet as they descended on
the waters behind the vessel and pulled away from the dock to a great
cry from those behind them.
Trenchers heart was in his throat as the waters came up, but
his levitation magic worked fine, sending him skidding down inches above
the waves, their momentum carrying them around the far side of the ship
as desperate missile fire arced around after them, Errants feet wrapped
around the taut whip and out of the surf.
The hooked flanges on /Cudgel/ smacked solidly into the wood,
and the pair held there, safe from their pursuers on the far side of the
ship, as the sails above smacked and caught the morning wind, and took
them to safety.
----------------------------------She sauntered over to the railing, tall and bronze-skinned,
dark-haired and deep-eyed, with the kind of figure Men like to imagine
about their females, and a lot of it showing in the balmy weather and
islanders rather scarce garb, even this far north.

She looked down at the unusual sight of a Dwarf floating just

above the whitewaters of her vessel, position fixed by a nastily spiked
mace in the side of her ship, while he held up a young human out of the
water with an easy grip on the fellows sword-halter, just as he held
tightly onto a long whip, booted feet extended out onto it with heels
crossed and kept high and dry out of the water.
Gday, maam, the human said in the singular accent of the Men
of Haxan, and audaciously tipped his hat to her with his free hand. A
fine morning to you. Permission to come aboard He was impertinently
calm about the entire situation, not even cracking a smile.
She, however, was not so restrained, and smiled down at the pair
of them with great amusement at the sight. I was told that Id be
getting a couple extra guards for this trip, but I must admit, that was
a very impressive late entrance. The singsong Hlavan accent poured off
her lips quite impressively. What did you do that made you so late and
in such a hunted hurry, Haxan
Well, maam, if you look off to the south and east up the
slope, youll see in that fine part of town there is a rather nice
building on fire. She leisurely turned around and yes, she could indeed
see the black plumes of smoke rising smartly upwards from the wealthier
area of Carioux. She didnt miss the dismay on the Rockborns stolid
face at such frank truth, either.
You did that She kept her voice calm and neutral.
Naw, Trencher here didhe gets carried away at times. I left a
lot of bodies in there, tho, most notably that of the owner and five
members of his bloodline.
His complete lack of remorse for the deed raised her interest.
You do know the citizens hereabouts dont much like your kind,
especially when you are killing their kind, dont you, Haxan
Well, maam, the favored food of that now-dead Hyen was the
jellied eyes of babes torn fresh from a mothers womb, and pickled
womens breasts served with her first milking. Human babies and women,
that is. So, I guess, the feeling is somewhat mutual.
The captain looked down at him with a suddenly chilled
expression, but the dead serious eyes looking back at her didnt waver a
bit, and the cold hate in them was even more convincing then some show
of bravado or calm, however drawlingly level his voice might be. This

Haxan had killed them, he was glad hed killed them, and if she let him
drop, hed go to his grave damn proud hed killed them.
Get ropes overboard and haul them up! she ordered with sudden
icy decisiveness, and the gawking sailors, some of them Hlavans, some of
them scarred males who didnt look like sailors at all, hastily threw
lines over to the pair. Grips were transferred, the Dwarf making sure
the Man was mostly upright before he released his hold and allowed
himself to be hauled up as well. Nimbly, the young human braced his feet
and scampered up the side, keeping his grip on his whip even as ready
hands hauled him over the side and repeated the action with the Dwarf.
With an easy wrist-flick, he loosened the long whip from the
railing, and kept coiling it as the captain walked up to him, a few
fingers taller then he was, with at least four knives visible on her, in
scabbards placed for snatch-and-throw, and looked down at him with a
searching expression.
Cannibals, aih she asked, keeping his stare, almost
nose-to-nose. Most males would be quite intimidated at looking up at a
taller, beautiful woman, as she was well aware ofhe seemed to take it
as expected.
Possibly, maam. Didnt see much sign of them eating theirs,
tho. His eyes were unflinching as he removed his hat calmly, revealing
sun-bleached hair of pale brown. Part of their lofty program to clean
up the city of vagrants and suchlike I imagine. Lose some sisters here
recently
Her expression became unreadable, which was sign enough for him.
He grunted as he put his hat back on. You just send word to the Haxan
embassy in there, and Im pretty sure theyll be telling you some things
you didnt want to know. I got contacted after I came in town by an
Elder who said Id lost a second cousin in there on my mothers side,
and theyd found out where shed been taken. Trencher here agreed to
come along and see for himself.
The Rockborn half-bowed, then spit most eloquently over the
side, saying nothing. The crew of all humans was notably silent, poised
and listening to the tale.
And did you rescue her the Hlavan asked quietly.
His eyes were hard and cold. No, maam. We interrupted a
feast. There was a long and quiet pause, punctuated by the sound of one
of the Hlavans on board going over to the railing to be suddenly sick.

Just a couple of mercs hired to do a quick job, I imagine. The

captain considered the dangerous light in the young mans eyes. Captain
Rhissai of the /Maidens Challenge/, Haxan. She offered her hand to
him, and he took it, both of them taking note of calluses and scars and
iron-toned strength.
Errant of Haxan, maam, he replied, saluting with his other
hand. Trencher of Blackstone, he introduced the Dwarf more formally,
who bowed somewhat deeper this time, moving gently away from the water
as he did so. I do regret our late arrival, but there was a bit of
interference from sorts who had other ideas about our travel plans.
Well, lets make sure they dont seek to alter mine! She
turned to the crew, who suddenly realized that they were indeed standing
around like fools. Even before the first singsong curses were blistering
the air, they were leaping into motion about the ship, the sails
snapping tighter, the /Maidens Challenge/ began to put some whitewaters
about her hull. The docks and harbor of Carioux began to fall away
behind them, and they were free.
---------------------Trencher, standing very close to the mast, his eyes half-closed,
reached out to tug on Errants bloodstained tunic. The Haxan obligingly
knelt down.
Manling, can you do something about thissensation beneath my
feet It was taking obvious concentration for the Dwarf to keep his
breathing level. The groundit feels like it is moving
Motion sickness, Trencher. Errant rose to his feet. Captain!
You are a Sea Witch, arent you He indicated the coral and whalebone
purse at her side with a finger wave, and she eyed him curiously.
Rockborn here are creatures of stone. Being on a moving ship is like
being in an earthquake that never ends for him, and that is the greatest
fear of any creature who lives below the soil. You got something that
can help him ignore the motion sickness
Her look of amusement flashed and fell as she took in the
intense expression on the Rockborns face, and the deathgrip he had on
the mast. Of course. She paced over with lithe grace, stepping past
Errant, and bent down to the Rockborns ear. With a gentle voice, she
began to sing softly and soothingly, her voice rising and falling with
each gentle rocking of the ship, and as she did he visibly began to
relax. After a long minute of this, Trencher gave forth a great sigh and

opened his eyes fully, dropping them to the deadly blue waiting for him
just beyond the gunwale.
My thanks, Captain. The motion is not sodisturbing anymore.
He nodded his gratitude gruffly, but did not meet her eyes. Instead, he
kept a wary eye on the water as he moved away from the mast.
She opened her mouth to say something, but a chop of Errants
hand forestalled her.
Say nothing, and do not mock him. A questioning glance
returned that. Rockborn are heavier then water, making it nearly
impossible for them to swim. If he falls overboard, he drowns. Being
aboard a ship is one of the most dangerous places a Rockborn can think
of to behe would by far rather be clinging to the side of a thousand
foot storm-tossed cliff with his bare hands then be aboard this vessel.
He will wear his armor because it makes no differenceRockborn have been
known to drown in waters barely taller then either of us, unable to stay
upon the surface.
The captain paused, considering that, and slowly nodded. I will
pass word among the crew, perhaps you should do the same among the
passengers and your fellow guards.
Understood. He eyed the scarred and motley looking assembly
who were appraising him and the Trencher in return, all men and in
scattered styles of garb, yet with an odd uniformity to them that
suggested theyd worked together before, and often. Details were light
on the job and the pay, and I was in a bit of a hurry for the
assignment. Might I ask the cargo, duties, and wages Her eyebrows
lifted in mock surprise. I usually get sublet assignments from seniors,
Captainrather like hauling cargo from a factor for a noble.
I see. Her smile indicated that she suspected the whole truth
might not be forthcoming, but she wasnt going to press the matter.
Were making for Daenland with a cargo of weaponry for the High King
thereJytan-forged swords, spear heads, and plate. Theres to be four
thousand crowns for your trouble waiting there after we make delivery.
Each. She noted he didnt bat an eye at the sum.
Good blades Or just blades His eyes were unblinking.
Very good blades. His eyes turned east, to where the sun was
just starting to show itself, sums turning over in his head.
That was a pretty valuable cargo.

Thank you, Captain. Now, if you will excuse me, I have my

morning Devotions to perform, and words to have with the other passengers.
-------------------------He dont look so impressive, Mick. You could take im.
The black Daen watched the young man from Haxan speeding quickly
and fluidly through what looked to be morning stretching exercises and
some sort of advanced open hand fighting drill at the rear of the ship.
He let down his pipe and pointed with it. Red, what in Niords pearly
pizzle is the daft bastard doing
The tall and lean, buckskin-and-beret-wearing Ahltaran
longbowman from the Free Lands of the central Thronelands opened his
eyes and glanced at the Haxan. Morning Devotions to Mithar and Aru.
Religious. Aint no room for a sword, so hes just using his hands.
Hazel eyes studied him for a minute, and then closed again to get some
sleep.
I thought you Ahltarans were all about Mithar and that silly
stuff, jibed an even taller, almost gaunt Freelander, oiling and
polished a much-loved crossbow with great care and patience.
Im no Haxan, and Im no knight, Glaede. I put arrows in
swordsmen, I dont put swords in them. You want to go mess with him, you
go do thatIll just sit here and watch and admire your technique before
he cuts you apart. His eyes didnt open.
The kilted Daen caressed the carved hilts of his twin sabers,
the worn ivory grips deftly shaped into identical images rather unclad
women, his /Ladies/. He was a student of the Nicellian style of
swordwork, definitely the most skilled of his crew, which is why he was
in charge. Have to say, Ive never fought a Haxan. They got quite a
reputation on em, aye
Red didnt bother to answer, but Vade, going over his light mail
and leathers with his own kit, did. The tall and athletically built
Northgater spoke up off-handedly, If you never had your head handed to
you in a brawl by some fresh-faced punk of a cattle driver half your
size, dont get into a fight with a Haxan. Ive done some caravan time
with themthey dont like to make trouble, and they sure like to end it
fast.
Seconded. Hodre was Corix-born and raised, but built like a

dark-haired bear, not like the slender rapier-wielding duelists the land
and especially its central city was famous for. Since hed been born a
farmers boy tossing hay, and not a nobles son tossing wine, he rather
lacked that sort of educational opportunity. His greatsword wasnt a
delicate weapon either, but the heavy armor he preferred was bundled up
in their tight quarters below decks at the moment. Ive done service
with Haxan pikemen in a couple battles to the north, dealing with orcs
and rhodin. They all do this kind of stuff in the morning, even the
pikemen. Crossed swords in sparring with some of themthey may not be
the biggest people around, but they know how to fight.
Pish. Wimps! Tocs spat, carefully not smiling. A
stick-and-spear fighter of some skill, he didnt have much fear of any
swordsman, and hed grown in up wilder Eske lands where fighting off
raiders was a fact of life, and the scar trailing across his tousled
mouse-brown scalp indicated hed seen his share of that, doubtless
contributing to his sarcastic look on life.
Well, now, the Mick said, sucking thoughtfully on his pipe,
Obviously, whoever hired us didnt feel we were good enough to do the
job all on our lonesome. I were expecting a couple spellcasters to join
us, not a cricket and a catapault load. The mercs burst out with
guffaws at his easy humor.
Dwarfs a mage. Everyone glanced at Red, who didnt look back.
Look at that mace of his. Dwarves dont use staves. If it cant crush a
skull like an egg, its not heavy enough for a Dwarf. Thats his staff.
He may not be feeling too well on the water, but hes got magic.
And you gotta admit, that was a pretty sweet entry, Vade
coughed in appreciation. They've been working together awhile to pull
that off!
So they might actually know what they are doing, yer saying.
That boy hardly looks old enough to be wearin pants, let alone fightin
Hyen nobles!
Why doncha go asking the Mate about him, then Glaede asked
with a mischievous grin. All eyes turned on the tall Nubian-skinned
woman who wore only a simple clasp knife for a weapon, but moved like
one dangerously gorgeous panther of a female. She was watching the Haxan
with great fascination as he flowed slowly through his Devotions, then
jerked her head around and caught all of them watching her. The
challenge in her dark eyes had them quickly looking elsewhere.
I think hes got dibs and dont know it, chortled Hodre, and

they all shared a laugh. Thered been a lot of appraising looks passing
between the islanders and the mercs, looks that would doubtless turn
into something a bit more active during the trip, if the reputation of
Hlavans meant anything. The mercs were actually taller then most of the
crew, Hodre and Vade unmatchedwhich only made the compact Micks
command of them the more significant, along with the signature kilt and
accent of a Daennish Highlander. Thered been a quiet bet going on about
whom the Mate would take, but the scorn shed radiated and the interest
she was showing in the Haxan put all those energetic boasts to rest.
Have to make do with the Captain, I be guessing, sighed the
Mick, and earned himself a few backwhacks and shoulderthumps for it,
grinning broadlybut not at the Mate.
--------------------------------Silavi had never seen the open-hand tradition of the Haxans
being practiced before, and was fascinated despite herself. The Hlavan
Oathbound tradition was more free- flowing then what she was witnessing
here. Most of her sisters grew into their own individualized form of
combat, energized and enlightened by the power of the Oaths they swore
to defend their lands and people. While basic movements and forms were
readily shared and practiced, the fighting style of one Sister to the
next could vary widely as each was led down a style most suited to them.
The same followed for the traditions of Oaths sworn by males, and by
Jytan and the beastfolktheir martial habits tended to deviate wildly
from one to the next, even as the same empowerment of their Oaths gave
them an underlying uniformity.
Watching an unarmed fighting style of great discipline and
antiquity wasmesmerizing. She could almost feel the age of the forms
dripping off his motions, sense the barest shadows of whatever internal
powers he was calling on. The monastic traditions of Haxan were supposed
to be old indeedthousands of years old, if the tales were true. The
Sisterhood of Steel supposedly had once endorsed such practices too, but
in the wake of the fall of Zyayr and Eryl, the rebellion against the
religious practices of the Goddess of Storms had also lost much of the
Orders fighting arts, for the Sisterhood had once been among the Storm
Queens most fervent followers. They had been forced to retrench
themselves and separate themselves from the fallen Church to continue
their duties, and that meant removing themselves from old practices to
new waysand binding Oaths of service that did not threaten those come
to power now.
His style was very fundamental, and she instinctively realized
he was but practicing basic foundation patterns, a standard array of

blocks, punches and occasional low kicks that indicated a reliance on

hands and upper body strikes, keeping ones defenses and balance sound.
She realized she was hardly seeing the full extent of his repertoire,
and the chance to do so was tantalizing.
Picking a fight with him would be easy and doubtless taken the
wrong way. She eyed the sword he had removed, hung on a peg off to one
side, and frowned. She could sense the smoothness and power of his
formwhy did he burden himself with a weapon
Questions she would ask of him, when they had time.
And it was ten days to Daenland.
--------------------------------The Haxan approached them equably, neither cocksure nor
differential. The mercenaries didnt rise to greet him, and he didnt
make any efforts to kowtow to them. Potential rivals who had to work
together, thrown together by circumstances. His shirt still had fairly
fresh bloodstains on it, revealing the light mail beneath it, and his
sword with the overlong hilt was slung over his shoulder. The Dwarf
stumped up beside him, leaning on that dark mass of metal that sure
didnt look like a focus, and glowering at them all equally; squat,
strong and looking plenty immovable in his own leathers and mail.
Good day to yall. His eyes wandered over them, settled easily
on the Daen smoking his pipe, blackwood stem held between strong white
teeth amid a black beard growing out with commendable speed. The Micks
Marauders, if Im not mistaken
That got their attention being recognized is always helpful
for the ego. Yave the right of that, Haxan, the Daen replied easily,
manner still cool and judgemental. Yave heard o us, eh
We crossed paths about two months ago up in Espana. That
really got their attentioneven Red opened his eyes to regard the
newcomer curiously. There was an orc chieftain causing some trouble I
was hired to get rid of. I believe you gentlemen did a fine job taking
out most of the tribe while I took the fools head.
The mercenaries glanced at one another, looked back at the Haxan
with rather frosty eyes. Not getting that head cost us a bit o pay,
Haxan, the Mick said with icy calm.
Not having to take care of the six trolls that were his

personal bodyguards probably saved you a bit odying, Daenlander, was

the much calmer reply. The Micks eyes widened slightly, then narrowed
to ponder that.
So thats what those black smears were, Glaede commented,
looking up from his crossbow. I wondered about that. Never smelled
burnt troll before.
There a reason ya didnt loot the place the Mick asked,
somewhat less unfriendly on hearing that news.
Yes. We were being pursued by the three trolls we didnt manage
to kill.
The mercenaries blinked, and then burst out laughing despite
themselves, understanding pretty well how that sort of stuff worked.
Well now, we didnt do too bad salvaging some of the sots
swag, as it werean Espanan wine is almost as fine as Espanan women.
The Mick held out his hand, and found it taken in a strong and ready
grip. That was good work. We never saw ya coming or going, an we were
watching the camp all day.
If youd seen me coming, the orcs would have, too. Couldnt
have that. I did hear you made quite a mess of the tribes better
warriors, he offered by way of compliment.
Orcs got the fighting smarts of a boarall brute force an no
brains. Easy for a good team to take apart. He tapped out the bowl of
his pipe and stowed it away nonchalantly. Ya got any experience at
fighting on a ship, Haxan
Done some Armsbrother training shipboard in Haxan on the Myrs,
and was involved in that skirmish between House Clovens and the pirate
fleet last year on the Deeps.
Eyebrows went up all around. Ya were there too, eh The Mick
was surprised despite himselfthe Haxan got around. What ship
The /Crookshank/.
The Mick blinked. That the one that got rammed an sunk He
knew bloody well it wasthe crew had been forced to board the pirate
vessel and take it in some of the nastiest and bloodiest fighting of the
whole engagement.

Yeah. You learn a lot about sailing when theres only six of
you left to man a vessel that size and a storm is on the way The
Haxans eyes got a far-off look, then snapped back to reality. Captain
Sylud got us through all right, though, and even got me a nice bonus.
Id show you my medal, but I left it with one of my Elders to deliver
back to my parents with the money. Wanted to show them I wasnt being a
totally worthless scalawag of a son, and whatnot.
The Mick pondered all that openly. Hed said six, but only three
had lived to bring the pirate vessel back to harbor. Well, I suppose it
wouldnt hurt to have ya along to help out. His smile belied his words,
even as his eyes fell to the Dwarf. This was one hard bastard of a
Haxan, to live thru all that. Trencher, nownot many Dwarves in
Thronelands. Idve heard of you if ya were selling yar stick there
I tend to get hired for jobs on the side, Daenlander, that my
patrons prefer not to get known. A lot of them below ground. The
Dwarfs flint-like eyes met the Daens with stony imperviousness.
Ah. Be like, clearing out old ruins and castles and lairs o
dread beasties an things like that The Mick didnt hide his interest.
Aye. Just like being at home. The Mick blinked, and then
chuckled once despite himself.
A fine point. And ya met up with this hard-heeled bastard how
Most Throne patrons whod hire a Dwarf dont balk at hiring
Haxanswe both know how to keep our mouths shut. The dwarf shrugged, a
movement that brought to mind a shuffling hillside. Besides, he speaks
Denthek. Its hard to get a decent conversation in these lands.
I imagine. Good to have ya with us, Master Trencher. He
offered his hand to the Dwarf, whose huge grasp swallowed it easily.
You a mage, sar
Rockborn Geomancer tradition, Trencher affirmed with simple
pride. Polished eyes regarded the waves about them with acid dislike.
Not much good out here with wind and water, he cursed thickly.
Aye, I can see that might be somewhat of a problem. If the
stories were right, the Dwarves got their power through contact with the
earth. Being on a ship naturally made that a bit difficult. Welcome
aboard, however, and well try not to get you close to the rail. He
looked over the pair of them, taking in the fact that, well, theyd been
in a fight, and likely up all night. Tocs, takeem below and show em

where to sleep. They need some shuteyewell work out night shifts later.
The Eske got up without complaint, and without contesting his
leadership, the Haxan and the Dwarf turned to follow, heading quickly
belowdecks and out of sight.
That went surprisingly well, Vade commented aloud, once they
were gone. Ever order about a Haxan and a Dwarf, Mick
First time for everything, ya oversized lout of a Gater, the
Mick answered with satisfaction, leaning back against the forespar.
Especially with him showing double silvers, too. Glaede tapped
the copper bars on his own neck, proud relics of Freesword and that
awesome experience drawing blades in the Hall of Swords.
He knows quality when he sees it, the Mick retorted, his nose
in the air, and earned sniggering laughs all about.
The bastard had been on the /Crookshank/ Damn it all, the Mick
thought. I wonder if hes the bastard who finally put my whoreson of a
sire to the blade at last
-----------------------Haxan, a question. In Denthek, of course.
Half-dozing in the hammock, Errant answered in the same
language, No.
Ah.
He hadnt thought theyd hired out for guards on some crazy
shipment on a tiny little hunk of rock in the middle of all this water.
Haxans, they made life interesting. Closing his eyes, Trencher
attempted to sink into meditation and pretend he was very, very deep and
safe under a strong, sure mountain somewhere.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------/*Daenlander II*/
Errant was glad the Captain had the foresight to give Trencher his daily
treatment before the storm hit, or the Dwarf would have been in a living
hell. As it was, he sat down in the hold, bailing like some sort of

tireless golem at the pump, while everyone else kept the ship moving.
The Captain was a Sea Witch, which is probably the main reason the ship
was still afloat. Her natural ability to read the waves and winds
exceeded that of any normal captain, and she knew her job. But he was
also pretty sure that the reason the storm was so bad was because she
was a Sea Witch, else how could the bastards who had summoned it up
possibly sink a Hlavan vessel
He was really sure they were being chased. He was also pretty sure that
someone was really pulling out all the stops to catch them. Captain
Rhissai had been quite surprised by how rapidly the storm had risen,
given theyd been supposed to have ideal weather for at least the next
day. And it had come in from ahead of them, off the oceanand shoving
them back towards any pursuers.
He didnt imagine the Elites would be giving up on him anytime soon.
The Hlavans built their ships well, and Sea Witches lavished attention
on their personal vessels. Probably personal runework, hull
reinforcement, protective wardshe didnt imagine the Captain had been
chosen at random anymore then the ship had. That cargo below was worth
tens of thousands of crowns at the least. Theyd want someone guaranteed
to deliver it.
He was up in the rigging now, because the blowing wind and driving rain
didnt affect him like it seemed to the normal crewjust another
indication to him of the magic behind the storm. He reflected that the
only time he got on the water he saw bad weathera sailor specializing
in bad weather sailing The thought made him shake his head even as he
heard the Captains singsong voice carrying with absolute clarity on the
winds, and began to haul in the sails.
Shed made magic to downtone the winds in the immediate area of effect,
and latched some other magic to the figurehead to cut the incoming waves
in two. As a result, Errant had the unique position of watching the tops
of waves pass by over his head to the sides of the ship as they rode the
swells up and down, and him being at least ten meters above the waterline.
The Hlavans looked to be having a great time with the storm, mixed with
foul comments on how the water should at least be warmer. They seemed to
be delighted with how easily he sat up in the rigging and did his
jobthe mercs were bailing or lending muscle when a strong pull was
required, and the four passengers were in their cabins.
The ship wouldnt sink, but it was making little to no headway, the

Captains magic or no.

He must have really pissed off someone important when he butchered that
Hyen and its cronies, and Trencher blew them straight to Hell.
The thought cheered him considerably. Angry, important people made
mistakes. And he was very, very sure the Elders were watching.
==============
But even powerful magic couldnt sustain an artificial storm that strong
for long. It blew out before morning, leaving the sea absolutely calm in
its wake, and the Captain in dire need of rest to regain her strength.
Trencher came up from below, stretching out slowly after twelve straight
hours of working the bailing pump, uncomplaining and cranky nonetheless.
He eyed the Haxan watching the west, sword at his side, and slowly made
his way over.
Expecting trouble he rumbled gently, also looking out into the
darkness. The false dawn was up, the stars slowly falling as Sylune
escaped the light of Arus grace once more.
Yes. What did you find out
Haxans have a healthy sense of paranoia. I hope you realize that.
Errant just smiled thinly as the Dwarf held up three fingers.
First, that prestigious Scholar and his organization is a load of
mushroom fertilizer. Hes reeking of necromancy. Second, something
Jotun-sized reeking of his necromancy is following us at about three
hundred paces to the stern, and twenty paces down. Thirdly, the trunks
of those three noblewomen contain an awful lot of sharp pointy bits of
metal for a bunch of courtiers off to snag some husbands.
Think the Mick is in on it
No. Theres nothing impure about his steel, or those of his men.
Weapons bathed in treachery have their own tales to tell
That they do. He also looks like someone I killed not too long ago, but
it could be a coincidencealthough black Daens arent exactly common.
He looked back and got to his feet as the Mate walked up with pantherish
grace, looking over the pair of them approvingly.
No morning ritual she asked slyly of Errant, ignoring the Dwarf entirely.

Fifteen minutesstarts when Aru touches the horizon, maam. He pointed

below. The captain make a habit of conveying necromancers, maam
The startled look on her face was replaced immediately by defensive
anger. Are you accusing her of something, Haxan
Im letting you know that the scholar shes transporting is a deadhead.
And when I asked another of your sisters, she said it was the fifth
member of this particular scholars organization shed carried as a
passenger. The Mates eyes widened at the implications. Furthermore,
my friend here says theres something about the size of an undead Jotun
parked behind us astern and down just at the edge of his range of
sensitivity. Im guessing an undead giant shark, but I could easily be
wrong. Her dark eyes flicked to the lightening waters behind them.
The Captain has the Sight, and uses it on passengers as a matter of
course, she stated with certainty.
And Im sure an esteemed scholar would know that. And Im equally sure
he was not concerned with recasting anti-divinatory spells while trying
to hold his stomach in last nightwhich is when Trencher here sensed his
Taint.
Appraising eyes fell to the polished orbs of the Rockborn. While you
were pumping
Im an opportunist, he grunted back. She smiled thinly at the joke.
Anything else you sensed she prodded, looking between them.
Lots of sharp pointy bits of metal in the trunks of the three dizzy
young ladies with expensively inappropriate clothingand I dunno if Im
wrong, but at least one of them has the trace of an Onnwal accent
underneath the Corix charm. Errant shrugged. The three attractive young
ladies had been flirting with the men all day, playing mindgames with
the smirking Hlavans, no doubt.
I already checked the water and food for poison, grunted Trencher.
Its clean as yet. I cant tell if theyve poison among their
belongings without opening their trunks. I imagine theyd want to get us
closer to somewhere else before they tried something, however.
Mate Silavai considered the pair of them with growing alarm and grudging
admiration apparently these two took their job seriously. And the
other hireswords

Grunts. The girls may attempt to turn them, may not. From what I know
of the Mick, hes pretty scrupulous about his contracts. Hes more
likely to stick a knife in the belly of whoever makes the offer and dump
them overboard for the insult. He did come with the cargoI dont think
the buyer would have chosen someone easily swayed.
Isee. She looked between the pair of them, re-assessing them further.
Are you aware of the situation in the Daenish Isles she asked quietly.
Errant looked at Trencher, who looked back. Nope! they said in
practiced unison, earning another smile from the stoic Hlavan.
There is a Dark Druid of some sort organizing a resistance against the
High Kingnot that the Daens are any great followers of their monarch as
it is. Both listeners grunted knowinglyDaens had independent streaks a
klik wide and clan rivalries longer then living memory. Well, Daenish
memory. We are transporting arms and armor for the High King to start
building an army and move against this force.
Taennedon is on the opposite side of the Isles. Id heard we were
making shore on the southern tip Errant queried calmly.
There are lords loyal to the Cronal at the southern edgehe felt it
would be better if the arms were brought in closer to the army he would
muster, Silavai informed them.
Smart, but only if he didnt get caught. Which I imagine he has.
Errant drummed his fingers on the rail. Can I gut the deadhead and feed
him to his dead plaything Im sure Niord would appreciate the irony
The Hlavan looked both scandalized and intrigued at the directness of
the idea. I would have to ask the Captain. Were it my choice She left
that hanging with a smile.
Get back to me on thator at least let me watch. Thats a Final Rest
blade he nodded at his sword handing from a peg on the rear mast, and it makes sure that bastards like that dont come back to cause more
trouble. Historically speaking, they have a right discomforting tendency
to want to do that. The Hlavans eyebrows rose in appreciation.
Most certainly. He doffed his hat to her as stepped away from the
railing to take up the same position he had yesterday. With a glance at
the Dwarf, Silavai turned about to take up her place and watch.
Dont try and ask questions, woman, he wont answer any while hes

thrashing the air like that.

And you have both been up all nightI imagine he will wish torest.
The smile and glance she gave the Dwarf told him exactly how likely that
possibility was.
Trencher lifted thick eyebrows and just snorted. Well be up until the
rest of those lazy sots can fall out of those rope contraptions and
slots in the walls you call beds down below. I imagine I can do my
meditations just fine up here.
Excellent. A little privacy to discuss techniques is always
appreciated, she purred. The Dwarf just huffed again, and his beard was
at just the right angle that the Hlavan couldnt tell if he was smiling.
I promise to make him suffer pleasantly.
Trencher rolled his eyes. Female humansthey were as bad as Haxans in
general at times.
------------------------Sails behind us, Trencher informed Errant, as the Haxan appeared at
the bottom of the ladder, looking rather frazzled and a bit more tired
then he had been when he went below. Of course, given the amount of
activity that had ensued when the Mate had slid down this selfsame
ladder not long after that, it was not hard to see why. Trencher had set
himself down at the top of the deckhole, idly carving a jade statuette
with a fine adamantine knife, and warning away the many smiling faces
with just a dour glance, as well as casting a minor cantrip to keep the
noise down.
Humans did get rambunctious about their reproductive arrangements at times.
Errant blinked a few times up at the Dwarf. Trench, I didnt have a
chance in hell with that woman. She said shed made an Oath and had to
deliver on it. He rubbed his face and leaned against the ladder for
moral support.
Shes been up and about for hours, manling, Trencher replied
unmercifully. That famed Haxan stamina of yours finally give up
You dont make Oaths like that. Its really not fair to men. He
stumbled back into the room, came back out a minute later, looking a bit
confused.
Oh, shes been wearing your hat and an ear to ear smile for the last

four hours. Whatever you did, she got her golds worth. Trencher eyed
his jade statuette critically, then looked down at him. You gonna come
up or not You look like bad alloy, manling.
How long before the sails get close his muffled voice came back up.
Trencher turned an idle eye astern. Oh, I imagine another four hours.
Captains up and got at least a partial breeze moving us along.
I need them. He stumbled back into the quarters, and Trencher chuckled
quietly. The Micks men all wanted their turns with the Hlavans whod
been eying them, but Trenchers scowl and /Cudgel/ at hand rather
stopped that. Humming to himself, and thinking the manling got what he
deserved, Trencher went back to his quiet carving. Of course, hed best
recover before the fight that was coming, or the Dwarf would find
another thing to tease him about for some time.
Trencher chuckled again into his beard. Haxans were such idiots.
---------------------------To the merciless calls and jeers and woops of the crew and the mercs,
Errant bowed low to the victor and was bestowed his own hat. Their calls
rode him down the ship as he took up position at the stern of the
vessel, behind the Captain, eying their pursuers.
Trencher handed him his glasses out of his enchanted satchel, much more
convenient for both of them then lugging around his backpack of gear.
Errant lifted them to his eyes and studied their pursuers.
Definitely some form of adapted merchant vessel, lines not as fast as
those of the Hlavan ship, but the sails filled unnaturally full and
plowing them forwards through the faint waves. There were a lot of
bodies on those shipsand they all had long ears and fur.
Air elemental filling the sails, Id guess. The ships were still
hundreds of meters away, but he could hear the faint cries of
bloodthirsty cultists coming over the waves. If I were a betting man,
Id say a minimum of threescore of them per vessel. We are massively
outnumbered. He looked up at Aru, still hours away from setting. I
imagine that storm put a severe strain on any spellcasters theyve with
them, and any others are occupied with those air elementals. I bet it
takes a LOT of concentration for them to keep them here this long.
So, yer thinking we should give them something else to think about
Trencher hefted /Cudgel/ thoughtfully. You know, I still got that wand

stuck in here. Theyd have to get close, but if we can get a fire
started on their ship, why, I imagine I could ruin their day.
And how much alchemists fire you got in that satchel
Trencher just smiled, and nodded at the ballista the Hlavan crew was
hurriedly setting up. You know, its almost like they knew a Dwarf
would be around to shoot something for them.
A ship is an awful small target to have to hit, too. What with them
little flammable sails and all that pitched and sun dried wood and whatnot.
Why dont I have a word with the good Captain here and we can set the
anxiety level of the crew down a notch. After all, we were hired for a
reason.
Errant kept his face straight. That we were.
========================
Trencher hummed happily as he sighted in at the closer of the two ships,
enjoying the looks of consternation on the looks of the savage faces
there at the sudden slowness and choppiness of the seas. They were about
a hundred meters away, and suddenly their pursuit had slowed
drastically, even as the howls and cries grew louder and more fervent.
The second ship was barreling in with sails abloomthis would have to be
quick.
The Hlavans had readily ceded to Trencher the ballista, and a short
stool gave him the height to sight the thing as it was foolishly set for
a human. He manhandled it around easily, ignoring the volleys of arrows
scattering overhead, many of them not even able to hit the ship at such
range, especially the flaming ones that dragged at the air and went
hissing into the waters.
The first shot hummed out with a cranking slam of release. Trencher
watched it with professional calm along its arc, noting power and speed,
and with satisfaction it smashed into the forward deck of the other
ship, spitting two unfortunate Lupins whod let their bloodlust get in
the way of their common sense.
Humming happily, he grabbed the first of the special bolts whose heads
hed replaced, the javelin-sized missiles now tipped with a rather
explosive load of alchemical fun. With deft and professional gingerness,
he fit it onto the string as the two brawniest of the Marauders finished
cocking back the windlass, and sighted in again.

He didnt take nearly so long to aim this time, letting go and holding
out his hand for /Cudgel/, which the waiting Hlavan slapped into his palm.
There was a wooshing explosion of flame from the aft deck of the enemy
vessel, startled shouts at the fires, and then /Cudgels/ length was
burning red-hot in Trenchers grip, the powerstones in the head blazing
like little stars.
A little fire became an explosion of liquid fury, racing flames blasted
every which way on the other shipespecially up into the sails, which
ignited readily despite being wetted down, one of the problems with
having a steady wind on them. In a manner of seconds, the whole crews
attention was on the scattered fires everywhere, and abruptly the full
sails sagged, the ship driving once more into the waves and then falling
behind.
A cheer went up from Hlavans and mercs, a hearty hand smacked him on his
broad backafter he stepped off the stool.
The fires will be out fast, but if their mages werent occupied, it
would never have been a problem to begin with. Satisfied, Trencher
followed the mercenaries carrying the ballista as a Hlavan trailed with
the stand, hefting the stool himself.
A few minutes later, the second vessel was also burning and its full
sails slackened and went dead as they flamed up. The crew cheered as the
/Maidens Challenge/ pulled easily away from the foundering vessels,
jeering at the howling and hapless crews of the Beastmen vessels.
They wont stop coming, Captain, and your vessel is marked, Errant
said quietly to her as she steered her ship away from them, visibly
relaxing. Odds are they know your destination by now, as well. He had
his back to her, standing behind her as she steered easily away from the
ships he was watching.
Ah, but do they know the waters off the Daenish coast Her smile was
predatory now. Let them follow me. They cannot catch the /Maiden/ with
those ugly excuses for ships, and when they do attempt to follow meah,
but I have some surprises for them. Revenge does not make for a good
navigator. Her voice lowered as she glanced over at him. My first
officer says you have discovered something unclean with my passengers
Yes. He didnt elaborate. Everything he had to tell had already been
told and relayed, he was certain.

You arecertainthis undead thing following us, is the creation of

Master Krossof
No, but Trencher is, and Ill back what Trencher says.
Her dark eyes flashed with distaste. The Sea likes things of the Dark
no more then does the land, Master Errant. You may dispose of him at
your first opportunity.
And the ladies he asked pleasantly, his knuckles cracking.
Please confirm that they have hostile intentions towards my ship. Being
well-armed women is not an excuse to kill themeven if they do come from
Onnwal.
True enoughbut that means catching them in the act or hoping they were
foolish enough to write down their orders. And charm magic is not
Trenchers style.
There was a thoughtful pause. Why, Master Errant, are you inferring
that I might have some ability to sway their minds and cause them to
reveal themselves
No. Im inferring that, as captain of this vessel, you have resources
we dont, and its safety is your concern as much or more then ours. Ill
be plenty happy to feed those three to the sea for you, but Im no mind
reader or mindbender to come up with proof out of nothing.
I see. Very well. I shall have adiscussion with one of them, soon.
Good. You might also want to know that under those silly dresses,
theyve coated at least two blades apiece with poison.
The captains eyes widened and then narrowed. Precautions against the
beastmen She did not sound convinced.
Right. They knew the flesh-eaters were coming before you left harbor
Errant struck that argument down. And if they were targeting some poor
sap on landhardly a reason to poison blades here now, is it
Her shoulders slumped slightly, an admission of defeat. You must deal
with the wrong element of society frequently, Master Errantyou think a
great deal like them.
Im a ruthless, pragmatic son of a bitch with a talent and a rather
antisocial fondness for killing things, Captain. Especially things that

plan on killing me and mine.

I trust your Elders make good use of you she responded to that
statement drily.
Maam, sometimes they work me near as hard as your First Mate. Her
liquid laugh dispelled the rising tension.
-------------------------------------Evening. It was not a greeting as Errant looked down at the three
bound women with blades at their throats held there by snarling
Hlavans, not mercenaries. In one of his hands he held the struggling and
battered form of Master Krossof, both of the scholar's eyes swelled shut
and his jaw broken around his once distinguished prince-nez. The terror
in all of their eyes was real, as was the lack of mercy in his.
You are about to witness the way you are going to die if you dont
start singing like butterflies to these here fine ladies and noble sirs
you were intending to poison to death. The Marauders looking on said
nothingtheyd seen shipboard trials before.
This here sack of @#%$ is a deadheadhe likes to play with dead things.
One of those dead things has been following us since we left Carioux.
Hes about to learn why people dont like dead things moving around.
He held up a nail in his other hand. Cold Iron. Interferes with
spellcasting, magical control, and what not. And without further ado he
slammed it into the center of the mages forehead.
The middle-aged man writhed in pain, struggling against his bonds, but
his robe was finely made and didnt break as Errant held him upright.
Errant reached out and with easy grace drew the long-hilted blade from
its scabbard. It was a remarkably dull and non-reflective dark gray,
almost black in hue, and made no sound when drawn.
This heres a Final Rest blade. They are made so creatures like this,
he shook the twitching mage for emphasis, dont come back from the Hell
they deserve to bug normal folks after passing on. Wouldnt want him
coming back to haunt the good ship and crew now, would we
And without the slightest hesitation, he drove the blade into the mans
belly, punching it all the way out the back and then withdrawing it with
easy disdain for the writhing mans struggles.
Now, a man could live with a belly wound a long time, even with salt

from the sea stinging up his innards. But we get to watch him die in a
fate fitting one of his kind. The Hlavans standing by quickly wrapped a
pair of bladders under the mages arms, lashing them tight to his
shoulders as Errant bent him and the hole in his back leaking blood back
over the railing. That should be enough. Hope you appreciate the fine
work youve done, sir.
And quite leisurely, Errant shoved the dying man overboard.
The three women were pressed forward for an unobstructed view. It took
less then ten seconds, as the mage hit the water, bobbed, was dragged
upright by the bladders, and left behind by the ship as feeble dark spot.
It came up from below, huge and fast, just the barest shadow possible
seen before it rose out of the water. The struggling mage was caught in
the huge, rotting jaws as the massive, decaying carcass lifted almost
completely out of the sea, over twelve meters long, pausing in the air
for a single moment as if giving them time to appreciate the horrid,
deadly appearance of the Unliving beast.
And then it hit the waters again with an immense smashing of multiton
bulk, all power and no grace, and was gone with the futilely screaming mage.
Weve got your names on his menu, too. Its pretty much a given the
thing is going to be following us all the way to Daenland. As if to
punctuate his words, a dorsal fin over two meters high even in rotting
Unlife rose from the sea about a hundred paces behind them, keeping pace
easily. Simple-minded pets are nice that way.
You, forward deck. You, stay here. You, down below. These nice ladies
have some questions for you. If they dont like what they hear, or your
stories dont match up, you get to feed our faithful pet.
Eyes bulging, the gagged and bound women were hustled away, and Errant
left the women to their evening conversations.
----------------------------The Mick and his men watched the Haxan stroll away unconcernedly, with a
flick of his wrist sending the last of the mages blood slinging over
the side, and resheathing his silent sword.
You know, that is one cold bastard, Glaede said, looking first at the
Haxan, then at that ominous fin following along behind themwhich
suddenly veered off to investigate a tantalizing scent before slowly
moving back into position.

Aye, that ones a stone killer. Ye caught the blackslake on his blade
The Daen was also alternating between the mesmerizing sight of that fin
and the icily calm Haxan whod fed it its creator.
Thats an assassins blade. Hes done wetwork. Red was almost
disbelieving of it. I dont think Ive ever even seen a Haxan without a
polished sword before.
Well, it looks like Haxan does breed some murdering cutthroats after
all. I bet its a big surprise to a lot of folks. The Mick looked
strangely smug about this discovery, and then looked around as Red gave
him a push in the back.
Yer the boss, the Ahltaran said, with an odd look in his eye. Why
dont you go over and ask him if he thinks were in on the attempt to
take the ship. Id like to know Im going to wake up in the morning.
The Mick considered that, glanced around at the suddenly perturbed faces
all about him. Right enough! And with the jauntily stiff-legged gait
that came from an old knee injury that had never healed quite right, he
headed off for the Haxan with cheerful greeting and a question.
They had quiet words, and the Mick came strolling back with his ccocky
grin firmly in place.
Whatd he say Hodre demanded instantly, knowing the Mick would try to
draw out the moment and spoiling it promptly.
He said hes not an idiot an about to try to take us all on, even with
the crew. Wedve never seen the dawn.
Red looked vastly relieved, and even the others relaxed. Still an
honest murdering cutthroat, then. The others all nodded agreement with
those words.
You really want to take him in a fight Hes all yours, Mick. Vade
self-consciously touched the hilt of the bastard sword still slung over
his shoulder.
Oh, well be sparring, have ye no fear of that. Its good to have the
measure of the folks you are working alongside, aye
=================
Figured out what to do with them Errant wasnt particularly concerned

with their fatethe poisoners had made their fate and were going to have
to take the consequences.
They sing sweetlythe Captain can tell you more. She isnot happy with
them. The First Mate's smile was rather predatory.
Imagine that. Their eyes met, dark eyes studying non-committal hazel
intently.
You havegood hands. The double entrende made Errant roll his eyes,
and Silavai gifted him with another of those shockingly white smiles.
You know how to truly fightwhy do you insist on carrying around a weapon
Well, now. A professional discussion on the killing practices of
Haxan. He took off his hat, aired his face once, and gave her a gravely
suspicious look, ignoring the sudden interest of those nearby. You ever
hear of a Serpen Horn, woman
The Serpen are the Scalefolkonce human, the favored servants of the
dramojh. The mojh are said to be much like them, she recalled quickly.
Hornsone of their Orders
Fangs are Serpen Magi. Claws are Serpen Warriors. Tongues are the
Priests. Horns are the monastic assassins. They fight without weapons.
He held up his callused hands. As they progress in their discipline,
thick scales start to cover them, scales they can flex up, with
razorlike edges, turning their whole body into a shredding machine. He
drew his hands quickly over the phantom patterns of the scales. They
get stronger then anything human, faster, with taloned hands and a bite
that can break a mans spine, and they pretty much are immune to pain.
He flipped off a whisper-fast combo she quickly batted away as she
stepped back, eyes focused on him in great interest.
And how did you fight them the dark Hlavan asked, very curious. They
sounded quite deadly.
They kept bringing their fists to swordfights. We cut them apart like
the idiots they were.
Silavai blinked. That was not the answer she expected. Ido not
understand.
Part of Haxan training with a blade is specifically oriented on how to
fight something that isnt armed. He met her eyes squarely. Haxans
know how to fight with their handslearning how to fight without a
weapon is the foundation of learning how to fight with one. But Haxans

arent known for their open hand work, they are known for their weapon
work. You think after four thousand years we dont know which is more
effective
Silavai was nonplussed. The cool, killing confidence he was radiating,
and the sense she was getting off him, was a sense of total preparedness
and equal dismissal of her as a threat. He wasnt overconfidentshe got
the sense he knew very well what she was capable of, and if he had his
blade in hand, hed take her apart.
With an empty hand, your reach is limited by your body. With a blade in
hand, suddenly you have a lot more options to play withwhile your
opponent specifically has to get past your weapon before they can do
damage to you. If you know how to fight without a weapon, it is
generally very easy and very predictable to see what they are going to
do, and stick your weapon in their way. The Horn kept throwing their
fists in the way of sword blades, sent their feet up to get chopped off,
and then wed gut them like fishes and off wed go. Thats why they
became monastic /assassins/because in a straight up fight, they kept
getting their innards handed to them.
Silavai considered that calmly. It still makes you reliant on a
weapon, she challenged him.
I did say we knew how to fight without one, didnt I Grudgingly, she
nodded. So, the proper statement is, it makes us much dangerous with
one in hand.
Might I see a demonstration of this technique she challenged him,
fully aware of the eyes on the two of them.
It doesnt work well with blunt weapons, except maybe a staff. So
unless you want me to cut you into bloody ribbons just so I can prove to
you what the Serpen having been finding out for three millennia, I
suggest you just take my word for it. If I have my sword, and you have
your fists, Im going to kill you.
His stare was hard and unblinking, and Silavai was impressed despite
herself. She bowed to concede the point. Very well. Might I see a
demonstration of your unarmed style then
Ah. He instantly lost the hard edge and scratched his jaw. Well, this
should be interesting. Sure. First one to knock the other one cold
wins. Her eyes widened with the terms of the challenge, and then smiled
in delight.

I promise
You know if I beat you, you are gonna have to try again, even I if have
my sword in hand, he interrupted her. She stopped, thought over her
words, and smiled more dangerously.
I promise to do my best to defeat youthis time.
Thats more like it. He handed off his hat to Trencher as a whooping
circle rapidly cleared for them, his hands coming up, slightly curled,
and they began to slide around one another, quickly forcing the
bystanders out of the way.
The first long kick came out in a blur of motion. Her surprise was total
as he threw it away and scooped out her balance leg so hard she cracked
her head loudly on the deck, earning a sudden and shocking silence from
the whooping Hlavans at the abruptness of the maneuver.
Do not pull silly showoff crap with me, Errant stated bluntly,
obviously insulted, but stepping back and letting her spring back to her
feet. Clearly embarrassed at her miscalculation, the dark-skinned Hlavan
was much more careful, concentrating for a moment before re-entering the
fight with clearer, warier eyes.
Hands began to flicker out, combinations of fingers, palms, fists, spear
and sword hands, testing defenses, as bare feet and booted feet began to
dance back and forth smoothly in an intricate counter-dance of footwork.
She actually had reach on him, which didnt seem to bother him any,
because his close-in technique was devastating. The speed at which he
could slam palm strikes into her sternum had her backpedaling furiously
to keep him at range, and he almost broke her wrist when she extended a
punch too far.
Swordsmans hands, he chided her, wagging a finger as she backed off.
Infuriated, calling on the power of her Oath, she came in closer,
unleashing a dizzying array of knees, elbows and strikes at nerves, all
of which he blocked with a stinging power that had her arms going numb
and twitchy with the force. He had little problem keeping up with her
footwork and agility, fluid and controlled, and those hits that did get
through his masterful defense were glancing blows, unimportant.
Those hits that got through hers pounded her like rams. She had never
felt anything like itit wasnt like getting smashed by another fist,
more like the force of the strike was going into her, past her skin and

muscles and breaking only on her bones.

It made her insides feel like jelly dancing in the aftermath.
She thought about trying to flip over him, and discarded the notion
almost as her legs tensed, sensing his response to the maneuver would be
devastating.
Nothing fancy. She didnt want to get in close where he could grappleas
she had noted, he had strong hands, and hed nearly crushed her wrist.
If she tried to lock and throw him, she had the sense that shed pay dearly.
She extended a palm in challenge, and without dropping his defenses, he
obligingly reached out to meet it. Ebony and bronze fingers interlaced,
and one pushed with the power and focus of a promise, the other with
years of training and spiritual discipline.
/Eryl, it is like pushing against a river/. She could feel the force of
his will coming down her arm like a slow, encroaching tideif it reached
her elbow her arm would buckle. Her forearm was already starting to spasm
She broke awaynot quickly enough.
His whole body seemed to flow into the opening and follow through, as if
drawn in by the sudden absence of an opposing force. He was inside her
reach and his shoulders working like a pistonshe saw the other hand
coming in and couldnt block it in time, her desperate twist aside just
seeming to make him follow her and home in remorselessly.
The impact drove her breath from her lungs, she could feel the force of
it spread thru her ribcage and make her heart jump. The second hand came
in and folded the convulsing iron muscles of her gut over, and her last
view was of his knee coming up to greet her face.
Errant wiped away the blood from his swelling lip as he looked down at
her, sprawled unconscious on the deck, and winced as he touched his eye,
sure to have a shiner there. Actually, he was pretty sure he was going
to be bruised all overwhatever that Oath did to her strikes, it had
been like getting clubbed by solid iron.
Ouch, he said, by way of compliment, noting the Captain stepping
forwards quickly to heal her. A few gentle words, the smell of brine and
seaweed filling the air around them, and the unconscious Mate blinked
her eyes open.
So thats what an Oath did. Her fighting style had evolved and optimized

itself to him in less then two minutes. He was pretty sure she liked to
show off her long legs and kicking power, but after the first attack
hadnt dared try anything fancy. Strikes at nerve junctions, muscle
centers, and optimizing her reach advantage while continually keeping
him away from herif she hadnt offered the test of will theyd still be
going at it.
As her Mate got to her feet, the Captain hesitated, impressed despite
herself, then stepped towards him with hand raised. He waved her
awaymore likely then not the magic would be wasted, and bruises helped
him remember the lessons better. Hed mend.
The Marauders whooped and gave him some hearty backslaps, while Trencher
silently offered up something more useful a wet rag.
I will get better, Silavai smiled, straightening up proudly and
flexing like a great dark cat. That wasinstructive, Haxan. She flexed
her wrist and took shallow, careful breaths, he noticed.
Yeah, well, not on my account. He took his hat back as he tested his
jaw, where several teeth felt loose. I couldnt afford too many lessons
like that. Her wide smile broke any lingering chill in the air even as
the mercs crowded in and asked if he could teach them how to do that.
Gentlemen, Ive been waving around a sword since I could hold a knife,
and got the crap kicked out of me by greybearded old bastards better
then Ill ever be to learn how to fight like that. He sucked at the
edge of his lip loudly. Theres plenty of instructors who can teach you
how to break a man apart with your bare handsFreesword has at least
nine that I can think of. You want to learn, go therethey know how to
teach you.
Me, Im no teacher. Im an idiot who likes to hurt people. He rotated
his shoulder and winced. And damn if that woman isnt making me pay for
her fun again. That earned hearty laughs all around.
At this rate, shes going to have your wages spent before we hit
shore! Glaede piped up, earning another round of laughter from all of them.
Aye, lad, and yave got ta lets the rest of us show off, too, else they
just wont be satisfied without taking ya all to themselves. The look
on his face at the Micks words got a new round of laughter from all of
them.
Beat the crap out of me nowI think I need the rest, he groaned, and
the mercenaries slapped him again in hearty approval.

/*Story- Daenlander III*/

The Daenland coast was as famously fog shrouded as the bards
said, cloaks of white draped over green and reaching out into blue of
the oceans to cover rocks and reefs in a deadly blanket of mystery.
Captain Riassa had no difficulties, piloting the /Maiden/
through the dense fog with assurance and calm, eyes focused somewhere
other then the white all about. The crew seemed calm enough, although
the Marines were understandably jumpy with all the weird echoes and
sounds of waves and rocks close but unseen.
Errant took his cue from the Captain and decided not to worry
about it. Theyd been told that theyd arrive in port early in the
evening, skirting the coast to come around easily.
Errant considered the glimpse of the land hed seen, rising
quickly from the beach to green heightsa pretty, green-laden land, full
of old mysteries and old rivalries, never quite fallen to the dramojh
for the simple fact of it being so far from the main kingdoms, and not
having any great wealth to fight for.
The Cronal, the Royal family, had changed Daenland soon after
the dramojh had come into open play. The minor clans had banded together
in the face of the extinction threatened by the dramojh, electing a
common leader who forswore all vendettas, and took to service all those
who would do the same and devote themselves to Daenland alone. Free men
had flocked to his banner and eventually even the great clans, the
MacComrin, the MacCragr, the MacGrimnor, and the MacDonnyl, had been
forced to acknowledge his power and leadership as raiders had shaken the
Daens from their petty rivalries. Many times theyd attempted to unseat
the current Cronal from the Oaken Throne of Daenland, and just as many
times theyd failed. The Cronal pursued no vendettas and declared no
feuds, but the minor Clans who swore had no such inhibitions, and even
after generations of hereditary service were more then willing to take
personally any attempt to overthrow the Cronal. The pains the Cronal
took to rule well and family solidarity was sung of even as far as Haxan.
Thered been many realms with Kings, and even in Haxan, it was
remarked that if they grew Kings like they did in Daenland, a lot of
lands would be a lot better off.
A Dark Druid, eh.

Errant knew full well the druidic tradition had died in madness
and bestial frenzy with the coming of the dramojh and the deaths of so
many Menapparently learning that Men were indeed part of the natural
world had been too little enlightenment, too late. A Dark Druid was some
sort of necromancerpossibly with ties to the Dark and the Green, a
manipulator of the Land to his own benefitand likely the power of older
and darker things then such a fool could comprehend.
And this force knew when theyd be leaving, with what, and so
about what time theyd get here.
What were the odds they werent waiting for the ship to arrive
He frowned and went to have a chat with the Captain.
--------------------------------------Disembarking hadnt been hard. As opposed to last time, this
time he simply stood on Trenchers big feet as the dwarf floated on the
waves, held up a tied up blanket like a living mast, and held on as the
Captains pointing finger blew a steady and strong gust of wind into
them, sending them skipping across the waves quickly and easily towards
the crashing waves on the shore.
They floated quickly through the swirling fog, the fog rapidly
closing in about the ship despite the steady breeze, but they didnt
have far to go. The Captain knew her job and had placed them less then
two hundred paces off the shore in relatively shallow waters. When the
wind faded and their momentum, Errant quickly folded up the blanket,
handed it Trencher who stuck it in his satchel, and the Dwarf let go of
him so he could hop down into the chest deep waters and pull them to
shoretaking the opportunity to relieve the dwarf of his sword and shove
Trencher off to one side and hurl himself to the other.
The Undead shark surged between them with mindless hunger, a
rotting and stinking eating machine that threw up a foul wash of
unhealthy water as it drove in, seeking an easy meal. Trencher bellowed
as he skidded away, his big hand diving into his satchel and coming out
with a meter-long extension for /Cudgel/, while Errant planted and swept
his blade down the side of the thing, ripping a massive gash in its gill
slits that sparked and flared with white fires.
The shark rounded on him, massive blackened teeth gaping in a
maw straight out of Hell. It had power, but not the speed or frenzy of a
living shark or he might have been in great trouble, and as it was he
planted his hand on its huge nose at full extension to keep out of the
reach of those teeth, driving his blade in deep there and making it

thrash wildly in Undead pain at the touch of vivic energy.

Trencher screwed the extension in and drove it down into the
water, felt it hit the sand and gravel below with great satisfaction.
Earthpower welled up from far below, *Cudgel* flashed to forge heat in
his grip, so hot and pure the Dwarfs fingerbones were visible inside
his flesh. A welcome roar of an open forge filled the air, and a hammer
rang on steel as the Geomancer spoke two words in a deep rumble of
moving earth and stone, and the fires of the earth lept out in joyful
release.
It wasnt the best aiming job hed ever done, but given the
circumstances, he didnt mind. The ray of fire drove into the visible
flank of the beast, tearing an incandescent line of flame up the
decaying and thrashing backsidefires that met up somewhere with white
fires on its inside and began to burn quick and hungry.
Mindlessly, the creature thrashed and kept trying to bite for
Errant, who was steering it across shredding rocks below and up onto the
shore. He saw the fires blazing inside it, and simply held on as gouts
of fire burst out the empty eye sockets, spread rapidly, and its mouth
coughed up a furnace blast of startlingly pure air. Crackling red and
white fires raced over the things body, leaving white ash behind as it
began to fall apart, crumbling into the waters from within. He watched
the fires race up its skull and then burst down the length of his
embedded blade in a spray of silent oblivion. With a woosh, it collapsed
into dust that was devoured abruptly by the thrashing waters, gone even
faster then it had appeared.
Ye daft Haxan bastard, ye knew that was going to happen, didnt
ye Errant just smiled as he got his feet back under him, made sure the
sandpaper skin of the shark hadnt torn off anything. Trencher huffed
and began to use *Cudgel* to pole towards the line of rocks not twenty
paces distant. Errant waded after him.
No, he hadnt been about to leave an Undead shark roaming the
ocean. His Elders would have boxed his ears if they found out hed done
something that irresponsible
====================
A change of clothes and a quick toweling off, he strapped on his blade
and hauled Trencher behind him as he climbed quickly towards the coastal
road.
The captain had said this road was about a fifteen klik run to

Caer Bromwell. She had to swing out a bit to avoid reefs, and would take
her time to give them time to reach the time.
The likelihood they had watchers and ambushers posted along the
coastal road he considered pretty high. On the other hand, they wouldnt
be expecting anything like what he was bringing to the party.
With Trencher riding his slipstream, his callused feet slapping
the packed dirt of the road with a tread a bit lighter then his weight,
he took off down the road, his eyes scanning the right and ahead,
Trencher the left and behind, switching off as Trenchers fingers
shifted position on his backsheath.
Forest country. Good. That meant limited visibility.
Furthermore, he wasnt idly riding a horsehe was distance running at a
pace any bandit was going to have to work madly to keep up with. The
only way theyd get a message ahead would be to use a signal firewhich
Trencher was specifically scanning the woods and hills rising to the
left for.
Fire, manling, the Dwarf hissed, seeing the flash, once,
twice. Weve been counted.
Over the side we go. I think the Captain said theres a pass of
some sort aheadlooks like a hill there. So saying, he moved with sure
steps down the short side of the road into the forest, and began to pick
his way with less haste and more care, letting Trencher swing back and
forth behind him as the Dwarf pushed off and around trees deftly.
They could be loyalists ahead, ye know, the Dwarf muttered
behind him.
Itll be pretty obvious, dont you think Trencher had no
rebuttal to that argument.
=================
A dozen of them, Daen brigands in a variety of tartan and kilts,
clutching their famous claymores, axes, and some shorter blades, eyes
turned down the road, out and ready and poised to spring in a wide
circle as they saw their victims coming.
They really didnt have much of a chance. Errant dropped off
Trencher, who pushed from tree to tree, skating above the earth
soundlessly as he readied /Cudgel/, silently and steadily drawing power
behind the brigands.

Errant knew the tempo of /Cudgel/s beat well, and the Rockborn
faithfully counted out one hundred distant hammerblows before he
released the spell he was building.
Quietly, the rocky soil stirred and began to form tendrils,
writhing beneath the feet of the Menand then lashing out abruptly to
seize and hold legs and waists with terrible earthen strength.
The shouts of sudden terror and a sudden final scream naturally
got some attention across the road. Their compatriots saw Trenchers
hapless victims get yanked back into cover by irresistible forces, and a
dim fiery object swinging and pulsing like a fiery heart in the dimness
beneath the trees. Shouting, they burst forth to help, the leader
roaring for the rest of the menand the two men got halfway out into the
road before they realized no one else was following them.
The towering red-haired highlander leading the crew looked
around wildly, and his mouth opened to shout an alarm. His companion saw
the look in his commanders eyes and started to spin just as Errant drew
his blade in a silent blur of steel and swept it unhindered through head
and neck, grabbing hold of the shield the man bore and kicking the
blood-spurting corpse away with a casually ferocious deftness that
backed the bigger Daenlander up a step in shockmoreso as he saw the
blood covering the outlanders hands.
Evening. Haxan Security Services, atcher service. Errants
long hilted blade spun a snap circle between his fingers, came back on
guard with a steadiness and control that matched his nonstop, confident
pace towards the Daen, easily working his hand into the confiscated shield.
Wild-eyed, the Daen looked to the woods, where the shouts and
screams were rapidly growing fewer in number, and a sound like a hammer
on steel was beating in the air. His claymore rose on guard as he
realized his men were all dead or going to die, and his only chance was
to kill this lone outlander in front of him.
With a roar of desperate fury, he charged in.
Errant didnt block with his new shield, catching the descending
sword smoothly and deflecting it off to the side and down as the shield
rose and took the Daen in the jaw with crushing force. Then he was
pressing the bigger man back relentlessly, his blade a silent blur of
steel, not letting the Daen keep him at blades reach, slicing arms,
legs quickly and precisely, smashing his shield again and again directly
into the blows of the mans blade, at the last intercepting the slowed

blade high enough to drive his sword up in a powerful thrust that

punched through the mans mail and under his ribs with cold finality.
The Daenlander gasped at how quickly hed died, but Errant
didnt give him the benefit of a last gasp as he shoved the dying man
off his blade calmly, flicked away the blood with a wristflick of his
silent weapon, and planted the tip of his blade in the road as he bent
down and fished out an amulet on a chain about the mans neck even as
the light left the Daens pale blue eyes.
Iron. Druids, riiight. Stylized wolfs head, red on black.
Church of Rath. Redhead in charge.
Dark Druid my ass, he muttered under his breath, and quickly
got about searching the dead for anything interesting and worthwhile.
Hed been a merc long enough to know that the fine art of looting was a
good chunk of a mans pay, and a few minutes to make sure valuables
didnt go to waste was well-spent. That sword looked like it might be
worth something
------------------------The bodies disappeared under the soil in the ready grasp of earthen
tentacles, each sent on the way by a single thrust through the heart to
administer Final Rest. There was some scattered blood, but no other
trace of what had become of the ambushers. Let them figure it out.
Light exercise over, the two headed out again. The lookout would
probably wonder what the Hells had happened, and then run for the hills,
if he was any kind of superstitious.
--------------------I notice a surfeit of dogs, women, and children running around. How
about you
Its my experience that when a ship full of female humans who
dress like Hlavans do and look like they do tend to attract a lot of
attention when they pull into backdirts like this. Instead I see drovers
and ox teams and stevedores and no sightseers whatsoever.
Passing strange, you think
Not strange at all, if yer thinking what I am, Haxan.

I just might be, Rockborn. Be back in ten minutes. Unsheathed

blade in hand, he stole away quietly, while the Dwarf noted the return
of the fog already in the early evening. In a matter of breaths he was
out of sight among the sturdy houses of wood and stone, heading for the
center of the small town. Trencher set himself against the low wall
around the city in deep shadow, just another jutting block, patient as
stone.
You lied. That was twelve minutes, Trencher stated accusingly
as the Haxan glided back in next to him. You see those two people in
black robes come pacing past
See them One almost stepped on me, spat Errant acidly.
Ambush alright, at least three dozen men. Archers in the big houses on
both sides of the road, a dozen more in alleys to each side to take the
wagons. Each of the dark knights has a side. There might be more archers
on the roofswont know until I get up there.
You know, I think our comrades down on that puddleskipper might
want to be knowing about this, Trencher noted wisely. He hefted a ready
rock, not too large, about the size of an apple. Humming softly for a
minute, he spoke softly into the rock, then casually lobbed it into the
air in the direction of the ship. It vanished a few handspans from his
fingertips.
--------------------Ouch! What in the-, the Mick said, as the rock that had hit him on the
head clattered to the ground at his feet. He spun around angrily, then
looked down at the rockwhich had not stopped clattering gently on the
stones of the path.
Frowning, he bent over and picked it up, and felt it humming
softly in his fingers. Carefully, he held it up to his ear, and his eyes
widened as the nearest Marines looked on curiously.
Vade, cmere, he said, tossing the rock negligently into the
bay, smiling with a special kind of cheerfulness the Gater recognized
instantly. With a foreboding glance up at the village, the Gater ambled
over.
-----------------Hrn, I guess the fellow isnt much used to magic. Amused, Trencher
dropped the wet rock hed caught as it came back. Errant just grunted.
Plans, o butcher and cleaver with messy hands

Errant glanced down at his bloodstained hands, calmly grasping

the hilt of his blade, and smiled coldly. Well, I imagine they arent
expecting us to come in from this direction. I think we can make an
enviably quick impression. He glanced skywards, and Trencher handed
back his appropriated shield.
That alleyway sounds like just my kind of place to be.
I think the Hlavans might join the fun. After all, these fools
did pay to have them poisoned.
Trencher was thoughtful. Yer right. And those trollops might
just come in useful. The Captain is a practical woman. Im sure she can
find a use for em.
===============

Feh, at least a dozen more inside the houses, too. The bastards werent
taking any chances. The ones in the alleyway were lightly armed and
armored, except for the fellows in black and heavy armor, obviously the
ringleaders. The archers wore leathers, but the crews inside the houses
were in good mail and shields, and itching for a fight.
Well, they werent riding away on horses, Errant mused, as he
sliced up the harnesses for the horses, and cut off the tack for the
mounts of the two champions. The two sentries were safely enjoying a
last embrace underneath the blankets in back, and his long knife was
getting quite the workout today. The wagons would be coming up shortly
andwhy, yes, there were some shadows sliding over the side wall of the
town right about there, out of sight of the tallest houses. Big and
bulky shadowsthe Marines moving into place. Looked like they had tossed
a blanket onto the wall to quiet any armor scrapesmore likely to get
them noticed now that the sun was behind the hills and everything
falling into deep shadow and rising fog.
He glanced at the ominously silent and dark keep set a good
half-klik back from the village, and wondered why thered been no sally
force to relieve them.
He had a feeling he wouldnt like the answer.
================

Most Fervent Champion Dustan chuckled as the first of the creaking

wagons passed by the alleyway, the shadows hed conjured easily
obscuring him and his faithful followers from the inattentive eyes of
the overconfident guards. Aye, their eyes were on the keep and a warm
bed and their wages, no doubt. He had their pay ready for them, and they
werent going to like it much.
With a welling of dark power, his blessed blade poured out of
the shadows into his hand, darker then black and causing immediate
excitement among the lackeys behind him.
The second wagon passed. That was the signal.
From above, the archers opened up in a devastating crossfire,
dropping the drovers and the oxen, rendering the wagons so much heavy,
useless wood, blocked in by their own mass.
In the name of Darkness! he roared out, laughing with chilling
glee as he charged out at the first guard, who seemed to be absolutely
stunned at what was happening. His dark blade cut for the neck where
fragile flesh gaped between mail and helm, bit in deeply.
And kept going
The armored Dark Raiders were pouring out the doorways to tear
into the guards as Dustan paused, suddenly aware something was wrong.
The guard was falling, but there had been no resistance to his blow,
almost as if
With a shimmer and a waver, the illusion vanished, and the
figure of a woman, her mouth gagged and hands tied behind her back, in a
very fanciful dress, crumpled to the ground, pierced by the arrows that
the archers had thought aimed at oxen or drivers.
And ahead of him, and behind, all three wagons stacked high with
crates, vanishing, and dead women crumpling to the ground.
The assassins
A trap! he roared, and then he heard a great hammer crash on
steel, and across the street the alleyway lit up with flame like the
opening of a furnace door. The dark bodies of men were silhouetted
against it, eroding around the edges as Dustan rolled away from the
fiery assault, and felt the fury of the flame pass him by as it tore
into the hillmen along for easy gold and blind faith like the pits of
Hell coming for the unfaithful.

With a war cry like hunting hawks, a score of Hlavans in

gleaming bronzed armor, spears and shields came tearing around the first
houses at the side of town, heaving javelins with deadly skill while
another half dozen rolled onto rooftops with ready bows and began to
open fire.
A body screamed and crashed to the ground next to him as Blessed
Knight Kronstan ordered the raiders into a rough line to meet the Hlavan
charge, shields raised against the slicing power of the javelins. Dustan
felt the faintest touch of fear at the counter ambush, and then noticed
the arrow fire from his own archers seemed to have faded completely. He
looked up, and barely jumped away as another screaming archer fell out
the window above, clutching at dark liquid spraying from his opened
throat, and for just a second met a pair of cold eyes under a
wide-brimmed hat passing by the window above.
That could not bea Haxan
With a hearty bellow, some heavily armed and armored men came
charging out of the same house Kronstans command across the road had
occupied, and drove into the flank of the Raiders, hacking three men
down almost instantly. Dustan barely called his shield up in time as a
kilted maniac spinning two curved sabers came at him, a black-bearded
man in gallowglass gray tartan and spewing curses as only a Daen could.
The first strike almost took out his throat, and he backpedaled rapidly,
catching the light of two silver bars on the mans neck with mounting
alarmFreesword mercenaries! Bearing silver bars! And a black Daen
wielding two sabers!
Kronstan also noticed that fiery light was bathing the whole
battlefield, dispelling his cloak of darkness, although it did not
extend in the direction of the alleyway that Kronstan had swallowed in
dark oblivion.
Rath embrace me! he howled, even as he backed towards the
alleyway himself, ignoring the Hlavans crashing into the line of his
followers with seeking spears, forming a ready battleline with the skill
of experienced skirmishers, all the while their own archers kept up a
steady rain.
Power flowed up his limbs, trembled with eagerness in his dark
heart. His blows began to rain down with greater force and fury even as
he stepped back into the shadows, inky blackness coalescing about him
like a cloak. The Daen checked his whirlwind advance instantly at this
display of power, allowing Dustan a snarl of retribution as he raised

his dark blade high for a smashing blow.

Something kicked out his knee with brutal precision, sending his
blow crashing wide even as he lashed back with his shield. Strong hands
grasped the field of dark energy and kept it wide, and Dustan barely
managed to stave off the sabers leaping in for his throat with a wild
and desperate intervention of his blade.
With a mighty oath, he heaved his shield free and hurled the
dark-skinned woman whod been grasping it out past him and into light,
rising to his feet on an unsteady leg. The Hlavan rolled easily with the
attempt, and instead of turning, used the momentum to go crashing into
the side of a Raider, her body behind her extended leg like a living
spear that drove with bone-breaking impact into his spine.
The MacMikal, he had to be a member of that rapacious clan of
pirates, spat and came in again, wary now, but still confident. Dustan
retreated into the darkness, beckoning the fool of a black Daen in.
Across the way, Kronstan suddenly screamed as a shadow seemed to
detach itself from the wall next to him and drove a slickly wet blade
into his kidney with smooth precision. A heartbeat later, a short and
stout form stepped out of the area of darkness hed called, lifting a
mace blazing so hot he could see the Dwarfs fingerbones through the
flesh of his hands, and with a crushing, ringing smash like a great
hammer coming down on an anvil, drove it into Kronstans chest.
His seconds breastplate blew apart like eggshells, and
Kronstans body was launched backwards a half-dozen paces, smashing into
a wall and bouncing off and collapsing like the broken thing it was.
The calm gaze of the backstabbing woman met his own, her blade
suddenly extending sharply in length and pointing his way. The Dwarf
nodded, tapping his mace down again on the ground and pointing it down
the alleyway.
With an explosive roar, the far end of the alley way exploded up
in a blazing barrier of rich gold and red flame, raging like an open
furnace and bathing the whole of its length in foul light.
The MacMikal grinned cheerfully and came in again, his sabers
catching the firelight brightly in a flickering dance of steel.
With a snarl of hate, Dustan slammed his shield into the Daen,
who rode the force back with practiced reflexes, blades scraping the
sides of his visor with deadly speed. Without missing a beat, Dustan

turned and hurled himself through the wall of flame, trusting in the
Darkness to see him through against the searing agony of the clinging
fires clawing at him through his armor.
Cursing heartily, the Mick took off in the other directionthe
bastard would be abandoning his men, who even now were trying to flee.
Up above, Glaede and Red were picking them off steadily. The Mick split
the skull of one fool who thought to get up from an arrow in his leg as
the Hlavans, led by Tocs with his own bloody spear and shield, overran
the last of the ambushers caught between them and Hodre and Vades
hacking assault. Stabbing spears were the order of the day as they
poured up the street after the few remaining ambushers running all out
to get away from the frenzied she-demons.
------------------------Dustan lept into Last Moons saddle, cursing the weakness of his
men and his ill luck. The Master would not be pleased with his failure,
and
The thought ended in a shout as he slid off the far side of his
ebon steed, the saddle falling with him. Someone had cut the strap
Well-trained reflexes saved him as he rolled away and came to
his feet, cursing in disbelief as he saw Kronstans mount Illtides also
sabotaged.
Damn them all! he snarled, starting for the darkness on foot,
and slowing as a stiff-kneed form in a kilt interceded, sabers spinning
like arm-long knives.
I see the Haxan got here first, ye motherless spawn of a dozen
rotting sheep. The Mick noticed the furtive pulling of a vial and it
being hastily raised to the knights lips, and followed suit, tossing
one blade to his left hand as he lifted a flask out from the inside of
his tartan.
Something special I been saving for a @#%$-born mongrels get
like yerself. He swallowed the liquour inside, one eye fixed on the
dark knight, feeling instantly his heart start to pound and strength
surging thru his limbs. He tossed the flask away negligently to clatter
on the ground, got both his blades ready with an even wilder grin.
MacMikal! he shouted lustily, eyes blazing confidence, and
lept to the attack in a blur of steel.

For Rath! Dustan screamed back, his eyes wide with sudden
fear, raising his sword and shield.
The Daen wasnt limping now.
------------------------------Errant tapped on the door to the keep, and then reached out to
pull it open.
He looked back at the Marines, who looked back at him.
No lack of volunteers, I see. As the least injured person
there, he deftly slipped inside, while the Marines fidgeted nervously,
looking up at the eerily quiet stone walls where many a clansman might
appear to rain fire down upon them.
Correct me if Im wrong, Daen, but it is usually customary to
have the doors to a castle closed at nightfall, is it not Or do they
things a bit different hereabouts
Nai, Dwarf, tis making me a wee bit unsure of our welcome
here. And the whereabouts of me pay. The Mick had a fresh scar across
his cheek and the helm of the dark knight stuck on the running boards of
his cart. Hed wanted to keep the fellows head inside it, but thered
not been much left after the Haxan had poked his blade into the dead
bastards heart. Hed gone up like a white torch, unclean right down to
the bone.
It would really, really suck if we have to haul them all the
way downhill and get them reloaded before the ship pulls out in two
hours, Vade said to no one in particular from the second wagon.
Especially with them flesh-eaters coming here. The Captain is
already pushing it to get out of the bay before they arrive.
Ho. Everyone looked up as the Haxan leaned over the wall up
above. Blood around, and some broken weapons. No bodies, but plenty of
signs of being looted. Checking the central keep. He pulled back
quickly, turning down around the wall.
Not one to waste time, that one, the Mick said approvingly,
scratching at his new scar. No bodies, eh
Necromancers make use of those kind of things, Daenlander.
Trencher scowled as he sniffed the air. I can smell it here.

Wonderful. More deadheads, and nary a big shark to feed em

to. The Mick swung down and moved to the door, hauling it open further.
Well let the Captains job be done. Get inside. Happy to be doing
something, the Marines obligingly drove the oxen inside the central yard
of the small keep, and then lept off to help the Mick close the big
doors and bar them. Tocs started to lead the oxen away one by one to the
stable as he unhitched them, when the Haxan leaned out the central tower
from a window above them.
Theres survivors.
----------------------Theyd been sequestered inside the main hall, barricaded and
wards sealing the doors closed, reinforcing the ironbound oak. The magic
that had held out against the enemy had also effectively trapped them
there for nearly two days.
Tocs had been drafted to hustle back down to the harbor and
inform the Captain of the situation before she left. She could head up
the coast and around to the capital with the news. Caer Bromwell was not
in good shape.
The castle senseschal was an old, fiercely mustachioed man,
proud and scarred and determined, and nevertheless deeply grateful to
see friendly faces when he had taken a great chance and allowed the
guardian spells to die. Many ready blades had been bristling there when
the doors swung open, to reveal the wide-brimmed hat of a Haxan on the
head of the man leaning against the hall on the opposite side, and no
one else about as the warriors poured out ready for desperate
fightingand with blades making a fence for the intruder.
Errant eyed the sword circle casually, the steward moreso as he
stepped forth, the keys of his office about his neck, and the clasp of
his tartan wrought in gold.
Evening, neighbor, he said politely, touching the brim of his
hat, and wrinkling his nose. Yall can thank me later for allowing you
the chance to go take a bath. Ah imagine yall want an update on the
disposition of the Kings cargo.
Piercing blue eyes held his own for a long moment, and then
waved down the raised and ready swords. Yeve gall enough to be a
Haxan, if thats what ye are, I warrant. Ye came with aid he asked
hopefully.

Ahve a spellcaster along with me, and six little fellows who
had a fine time killing some advocates of Rath not long ago. He held up
the symbol hed appropriated from one of them, earning some quick
spitting and cursing from the Daens all about. They are all outside
around the wagons waiting for yalland for their pay.
You do have our pay, ah trust
-------------------------------------The Mick cursed and swore and kicked and beat on things, while
the Marines simply glowered darkly. One idiot guard who dared to raise
his voice during the tirade was promptly head-butted into
unconsciousness, and the Mick continued with his quadrilingual
invective, now with the blood from the mans nose spattered on his face.
Even old Korgwin didnt get in the way of that bad humor,
preferring instead to deal with the wryly calm Haxan instead of the
glowering and very dangerous looking men with Freesword bars on their
necks, and the blood of the men whod taken this keep on their armor and
weapons.
Im sure the King will make good on your wages, but the
bastards who assaulted us seized the whole of the armory and the
treasury. With Lord Bromwell missing, curse the foul blasphemers, I
cannot possibly spare men to assist you in gaining your lost coin. The
old seneschals sad eyes had a hint of cunning in them as well, and
Errant could almost feel his mind at work. He obviously wouldnt want a
band of well-equipped and violent freeswords staying around here, where
they might get ideas about lordship and the like, and be a threat to the
Bromwell heir, a pale and young flaxen-haired lad whod not reached his
teens.
You will issue each of us a writ, by name, date it, and stamp
it with the lords signet, Errant said easily, but his eyes and manner
were professional and cold. Furthermore, you will issue a master list
of our names, so that there is no mistake as to who is owed what, and
that we performed our duties as expected and on time. He clasped his
still-bloody hands before him, the significance of the gesture not lost
on the seneschal.
I will do so immediately, the older man agreed quickly. And
supply you a map of the road to the capital.
Well keep the spoils of the men we killed as a bonusunless

you want to buy them off us for a fair price The glint in his eye and
a glance at the waiting Marines was a pretty good indicator of what
might happen were the Daen to appropriate such things for use.
Aye, I think we can include some terms for such, the Daen said
agreeably. Let us work out terms and Ill write up letters of credit
for all of you.
Trencher! Errant called out. Whats the value of the swag we
have
The startled Daen turned around as the Dwarf opened his eyes of
flint from where he was reclining on the first wagon, ignoring the
gawking of the Daens whod never seen a Dwarf before. Six thousand four
hundred and twenty-eight gold coins. The Gater has taken a shine to the
claymore of the whoreson off the road and Im assuming we are keeping
the warhorses of the knights.
Errant met the older mans eyes. You want to haggle, you go
haggle with himwhereupon hell repeat his price nice and slow so you
can understand each number. I imagine hes giving you a nice break,
considering the circumstancesbut you try and cheat him out his gold
while standing in front of him, and hell make forge fuel out of you.
The Daen pondered that weightily, then spat in his hand and held
it out, which Errant accepted immediately. Done. Ill have yer writs
within the hour.
Mick! shouted Glaede from up above on the wall, but the black
Daen was nowhere in sight. Vade! Weve got sails!
Ah, good, the flesh-eaters are here. The old Daens eyes
widened in surprise.
Flesh eaters Raiders Yeve led eaters of men to the Caer!
he spluttered in outrage.
No, they are following the ship, and found out it was coming
here, and so here they are. Captain Riassa and the /Maiden/ were over
an hour gone, around the bend of the harbor, heading further north to
find another cargo. Errant got to his feet, ignoring the older man
playing up his anxiety for all the leverage he could muster, and headed
towards the walls with the other Marines, and those Daens whod
hurriedly managed to clean themselves and their clothing up a bit.
Something about the Haxans icy calm demeanor was off-putting

and most worrisome. The Dwarf seemed to be serenely ignoring everything

going on. The seneschal decided his theatrics werent working and
stopped blustering enough to climb up to the walls and see the sails of
the two boats in the distant, fog shrouded light coming off the bay.
Get some rest, greybeard. Youll get to see these incoming
bastards get whats coming to them.
Tired and in sore need of some easy sleep, the Daen felt
inexplicably confident that what the Haxan said was indeed what was
going to happen.
The pure hate burning in the young mans eyes wasnt something
he wanted to argue with, either.
=====================
No, gentlemen, we are going to butcher them, and butcher them
well and grandly. I trust the reputation of the Daens for excellence in
throatslitting and limb-hacking is well-deserved
There was loud and fervent chorus from the Daens gathered about
the Haxan in his outlander hat and odd sword, neither one-handed nor
two, but seemingly made for both.
Weve already told the women and children down in the town the
beastmen were coming, and theyve all run for the hills with their
menfolk running after themdidnt want to come up to the keep here, as
you might imagine. There was some scowling around, but the Daens said
nothing, still humiliated and stinging to avenge their defeat.
You see, those are indeed flesh-eaters down there, a whole cult
of Lupins and some Felins who like the old ways where they got to chow
down on the occasional Man raw and bloody. And I imagine youve been
listening to the little men in black over there expound on our great
deeds and leaving bits and pieces of dead humans all over your nice
clean streets down below. Pale eyes turned on the glowering Marines and
their battered and bloody armor.
Well, we didnt exactly hide all the bodies that well, and
those marauders, theyve got good noses. So, I imagine they are going to
be finding a lot of fresh meatespecially three nice, fresh young and
charmingly beautiful women who happen to be Onnwaller assassins and just
about fit the bill as the perfect foodwith assorted others who look
similarly appetizing."

The Daens looked rather uncomfortable with this, but Errant went on.
Now, they cant get in here. With thirty men, you can hold them
off forever, and thats just not smart. But, we cant take the risk of
your friends the Rathi coming back, so weve got to kill them up and be
done with it all.
Now, assassins, as you know, like to use poison. Let the words
of bards never cease to amaze, the dead young ladies were indeed in
possession of some fairly sizable quantities of such odiferous
materials. We decided that since they paid for the poison, they could
keep it with them.
It took a bit, but then eyes began to widen in understanding,
and an older, sharp-eyed sergeant spoke up. Ye poisoned the dead, he
announced in wicked approval.
That we did. Errants satisfaction was as cold as the Daens
were heated and loud. Now, I imagine that what they are going to do is
find the dead, which are conveniently laid out on the north end of town
outside the walls there where we can see them. Either they are going to
start eating there, or they are going to drag them up here for you to
watch as they eat them and make all sorts of wonderful and terrible
promises about how they are going to do the same to you.
Once they start feasting, and they are going to flock to it
like wolves, you need to wait about ten minutes. Errant pointed at the
sergeant for emphasis. Six hundred, you need to count to. The poison
has to get out of their stomach and into their blood. Once it hits the
blood, and they start exerting themselves, its going to stab them like
a claymore on the inside. There were wide grins and nods of approval
all around.
Its not going to kill them. Its not going to affect all of
them. But it is going to make a bunch of blood-mad, frenzied killers a
bunch of weak-kneed, mewling and incontinent bastards waiting to be
butchered where they standwhich should more then even the odds. There
was hearty agreement all around, and ready shaking of blades eager for
the fight to come.
The little Marines and I are going to go over the wall and down
to the shore, and once you come screaming like motherless banshees out
of your fine abode here, we are going to come up out of the water and
make sure those ships dont get away. I imagine theyd make a fine prize
for the Bromwell, two relatively nice ships of your own to sell or use,
as you see fit, eh

Eyes widened all around at the implications ships were money,

and Daenlanders appreciated what money could bring as much as the next
bunch of Men did.
----------------------------------Find him We have to get moving. Vade and Hodre looked at one
another, sighed in unison, and then stepped aside; revealing the Mick, a
much abused tankard still in hand, reeking of strong ale, passed out on
the floor of the stable behind them.
Well, you got a choice of having him miss the fight and curse
you out for days, or , he turned his eyes on the watering trough full
of water, - cursing you out for a few minutes. Id take his blades away
first, however.
Hodre considered the trough, then the prostrate form of the
Mick, and then looked at Vade, who just shrugged as the big Corix
grinned with nasty glee.
==================
Think warm thoughts. Errant had left his hat with their
shields under the sands and now he handed out four chest-high pipes, and
the four Marines waded with him out under the low dock until the water
was chest high. The fog rode low and concealed their actions from the
swiftly incoming shipsexcept possibly for the Micks non-stop cursing
under his breath.
Keep the pipes held against the timbers so they blend in, breath
slowly,keep the ends a foot above the water. He pressed the pipe
against the piling to show them, then embraced the pilings. Once the
dock stops moving you can come upslowly! And then we wait, no talking,
for the Daens to come out screaming and blowing their horns. The
nearest bows were almost visible thru the fog. Down, and keep it calm,
or were all dead. He stuck the bent end of the dark wooden pipe in his
mouth, face against the barnacled wood, and held the wood tight as he
backed himself down into the dark waters.
The Marines followed suit, picking a piling and immersing
themselves with nasty smiles. They were seasoned fighting men, and
tricks like this were the most fun any of them could have.
===========

Looks like theyre hungry, Glaede noted to Red, as the dark

mob that had poured off the two ships gathered at the north end of town,
and blood-chilling cries carried up to the keeps walls. All eyes turned
on the sergeant, who extravagantly turned over a sand timer that had
somehow escaped the eyes of the looters, and watched the feasting going
on below. There were no lights on in the castle or the town, and the
wind was blowing up off the bay, so theyd not catch the scent of
watching men. Doubtless they smelled the blood and fear and fighting and
thought all had fled, to be hunted down at their leisure.
Eat up, lads, Red said softly, straightening his beret. One of
the Daenlanders had made a sniggering comment about his shapeless bag of
a hat, worn at a courtiers rakish tilt, a civilized thing of the
courts. Red had removed it and looked it over, giving the Daen an
exceptionally clear view of the twisted burn scars, bright flaming red,
that covered his scalp instead of hair, and then put it back on without
comment or acknowledgement. The highlander had astutely removed himself
from the area.
The arbalester and archer triple-checked their ammunition and
weaponry one more time, and then calmly headed down the ladder for the
gates. Slowly, in ones and twos, the Daens began to follow.
-----------------Errant had surfaced slowly as the pounding on the dock faded
away. Only a few seconds apart, the Marines had slowly done likewise,
rising with their noses just above the waters, forewarned that the
flesheaters had keen senses of smell and would certainly get a whiff if
they exposed their armor to the air.
The ships had docked to either side, as expected, rocking gently
against the crude dock from the waves of the tide coming in. The Marines
slowly moved into position; Hodre heading towards the front of the dock
on his back, paddling with immersed hands; the Mick for the front of the
southern ship; Vade for the same spot on the northern ships side, and
Tocs for a hastily tied off rope at the very end of the pier.
Errant went under the first ship to arrive, smoothly coming up
on the far side.
Two, no three guards here. Two on the docks, probably another
two or three on the far side. Sloppy sailors hadnt tied their ropes off
well, and let one dangle downErrant easily reached up to snag it and
slowly put his weight on it so as not to cause any noticeable shifting.
It would take him about three breaths to pull himself out of the water

entirely and over the gunwale, so he got himself up out of the water,
bracing himself against the hull of the ship until he was just below the
edge, fingers edging up under the coil to grip and hold.
And they waited, while the horrid feast beganwhile bored and
anxious Lupins whined at the sounds of the fresh meat they were missing,
and drifted down towards the shore gradually, until Tocs was guaranteed
to be free of anyone close as he climbed out, and Errant as well.
Yipping commands snarled out in response to whining complaints,
precipitating a sullen silence. Errant noted the precise inflection and
arrogancea spellcaster was here. Good, hed thought one might be arriving.
And if his counting was good, those horns of derring-do should
be going off
As the clear challenge of the horns rose over the hills and
houses and mist-draped waters, Errant smoothly grasped the gunwale with
his other hand and pulled himself smoothly in a reverse somersault up
and over the edge.
All eyes were turned towards the keep, where a stream of fire
was hurtling down the slope towards the town. Not five paces away, a
spear-toting Sibeccai festooned with ivory decorations carved from human
bones and teeth stared at the sight, licking his fangs delicately. Next
to him, a Flind with ornaments of iron-dipped human ears and fingers
watched as well, a head taller then the other Lupin, growling softly
under her breath.
And then the Mick and Vade came out of the shallow waters at the
front of the ships, rolling onto the docks and hacking at the legs of
the shocked guards standing there. A second later both were on their
feet, blades already red with blood, and the massively armored form of
Hodre rose from the waters at the front of the dock, his greatsword out,
and began to pound down the short distance to the dock to join the fun.
Vade shoved the closest two Lupin back towards the Corix and spun to
face a war-clawed Littorian springing from the deck of the southern ship
to join the battle.
Tocs hurled his first spear at what looked to be a spellcaster,
clad in a coat that, if his rebelling stomach was right, was made of
layered and oiled human skin. The Huul female spun at the motion, just
enough to not be spitted by the missile, and Tocs obediently lept onto
the ship, charging with his other spear in both hands at her as a blade
of cold fire, howling like a constrained hurricane, snapped out of her
clawed hand to await him.

Errant took the Sibeccai out cleanly, relieving it off its head
in one smooth blow. The Flind iron witch rolled away in shock at his
appearance behind her, and then snarled in recognition as she caught his
scent. His long thrust drove into a solid iron sheath that molded to her
like a second skin, driving her back further as a massive sword ran out
of that sheath like an extension of her, and came beating for him. He
parried the living blade, surprising her with his readiness for the
attack, and then his blade was coming for her throat with a deft
precision that forced her to leap backwards again or lose her life.
A Hyen at the front of the ship came leaping back to join the
fight, a wickedly jagged scimitar in one hand and a set of war claws on
the other as he bounded in, jaws opening wide as he blocked Errants
blade and headed for his throat.
He was a bit surprised when Errants long knife drove up under
his jaws and spiked them shut. Errant heaved the massive creature over
him smoothly with its own momentum, directly into the Flind leaping at
the opening, and both went down in a scrabbling furball. To her credit,
the witch rolled away from him as the Hyen surged back up and spunjust
in time to accept Errants blade in its gushing mouth. Its raging eyes,
feral with hate and bloodlust, stared at him in shock even as he kicked
it's dying corpse away from him, and raised his sword against the Flind.
The storm of razor-sharp iron filled the air with blades of raw
metal, ripping apart ropes, tearing at the decks and mast and fittings,
shearing through wrapped sails and cloth and barrels indiscriminantly.
The witch snarled in satisfaction right up until he came leaping
unharmed through the storm of metal and drove his blade down on her
right shoulder joint with both hands. Adamantine edge punched through
the living iron bodysheath, and the Flind screamed as her arm fell to
her side, useless. His pommel snapped forwards, driven by his palm, and
bone and teeth crunched and broke as he shattered her muzzle and sent
her stumbling with the shock of the attack. His follow-up strike came
over and down in an incredibly tight slice, working the long hilt like a
lever, cleaving into her wolf-like skull with cold finality.
He looked over as Tocs went into a whirlwind spin with his
spear, flurrying about the fiery shield of the Huul wind witch he was
facing, and then deftly hooking her leg as he pressed forwards, driving
her over the edge of the ship into the water beyond. Even as she spun
instinctively, he was dropping after her, his spear poised and ready,
and Errant heard her scream stop abruptly as Tocs hit the water.
The Littorian was being driven back by Vade, courtesy of a

bloody spear laying on the deck. Out of the corner of his eye, Vade had
seen Tocs cast spear come flying back into his hand, and then deftly
snap-thrown at the rear of the Littorian throwing itself at the Gaters
sword. The attack had nearly taken out the Felins leg, and the Gater
was wading in as the near-berserk brute tried to stave him off, leaping
forward to lock the scything claymore with his war-claws and snapping
for the Gaters face with his widespread jaws.
His nose ran most cruelly into the Gaters steel helm coming
forwards to greet him, a heavy booted foot smashed into the wounded knee
as the Felin instinctively recoiled from the blow, and the claymore came
around in a full circle under the out of position claws with terrific
speed to rip up into throat and skull and settle the fight once and for all.
The Mick and Hodre, coming up to assist, slowed and took the
opportunity to breathe as Errant hopped onto the deck, toe-flipping the
fallen spear to his hand as Tocs came wading forwards, his other spear
buried fully in the tawny chest of the Hull Witchhe was towing behind him.
Now, Errant said to the hard-breathing bunch of them, we hold
the dock.
====================
It didnt take too much longer. A roar of fire blasting up
higher then the houses, raising some oooooos of appreciation from the
Marines. Cries of fighting and howling and things dying drifted back to
them, and then there were fires moving in the streets, and lithe forms
coming through them towards the false dawn fast, pursued by screaming
Daenlanders covered in the blood of flesh-eaters and aching for more.
Said lithe forms coming rapidly to a halt even as they quickly
out-distanced the Daens, seeing that their path of retreat wasnt open.
They looked left and right at the sheer slopes coming down from the
hills, realizing quickly that theyd be shot down before they could
possibly clear the stones and get away, and gathered up in a snarling
mass, over a dozen of them, preparing to charge desperately.
Errant stepped out from behind Hodres screening body, setting
his hat on his head as he did so, and stepping between the line of
Marines to reveal himself fully.
The snarls that rose as they recognized him were most
satisfying. He picked up the shield leaning against Vades leg, spinning
his sword with baton-like deftness as he stepped away from them.

You, you, he pointed casually to the two first to arrive, both

tall, lean Flinds whose hands and fangs were bloody, wearing no armor
and moving with consummate agility. Fulfill your Oaths. Come for me.
With a glance at one another, snarling, they came, scrambling
across the pebbly beach with eager energy.
With wolvish instincts they split to either side, circling him
rapidly as he counterspun easily, his head not moving, eyes not turning,
but his blade shifting constantly this way and that as he moved back and
forth, forcing them to adjust as he broke the rhythm they were
attempting to build, and forced it towards one of his own.
No signal, no gesture, but at the same instant, they both lept.
He was flowing out of the way and to the side. A clawed hand
came in, ran into the edge of his blade and went flying off on its own.
Snapping jaws drove into the ball of his pommel as a second claw raked
across his tunic and tore it open to show the mail beneath, and then his
blade came down on the back of its neck, slicing across as he dropped to
one knee, following thru the decapitation with a thrust into the belly
of the other one that had run its jaws full into the rim of his shield
with crushing force, silent steel poking out its back as he rolled over
and sent it flying back towards the Marines off his foot, keeping his
blade as it yelped piteously at the horrible wound and the limp impact
following.
Hodres greatsword came crashing down with brutal efficiency as
Errants feet spun and he pushed off, back to a stand almost instantly,
sporting faint triple gashes across his left cheek.
The Daens were coming, but slowing as they saw the showdown
taking place before them.
You, and you, Errant pointed again grimly. Come fulfill your
Oaths.
---------------------------------The Mick drew out a long and pontificating expression as he leaned
towards Vade. I can see where he got that bit about bringing fists to a
swordfight, he noted, sagely stroking his short beard.
The bastards are so dead. Vade caught sight of Red and Glaede
on opposite ends, loaded and ready as the line of over a score of
Daenlanders spread out to make sure none of the flesh-eaters got

away...and to get a better view. I dont see a single one of them with
a real weapon.
Which is probably why the crafty bastard is showing off like
this. The Mick stroked the hilts of his /Ladies/, sheathed but ready to
spring to hand instantly. We could cut short his funhes making us
look bad.
Hes making YOU look bad, Vade corrected firmly. Hes making
the rest of us look like good smart Marines by doing our fighting for
us. He straightened to mock attention with a sly smile.
The Mick muttered something about the parentage of Vades mother
as Errant pointed to three of the much less confident things over the
sprawled corpses of the last two. The Haxan moved not just like someone
who knew how to fight, but someone who knew how to fight things much,
much better at the ways of fighting of the stuff hed run into. Here was
a master sword and shield fighter, he could snap his longknife into main
gauche position readily, go to one-handed narrow profile fencing, and
then to some of the meanest two-hand bladework the Daen had ever seen
for power and lethality.
What did they feed Haxans growing up, the Daen wondered idly.
He had to get him some of that.
==Aelryinth

New Post Re: Daenlander!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------/*Story-Daenlander IV*/
Hey there, Haxan, got a few minutes ta chat
Errant toweled himself off after his bath in the bay, studying
the Mick with a level expression. Ive the time, sir. Whats the problem
Having a fine bastard like this one call him sir did wonders
for the Micks ego, and helped put the swagger back in his step.
Me and the boys were talking about travel plans, what with us
having to head north to Taennedon and all, and we were wondering if you
might not be open to a bit of a detour along the way.
His expression prodded the Mick on. Ah, weve got the writs ye
badgered off the Steward. He dug the extra two out of his tartan and

handed them over. Errant looked both over, confirming one for him
personally and his name was on the master list, before handing the
latter back. He also let us be taking any portable wealth off the dead
that caught our fancy in return for a quitclaim on the ships, so we
appropriated the captains funds and whatnot. He grinned widelyhaving
to clean out the larder alone on the vessels had been enough to force
that issue. Yer short friend is looking over some of the toys off the
spellcasters for us.
Now, seeing as how we are in possession of at least some funds
enough to make our way to Tannedon, and guaranteed our pay if we live to
get there, we were wondering if ye might not be wishing to double our
money, so to speak.
His gleeful grin prodded the Haxans thoughtful expression. You
want to go after the Druid
The black Daens head bobbed once. We be figuring his treasury
is rightfully ours and we be wanting it back. A bit of clever tactics
and we could be making a fine reputation for ourselves out hereand a
fair pile of coin.
The mention of money didnt seem to motivate the Haxan much,
which was a damn shame, as it made convincing him a lot easier.
And you probably need a good tracker, throat-cutter, and
someone along to help keep you alive. Trencher had spent much of the
morning using fiery, earth-based healing magic on the wounded Daens,
doubtless saving many of their lives. The fact that it hurt so damn much
to be healed by him left them half-wishing theyd just been killed, however.
Aye, that would indeed be a fine reason to drag the two of ye
along with us, the Mick said with false innocence.
You probably dont know it, but the Rathians used to have a
country of their own, named Tunjor, in the Free Lands area. The Mick
watched the Haxan pull on a new tunic, as his old one had been
thoughtfully burned by Trencher. Over this he pulled the fine shirt of
greyed-out mailmesh that almost seemed to pour in his hands. Haxan
destroyed it nearly eight hundred years ago, and the cult has hated us
ever since. Weve also butchered them mercilessly whenever weve met
them, and its never a good idea to let a force that loathes everything
you are accumulate a power base. Theyll rip this country to shreds if
they arent stoppedand if you think Daenland is bad now, wait until
they get their red-haired advisors wormed into every clans court and
spouting dagger-lies under their breaths

The Mick made a fine false showing of being concerned about such
lofty things, nodding somber agreement, which got the Haxan to ghost a
smile. Sure, Ill help. Helping Rathians meet their patron is one of
those guilt-free endeavors that help a fellow to a better standing in
the afterlife. Good for the soul.
Aye Well, Im a wee bit more concerned if they are good for me
cash flow.
They are superb extorters. Big on good gear and the like. Id
say theyd be excellent for your cash flow.
The Mick beamed. Well, then, ye in
Sure. Lets get some rest before we head outits been a long
day and night. And I imagine weve got to figure out where to find them.
Well, keep it under that hat o yours. Wouldnt want to give
the Steward ideas about revoking the writs and suchlike. Errant just
smiled. Theres a fine lad! He gave Errant a friendly punch to the
shoulderooch, the boy was solid as a rock there. Must be all that early
morning swordwork
-----------------------

They had two horses, which they loaded up with supplies since
they didnt want to break up a fairly small party between riders and
walkers, especially in such broken terrain as the hills and forests
where theyd be going.
Red followed the tracks of the handful of the survivors of the
ambush the night before, while Errant loped off quickly to check on the
spotter for the brigands on the road and what direction he had taken.
The group quickly deviated off the trade road and headed for the
interior of the land, keeping a wary eye out for ambushers and traps on
the forest trails. They were greatly relieved when Errant was waiting
for them on a deeper trail in the somber forest where his man had taken
the same path. The two scouts began to parallel the path ahead, moving
quickly into the greenery with the patience of experienced hunters and
stalkers.
They came across several deadfalls before the main party, a
couple of yawning spiked pits, strangle-traps, and the like. Each was
fairly easily circumvented, but let them know that there was definitely

traffic here.
It was Red who first spotted the skeletal creature awkwardly
wending its way through the trees, crashing through several branches
loudly as if unable to navigate, but nevertheless winging slowly out of
sight as it got out of the trees and headed north.
What do you think Red asked Errant, as the eerie sight of a
fleshless bats skeleton managing to fly disappeared from view.
I think sending out a mindless undead thing that cant report
to you on what its seen while on patrol is pretty stupid. Therefore
Its bait. Red spat into the leaves. What next
Well, Id guess theyll have better traps or alarms around to
warn them of people coming, especially on all the best approaches. He
indicated the clearing treeline the bat had wandered into slightly west
of them, and their path. Likewise, any area with heavy cover. The Daens
arent renowned for their use of magic, so unless theyve a
nature-priest with them, its pretty unlikely such things would be sensed.
Get the Dwarf Red asked, turning to head back to the group
following their blazes.
Yep. Im gonna worm ahead and see how far I can get just
looking for stuff.
------------Trencher reached out gently with Cudgel and lifted carefully. A
few ferns to the sides lifted with the invisible wire, and the Mick
carefully peeled back the concealing growth to reveal a thunderstone
trap waiting to go offan alarm that would be heard a good way off.
Theyve strung a few of these through the area. Trencher
indicated one of the Mercs should hold the string, and another deftly
cut it, letting the ease the unseen halves down to the ground and out of
the way. I can see some sort of alarm spell ahead around those trees up
there, and I think theres another ring of traps ahead. Go slow. I smell
death in the air.
I think I smell cooking. Hodre sniffed the air experimentally.
Its getting dark. Someones making supper.
A careful flash of silver ahead, the Marines tensed as a

singular hat waved them forwards around a tree. Reassured, they moved
carefully forwards, the fine black warhorses of the former knights kept
reassured and quiet by Vade and Tocs as they were led along.
The horses recognize this place, Tocs spoke up softly.
Marshalling area
Well see in a second, Trencher answered. In a matter of
minutes they were crouching at the edge of tree cover of the rapidly
dimming forest, looking out at the enemy camp.
The Rathians had taken over an old menhir ring, a relic of the
long-vanished druidic faith. Most of them had been taken over by the
nature priests of the Greenbond tradition, including possibly this one,
given the state of upkeep. However, the ancient monoliths had all been
desecrated, daubed in symbols written in blood that made the eyes weep
and heads hurt of the Marines to look upon them, and any greenery had
been seared away to blackness by a circle of ravaged earth extending at
least five paces past the edge of the stones. At the center of the
circle sat a stone altar, the stone running with veins of blackness and
crusted with fresh blood, and shiny new shackles affixed to it.
Aye now, thats not a well thing, muttered the Mick under his
breath. Despite their ambivalence towards gods, the Daens held an
ancient fear and reverance for the land, and these menhir circles were
old reminders of that religion that had shaped their people.
Theyve altered the magic herethis used to be a place of
purity and power. Now, the earth is tainted with blood and death and
hate. I can feel undead things in the ground here, manlings. The
Marines shifted uneasily at this unwelcome news.
I counted maybe twenty men, all told, Errant said, from the
center of the line, slowly extending his hand. Theres another trail
going off northeast on the other side. That lean-to over there where the
cooking is at looks like its part of this place. Id say that tent there
on the north side has any commanders or priests hereabouts, the men are
pitched in tents near the treeline there and there, away from the
stones. The Marines observed the clusters of crude tents lashed off
trees and the like to the left and across from them.
Whats with the big stone there Red whispered, pointing. It
doesnt look like part of the circle, and its at the edge of the black
earth.
Speaking point Who knows. Mick The Daen shrugged and shook

his head at Errants question. Trench, you got a confirm on the leaders
there
Theres some nasty foul stuff in that tent, Haxan, the Dwarf
hissed back, tapping Cudgel considerately on the ground. I think those
bat-things roost there.
Hit them at dawn Vade suggested, as the group all pulled back
behind trees when a man wandered away from the camp towards the woods
near them.
Rathians are most active at night. Errant indicated the
generally slow pace of the camp. They are relying on their traps for
alarms and will be waking up now. Id say hit them as soon as we can. I
expect they are going to be using some blood magic tonight to call up
some allies to take on whoever killed so many of their people at Cromwell.
The Marines all looked at one another. Right enough, the Mick
grinned, fondling his /Ladies/. So, we just charge in and make our
presence known in loud and alarming fashion, aye
I think, Trencher said calmly, that I can help with that.
His smile was nasty. Just beware the things under that black soil.
Theyll be rising and coming for us.
Tocs, ya screen Glaede and Red. Vade, you and Hodre on the
horses and bloody yer swords. Ill see about making a nuisance of
meself, while the Haxan he looked over to where ferns were closing in
the direction of the man whod gone to relieve himself, - will be
cutting throats in his own way. Dwarf
That tent looks like a big wonderful target to me, Daenlander.
I but need a clear line of sight to it. Stay off the black earth, he
warned again, as he slowly moved north for a better view of things.
Im with ye. Curt hand gestures had them moving off slowly for
silence, but as quickly as they might to get into position. Yell give
us all a proper signal to charge, I trust
The Dwarf smiled wickedly. Itll be hard to miss.
-------------------The priest Bloodhelm stepped out of that black tent as the sun
went down, stretching out and welcoming the advent of night. The fetid,
dead smell of the despoiled stones filled him with a rush of strength,

strength he was going to be in need of as the moon rode higher. The

ceremony tonight would get them a servant of Rath to deal with whatever
forces had crushed the force of the Champions in Cromwell, one that
would even hunt down a ship at sea to exact the vengeance of Rath upon
the infidels. None would escape alive, he was certain.
And the world exploded around him.
Rath was a god of fear and flame, and the explosive magic was
more surprising then painful to one of his faithful, the earth heaving
behind him and sending him sprawling forwards with the blast. However,
his underling Meklyn, still in the tent, was at the center of the
earthborn conflagration and caught much of its force with a shriek of
pain amidst the instant destruction of the dark tent and most of the
contents. Bloodhelm was instantly calling on the powers granted him,
blood singing with the Darkflow hed corrupted from the menhir ring, his
iron-shod staff slapping into his hand and spinning wildly to confront
any attackers.
Two warriors came charging in on horseback amidst the sudden
shouts of confusion, long blades hacking down and sweeping two of the
faithful off their feet with cruel precision. He recognized the mounts
with surprise and some trepidation, even as a hurled spear caught Meklyn
as he rose and sent the underpriest spinning back to the ashen ruins of
their tent. With brutal force, the hooked spear pulled free and went
sailing back into the treeline, from out of which hissing arrows were
pumping with skill and precision from shadowy figuresand Bloodhelm
gasped as a streaking crossbow bolt tore across his side.
Cursing, he ducked behind the cover of the nearest menhir,
looking around to see if there were other victims.
The horsemen were hurtling through the crowd of Daens at full
speed, heedless of their borrowed horses, hewing the faithful limb from
limb as they deftly pulled the steeds out of trouble and trampled a pair
of screaming guards into the grass. To the other side, a whirlwind of
sabers was tearing into another knot of Daens with laughing glee, and
then a shadow rose out of the woodlands with deadly grace and drove into
the rear of that knot of men. A gray sword flashed silently in a blur of
steel, and four men dropped screaming, cut down instantly.
A Haxan! No one else would bother to wear such a foolish
outlander hat.
He leveled his staff and bolts of fire lept out, converging on
the swordsman from that distant land. They smashed over him and hissed

like liquid fire, then dissipated into nothingness harmlessly.

And marked his position. He felt a foreign magical power pulling
at the earth below him, and his eyes spun on the short figure also at
the treeline, his thick staff heating up with energy, and crystalline
bolts of force spearing out at him in a diamond-shaped pattern.
With an oath, he swept his darkbone staff before him, calling on
the fell powers below, and shattered the magic into crystalline
nothingness. A black tide of energy swept out at the Dwarf, for such the
figure had to be, tearing at his life energy with soul-searing agony no
mere earth magic could stop.
The Dwarf drove his mace-like tool into the earth and
concentrated mightily. With a start, Bloodhelm felt his magic pour down
the stave like a lightning rod, injecting itself back into the pool of
negative energy beneath his feet. He felt the Dwarfs grin rather then
saw it, and the Dwarf began to move forwards for him, idly smashing a
charging cultist out of his way with terrific power.
An arrow tinked off the stone at his elbow, making him flinch
away. With a snarl he threw a spell in the direction of the riders,
cloying the air and soil about them and denying them the speed and
maneuverability of their mounts. Cultists closed in on them from all
sides with hacking blades, and the archers hastily redirected their fire
to aid their fellows.
Escan lept at the Dwarf, his athame claymore sizzling with
lightning, ripping his blow down the dwarfs chest with a great laugh at
the staggering force of the strike. A moment later he was parrying madly
as the angry dwarf, ignoring the wound, slammed his metal stave against
the chestplate of the red-haired captain, the ringing sound rocking the
human back two steps in shock and pain with the force of the blow. The
Dwarf followed with a hopping stride, flanged blades now visible on the
edge of his weapon, ignoring Bloodhelm as he concentrated on this nearer
and dangerous foe.
That would be the death of him. Bloodhelm leveled his staff.
A gray sword crashed down on his stave, magical energies whined
and spat out wildly in black and white jets of warring forces as it was
nearly hacked thru with one swing.
The Haxan! So fasthow had he gotten heretrailing half a dozen
cultists as he drove fully into the priest with his shield, slamming him
up against the menhir with bone-jarring force.

He twisted wildly out from the shield, focusing on his staff as

he felt the powers within it raging angrily and unsteadily. Dark might
welled up and sealed the break as he drove the butt into the blackened
soil of the circle, and the Haxan had to turn to deal with the screaming
men hewing for him from behind.
With a deep-throated command in a tongue not made for men, he
commanded the guardians hed seeded below to come forth.
Dark, rotting earth spat upwards all around the menhir rings as
the slain warriors hed entombed and ensorcelled were raised up, clad in
the corrupted armor of Rathknights, yet still bearing their claymores,
rotting eye sockets alive with hellish light and power.
Kill the infidels! he ordered them, backing away from the
Haxan who had just gutted one cultist and in the same move driven his
blade into the heart of another, an odd combination of power and lethal
precision that had his heart hammering with remembered stories of the
vengeance of the plainsmen and the fall of the golden age of Raths
Chosen. Fluidly, he ducked between two others, placing them between the
Undead charging for him with the tireless energy of the unliving, but
not fleeing, oh no. The runework on his blade hissed with the hated
white vivic fires, and his eyes were cold and calm as he considered the
thirteen creatures converging on him, one of which bore the ornate
claymore that was the hereditary weapon of the Lord of Caer Cromwell.
Bloodhelm, having at the very least occupied the Haxan, looked
around quickly.
The other warriors had strewn the area with dead, the
lighter-armored cultists no match for them and the devastating arrow
fire that was thinning the attempt to surround the dismounted pair
quickly. The priest hastily ducked away as one of the archers spotted
him, not wishing to attract more missile fire, and hastily murmured a
spell of summoning, pointing and drawing forth one of his more potent
minions.
With a deep and unnatural roar, the flaming wolverine exploded
out of the earth before the crossbowman and archer, snarling at them
with blackened teeth and hellfire eyes. In the next second, the spearman
guarding them had driven his weapon deep into the beasts neck and
planted, earning Balegouts undivided attention and fury as it lept
clawing for the man wildly.
The Haxan was backpedaling smoothly as he dropped another

cultist and his gray sword silently sheered off the neck and head of the
first fellguard, dropping the Undead Daen in a gout of vivic fire that
sent a bright white light flashing skywards in freedom. Bloodhelm
scowled as the Haxans expression grew even more resolute.
More fire exploded around the Haxan, the earth heaving and
ripping open in fire at the center of the knot of Undead. The shocked
priest saw the Dwarf standing over the figure of Escan, the mans back
bent at a very unnatural angle, his cudgel burning white hot while the
sound of hammers on steel beat in the air. Four Undead exploded and went
down in flames at the blast, while the Haxan serenely ignored it all and
kept up his wild parries and retreat as the Undead Daens converged on
him with feverish, desperate haste, goaded to attack, but the imprisoned
spirits screaming for the release he could provide them and making
little to no attempt to protect themselves.
The saber wielder was hurrying to relieve the Haxan now, as the
last of the cultists were being smashed down by the great armored
warriors who had never been totally surrounded, and made the cultists
pay for presuming to attack them. Crushing blows drove his faithful
back, taking off limbs and splitting skulls from the lighter-armed men.
A crossbow bolt tore through Bloodhelms shoulder, and he
dropped behind the central altar, screaming in pain obviously, the
archers werent as distracted as they should be! Snarling, he called on
the dark power below to heal him, his connection with undeath strong
enough to benefit from the power of negative energy, and then whelmed
more to summon the best of his minions to deal with these interlopers.
He heard Balegouts roar of unsatiated fury as it died, knew the
archers would be spreading out rapidly to take him. He almost blurted
out the spell for summoning Hexjaws, looking about wildly for an escape
route now as the blazing six-headed hellhydra was vomited forth by the
earth before the archers. In perhaps a sign of things to come, one head
was impaled by a stabbing spear instantly, and two others by arrow and
quarrel almost as it arose. The archers backed up quickly as the spear
wielder whod slain Balegout moved in, his armor still smoking,
longspear stabbing like a steel serpent for the remaining heads of the
beast.
Daenish spirits were blazing skywards in release as the Haxan
parried madly and cut the down his fellguards one by one. The Undead
werent even trying to encircle him completely as they swung for him
with their corrupted blades, a strategy that was soon rendered moot as
the saber-wielding clansman was at the Haxans side, blades leaping to
the defense of the plainsman, who obligingly stopped his retreat and

began to concentrate on releasing the damned. The Daen was singing

something under his breath, and it looked suspiciously like he wascrying
With an oath and a curse, Bloodhelm scrambled away, knowing a
lost cause. His master would be most unhappy with him, but it would be
simple enough to muster enough forces to return and claim this place of
power
The Dwarf stepped around the side of the menhir in front of him,
bleeding heavily from several deep cuts Escan had no doubt inflicted on
him, and looking only angrier for them. The Rathian didnt quite stop in
time as the brutal axe-mace came in, ripping at his flesh, forcing him
backwards and away from his path of retreat. With a snarl he swept his
staff out and a gout of unholy flame lept from the corrupted earth to
swallow the Dwarf in pain and black fires, but the searing agony which
certainly should have stopped any normal man just made the Dwarf bellow
in rage and advance on him, smashing his staff aside as he tried to
scramble away.
The impact of the first arrow spun him around, just in time to
receive the precise aim of the bolt in his belly. A second later, the
axe-mace of the Dwarf smashed into his spine with terrible, bone-hewing
agony, and the dreams and aspirations of the priest of Rath were no more.
Errant was disposing of the last of the fellguards, his blade
ringing on the ancestral blade of the Cromwell as the fallen Lord hacked
madly at him. The Micks sabers smashed into the armored knee of the
Undead lord, nearly tearing it off, and the Haxans gray blade swept
down to the opposite knee as he momentarily caught the sword on his
shield. Legs shattered, the Undead didnt even slow down his attacks,
but the Mick caught his sword arm and held it fast as the Haxan tossed
aside his shield and drove his blade down once on the black armor, and
then again to rend the fouled steel and drive the sword into the
fellguards chest.
The vivic fires blew up and past them, animated bone and flesh
crumbling away to powder as Final Rest took the damned soul and set it
free. Brighter and mightier, retaining a semblance of the face of the
mortal man he had once been, the soul of Lord Cromwell looked upon his
rescuers and smiled as he rose, rose rapidly with the exultation of one
heading for a joyous rest and final reward.
Errant sat down abruptly, utterly exhausted and bleeding from a
dozen shallow cuts and a nasty gash down his sword arm. He leaned
heavily on his blade as he regained his wind, and not incidentally
allowing the Mick to wipe away his tears and get control of his emotions

as he reverently held the gleaming sword in his hands.

Mick, rasped the Haxan. The Daen looked at him, a bit startled
from the strange thoughts running through his head. On the other side
of the speaking stonetheres a woman chained. I think shes a priestess
for this place.
The Mick blinked, and then carefully set down the gleaming
Cromwell blade before walking off with stiff leg quickly for the back of
the stone.
There was a loud woosh of fire as Trencher called up a
corpseflame to burn the remains of the dark priest to ash, and then
slowly turned and headed over to where Errant was kneeling, leaning
heavily on /Cudgel/ for support.
Good fight, Rockborn the Haxan asked, as the Dwarf sat down
next to him.
That mageblade got me good with his opening trick, but ran out
of fancy plays after that, the Dwarf growled, wincing as /Cudgel/ began
to slowly beat. The deep wound on his chest began to sizzle and burn
with lambent heat and a great deal of pain, slowly closing as the Dwarf
stoically bore the agony in silence.
Saber blades rang on iron, and a minute later the Mick was
helping a flaxen-haired lass wearing next to no apparel stumble away
from the stone where shed been held prisoner. Trencher took one look at
her, and plunged a hand into his satchel, drawing out a rolled bundle of
soft brown cloth and holding it out in her direction.
She blushed most prettily as she took it, quickly unfolding the
simple robe and dropping it over herself, while the Mick gave the Dwarf
a look of exaggerated hurt. The shoulders were much too broad for her,
but the wrapping cord made an effective belt and it was cut high enough
not to impede her legs much as she knelt next to Trencher.
A quiet song rose softly from her lips, and golden energy flowed
freely from her fingertips over the Dwarf, who visibly sighed and
relaxed as the fresh blood on his armor drew back into his wounds, which
sealed shut smoothly and with no scarring. Next she turned to the Mick,
who was much delighted as her gentle fingers took away the worst of the
cuts and scrapes and close calls that were staining his clothing, and
giving the priestess a frank indeed once over.
She took a step towards Errant and halted, sensing the primal

resistance of the Haxan easily. Warrior, I do not think the power of

the Green can heal you, she whispered in a gentle voice. She had felt
the release of the doomed souls, and the vestiges of the white flame
still licked on the blade that had set the good men free, and not being
able to help the man who held it seemed truly cruel to her.
You wouldnt be the first, priestess. See to the others. He
waved away her assistance negligently, as Trencher drew out a wooden box
with a painted white hand on the cover out of his satchel and set it on
the ground with rueful knowing. She looked up at the tall armored men
and archers making their way towards the small gathering, moving with
the stiff care of those much battered around.
Being a godless bastard has some downsides still, Haxan
Trencher half-laughed as he opened up the healing kit and picked up the
jar of greenish paste and bottle of dark red liquid. Off with the
armor, manling. Time to hurt you some more.
Errant sighed and removed his hat, and began to peel off his
armor as the Mick helped the priestess towards the other Marines coming
their way.
His chest was a mass of bruises from the impacts of blades, but
Trencher focused first on the cuts, dabbing them with the red liquid,
which hissed and bubbled as he painted it on. Errant grunted, especially
at the long cut on his forearm, but held his pain in silence otherwise.
Ye know we arent going to leave here til I can help that lass
burn the corruption out of the ground here, aye the Dwarf said under
his breath. Tis a far greater evil then the fools using it.
Fine by me, Errant growled, hissing as Trencher smeared the
green paste onto the worst of his injuries as a mason might administer
mortar. The stuff crackled and popped audibly as it reacted to his
blood, visibly fusing into the cuts and sealing them tight against
infection or further bleeding. Ill need a day or two to recover fully.
You noticed the underpriest got away
Aye, thought he was being canny, covering himself in shadow and
crawling for the forest. Ill have the archer tracking him soon enough.
I doubt the trail will be hard to follow.
Lets hope its a fair distance to the next strongpoint, as we
arent in any shape to take a fresh assaultespecially if you have to
sit around and do some magework. Errant flexed his hand, looking at the
flaking mass of green winding down his arm as he sat back up. Thank

you, nurse Trencher.

Yere a lousy patient and a bad influence on the young, t
boot, Haxan, the Dwarf sallied back in response, putting away the paste
and containers and thrusting them back into his satchel. I think the
others are going to enjoy being feted over by the lass there, who, if my
knowledge of human beauty is still true, is quite the pretty young thing
Yes, quite, and the Mick is making very sure she knows it,
too. Errant didnt bat an eye at the overly-protective charmers
solicitness.
Aye, Ive noticed hes the eye for making lots of little Daens
wherever he might be able to. A human failing that seems near as popular
as not being able to hold your drink. Errant turned a wry eye on the
Dwarf, and then let himself be tugged upright by a large hand after the
squat Rockborn had gotten to his feet.
This working late nights has got to stop, Errant mused aloud,
and expectantly, Trencher just chortled, and withdrew a small stone from
his poucha small stone that was blazing brightly with magefire. The
Dwarf tossed it into the air, and it began to circle his head with a
crackling, dancing halo of fiery light, lighting up the whole area brightly.
Why dont you amble over and see that the ashes of the priest
receive an honest sendoff there, and then Ill help ye start with the
looting Besides, I think the cookpot of these bastards still has some
supper in it we can appropriate, if its not unclean
=========================
Her name was Shavaughn, and she was the last of three
Greenspeakers who had dwelt at the menhir. The eldest of them had been
sacrificed in the ceremony that had corrupted the site and turned it
into a center of dark power, and her fellow apprentice in the ceremony
that had turned the slain Cromwells into fellguards for the benefit of
the dark priests which dwelt here. She had been certain her fate was to
join them as the sacrifice to some great unholy beast after the remnants
of the strike force had come stumbling back telling tales of terror and
death, and had consoled herself that many of the cultists had perished.
To be rescued by heroes was quite overwhelmingand the Mick was taking
full advantage of it as he filled her pretty head with stories that may
or may not have been true, but certainly made the Mick seem a proper
hero, of course!
She was charmed by the overprotective nature of the men who had

rescued her, in deep contrast to the casual abuse and debasement

inflicted on her by the Rathians, and the vengeful tears in her eyes as
Trencher condemned their corpses to ash after Errant made certain of
their fates were a fine thing to see. The Marines busied themselves
helping restore the place as best they were able, scraping off the foul
symbols from the rocks under her direction, and generally making busy
fools of themselves at her command, which she found greatly pleasing.
Errant, as the best runner among them, elected to return the
swords of the fallen Cromwells to their family, and made the trip alone
and with a fair amount of speed to deliver their personal effects. The
astonishment and grief that greeted his return with such belongings had
many a proud Daen holding back great tears as the Steward accepted the
blade of his Lords and the faithful men of the Clan, but he waved off
promises of reward, relayed his report shortly and to the point, and
noted that the Mick was absolutely certain to have the embellishment of
their accomplishment spread up and down the coast in fairly short order.
So saying, he tipped his hat to the grieving Daens, who now at least
knew where their kin had fallen, and loped off to rejoin the others.
----------------------------Golden purity mixed with earthfires, the one flowing over and
into the corrupted earth from the lands all about, the other rising from
below and expelling the taint and corruption that infected the land like
a rotting boil. Where they met, rot blazed with vivic fires, leaving
behind untainted earth that slowly and surely began to expand outwards
from the purified altar where Dwarf and Greenbond meditated together.
Er, how long they gonna be at this, Haxan the Mick asked of
Errant.
Until the job is done, sir, Errant replied calmly, ignoring
the whole ceremony as he slowly stretched out in a manner that made the
Haxan wonder if he could have any children. Warriors fight one another
with steel and armor. Spellcasters fight with magic and the corruption
and purity of the Land. Those two may come from very different
traditions, but they have a very common enemy, and its more important
for them to undo the damage done to the Land here then it was to kill
all the men we did. The things that can grow in a place like this are
very, very bad indeedwhich is why the idiot Hellpriest didnt flee sooner.
Oh, aye. The Daen scratched his head at the profoundness of it
all, and stashed such thoughts away in a place he could ruminate on them
safely, perhaps while deep in his cups. And was I right in seeing ye
free the souls of the dead He nodded at the sheathed sword.

You have to know of Final Rest runework, sir. Every merc

company, Imperial Legion, and nobles brigade Ive ever run into keeps
at least one of these handy to take care of undead. Errant kept up his
casual stretching as he slowly moved into a handstand, attracting the
attention of the other Marines.
Oh, aye, Ive just never seen souls fly free like they did
afore that battle.
Final Rest reestablishes the link of ones soul to ones final
fate. Beings turned undead against their will are released to whatever
their afterlife will be. Beings without an afterlife are destroyed and
Fed to the Land. Most Undead arent actually the souls of the shells
they inhabit, but foul elemental spirits given semblance of those they
animate, molded by the remnants of the souls memories and desires. The
spawn of vampires, wights, ghouls and the likethe souls arent truly
present, just a cold, mocking reflection of them. A True Vampire may
have a corrupted soul, and when it dies get Fed to the Land because it
severed the bond to its final fate. Liches are the same way. His legs
were spread in an inverted V now, raising eyebrows and winces among the
Marines as he slowly drew them together and then brought them down
before him.
That looks painful, Vade commented with a straight face.
Hurts like hell. Been too long since I stretched out much. He
straightened and slowly began to bend backwards as they shook their
heads. Got something against exercise The Marines had been sparring
gamely all day, largely restored to fighting trim. While he healed
quickly, much more so then normal men, the Haxan was still covered with
fading bruises and cuts.
Ive got a desire to have a family! Glaede piped up, earning a
laugh from all about.
Any idea about how I could go about getting me one of them sets
of runework I think me Ladies would like the idea of setting good men
free, the Mick asked curiously, more interested then he tried to let on.
Back in a handstand with his eyes closed, Errant slowly inverted
himself again, legs front and back and not touching the ground, drawing
winces from the Marines again. Trencher could probably do it, given
time, a forge, and the right materials. It would cost you time and coin
to help him, but he could do it for you. If not, any magesmith worth the
name should be able toFinal Rest is a very common enchantment,

relatively speaking, and held in high regard by just about anyone with
common sense.
Oh, aye, not having yer friends raised to come back and kill
you makes fine sense to us. The rest of the Marines agreed completely
with that sentiment. No one got as well-traveled as they were without
seeing the effects of some unholy power on the dead.
Can he work other magic into weapons Hodre asked, shaking the
wickedly spiked and sheared greatsword he preferred to wield. Errant
fixed him with a cool eye.
He wont touch a weapon like that. The design of a blade like
that was spawned in the pits of Hell, and no gods-fearing Rockborn would
do anything other then melt the thing down to raw steel and reforge it
to save the spirit of the metal at his forge. Theres plenty of human or
Jytans who dont have such reservations, of course. Have them do the
work. Hodres expression of disbelief as he looked over his weapon was
evident.
This blade was designed in Hell the Corix repeated, hefting
the massive, wicked weapon. It was fearsome and intimidating, with
serrated cutting surfaces, protruding arcs and sidespikes to cut and
bite and tear at an enemy. It took a lot of skill to wield properly and
not get caught and snagged in the flesh, armor or weapons of a foe.
Ive seen Loreguard drawings three thousand years old and more
of weapons that look almost exactly like that, fallen from the hands of
devils and demons summoned by unholy forces. When the dramojh came, they
brought the secrets of making the weapons with them, and taught it to
their slaves. The Jytans learned it from freed slaves and started using
it against them. Youll notice there is no Daenish tradition of overdone
weapons like that. He pointed at the claymore in Vades hands. And I
wouldnt use one either. I prefer the weapons of angels to the weapons
of demons.
That definitely raised their interest. Dwarfcraft the Mick
asked, shooting a glance at the immobile Trencher, deep in his trance.
Yes, grunted Errant, legs split on the ground now, slowly
bending to one side and then the other. Modeled on the weapons of the
celestials, the perfect forms of the weapons they emulate, instead of
the most wicked. Much easier to wield, much easier on the eyeand a lot
harder to make, of course. Smiths can turn out monstrosities like that
thing a lot faster then a Perfect Weapon.

Their eyes wandered in the direction of his sheathed blade.

Yes, it is, he said without looking at it. And Im sure youve
noticed its a mite better made then even those enchanted toys you are
flailing around with.
Mind if we take a look at it the Mick asked hesitantly. The
Haxan had not been overly generous with showing off his blade.
But this time he reached back, drew his blade directly out of
the scabbard stuck into the ground, and thrust it into the ground on the
other side, closer to them. The Mick was quick to come forwards, pull it
out of the ground, and settle back on the crude stool left behind by the
cultists hed been seated on. The other Marines crowded in for a closer
look.
Aye, thats a Haxan blade, murmured Hodre as Mick held it up
for them to admire. Ive seen a number of themnone quite as fine as
this one, however. He held out his hands and the Mick reluctantly
relinquished the weapon to him, marveling over the matchless precision
and make of the blade, the ornamental purity of the runework that
stabbed at his eyes with ultimate truth, and the bare simplicity of
design and form.
Hodre held it next to his greatsword, while Vade drew his new
claymore to compare. The dire blade looked truly twisted next to the
severe purity of the Haxans long hilted blade, while the finely made
and enchanted claymore looked like the work of a child in comparison to
the perfection gleaming off the metal of the Haxans sword.
I want me one of these, Hodre stated after a long pause,
lifting up the Haxans blade, the hilt nearly as long as his own weapon,
but the blade much smaller, dwarfed by the man who held it. Do they,
ah, make them any larger, Haxan
The Harkens and the Ogryn and Urkhar like big swords, too,
Master Hodre. Yes, they make bigger ones. Getting one made is the hard
part. Rockborn dont make them for just anyone, and those that get made
arent for salethey are as precious to the wielders and their families
as the hereditary blade of the Cromwell was to them. The big Corixs
face fell. That doesnt mean they wont make one for youjust that you
have to impress a Master Smith enough for him to make it a priority for
you. The best way to do that is to impress another Rockborn, especially
a fellow crafter. And to get rid of those devil-spawned things you are
wielding on the sake of principal.
Hodre winced visibly. A tall order, Master Errant. He passed

the weapon over to Vade to admire, who did so in silence, holding it

next to his new claymore.
About the only thing the Rockborn arent tall on is height,
Master Hodre. The Corix lowered his eyes to his weapon, which suddenly
looked less fearsome and intimidating to his eyes thenwicked.
It was an unsettling feeling, knowing he was using something
designed byfiends. By dramojh. Abruptly, his pride in his weapon was
replaced by a singular desire to be rid of it as soon as was convenient.
He was no pious fool, but the thought of using something dreamt up by
fiends he nevertheless found revolting.
Next to him, Vade was thinking similar thoughts, and pondering
the Dwarf nearby. Hed never been fond of the unwieldy dire weapons to
begin with, which had made many of his Warguild compatriots laugh at
him. To earn a weapon that was the exact opposite of all they stood
forah, sweet vengeance indeed.
For that, impressing a Dwarf was a small thing indeed to accomplish.
==Aelryinth
/*Daenlander V*/
You sure shes going to be okay Glaede asked the Mick as the Marines
headed down the forest trail.
Aye. Shes calling for allies from the nearest clans to help
protect the stones, putting out the alarm. Theres folks still honoring
the old ways and old godstheyll come. The Mick looked about the
forest about them, rich and green and with a strange feel about it. She
said the Green is angry with the invaders. I be not inclined to contest
her.
Death is a part of life, manlingbut undeath has no place in
the natural order of things, Trencher spoke up from where he was
stumping along resolutely. Such a pool of negative energy has no
beneficial effects on the Land. Aye, the Land is repelled by what was
done. It doesnt know vengeance, but it does wish to cleanse itself, and
is taking action.
Aye What sort of action, firebeard
Trencher was inordinantly pleased by the unwitting compliment,
as his beard was as gray as new shale. What do you think we are, manling

The Mick opened his mouth and closed it. The Marines chuckled at
his expression. Being the servant of a higher power had never entered
into the Micks thoughts until that moment.
Were going up against the Dark Druid himself the Mick
finally managed to protest.
Of course not, Daenlander. That one is likely very busy trying
to forestall the whelming of an army by the Cronal to lay him low. What
we are doing is tearing out his guts while he tries to prevent his
throat from being cut. And if we get rich in the process, so much the
better, aye
Oh, aye! Back on familiar ground, the Mick relaxed somewhat.
Being the pawn of some greater entity was not something he wanted to
dwell on. Leave that for the fools he was about to kill. But, ah, were
going to get him mightily pissed at us, aye
Ayebut that was going to happen as soon as you decided to take
back what was ours. Works out nicely now, aye
Aye. Thinking over the possible horrible things that had been
done in druidic ceremonies ages ago, the Mick found himself a bit
pensive. Then, with a shaking of his head, he dispelled such gloomy
contemplation of greater forces at work. Should be fine fighting at the
very least, aye Thoughts of a good fight were always cheering.
The very best, Daenlander, Trencher agreed with a wink at Vade.
-------------------Reinforcements coming down the trail. Errant said calmly.
About two hundred men, with at least six in full armor, and a set of
black robes. Three wagons.
The Mick groaned loudly. We already killed near half that
number! Tis not fair! Nobody needed to say that they couldnt possibly
overcome such a force.
Well, we might have some unseen allies lurking about, Errant
said calmly. That got everyones attention. Know if any tribes of fey
live in this area, Mick
The Daenlander scratched at his bristly black beard
thoughtfully. Wee Folk They live where they live, Haxanthis forest is

certainly old enough.

Something has been following me through the trees all day.
Actually, several somethings.
Must be yer daft hat. Errant rolled his eyes up at his
wide-brim headgear and shrugged.
Well, weve got to get off the trail quick, but if we let them
passthe lady has not had any time to secure the stones, you know. He
cocked an eye at the Mick, who managed to look glum at the thought. Not
to mention theyll see the spoor of the horses and know someone passed
this way.
Snipe and harass them They all had bows now, and could
certainly upset the marching order fairly quickly.
A running fight favors their numbers. Better to pick a spot and
make them pay. He didnt mention that it would likely be the death of
them all. I dont think you heavy armor types are much for running
around like rabbits anyways The heavy Marines looked at one another
somberly, then cast covetous eyes back on the laden horses.
If ye can take out the spellcasters, I can even the odds
somewhat, Trencher said quietly, thumping /Cudgel/ once.
I can do that, Errant said grimly, a dangerous light in his
eyes. Where are we going to stand Back at the hill He nodded behind
them, where the trail crested a low rise that rose off to one side and
fell to the other, about as natural a strongpoint as theyd passed. The
Marines considered the lay of the land behind them.
Stick Glaede and Red up high. Pretty unobstructed view, and
they can pick off anything but a devoted shield rush, Vade noted.
If everyone goes up the slope, I think that would be better for
the Dwarfs earth magicand not let the knights use their horses, Hodre
countered quickly, which Vade agreed with after a moment. We make a
strongpoint, and all we have to do is kill the wagons. They cant keep
going without their supplies.
Did they have archers the Mick asked Errant quickly.
A few. First youll have to kill, Errant shrugged, looking at
Trencher, who simply nodded.

Lets be about it. I think we can keep them busy for some
time. Trenchers smile was as cold as iron.
--------------------------They filed by below, a long line of mailed fighting men in the
black and red of Rath, with shields or targs and the long blades favored
by the Daens. From up on the slope, cool eyes watched them pass in
silence not twenty paces away.
The spellcasters started by, separated by a fair distance and
surrounded by hand-picked personal guards. The mounts they rode were
distinctly unnatural, with heads too predatory, and eyes a lambent red hue.
At a nod from the Mick, they opened fire.
Longbows are devastating weapons, especially with arrows
designed to punch through mail. With a hiss and twang of bowstrings, the
nearest men spun and died, and the mounts of both spellcasters dropped
with shafts through their skulls. A second volley was hissing out even
as the alarms went up, and the illusion of empty hillside that Trencher
had been maintaining dropped away, revealing a crude wall shaped from
the steep stone of the grassy hillside, from behind which a half-dozen
archers were peppering the exposed line of cultists.
A fire arrow flashed down and drove itself into the side of the
lead wagon, already passed by, and a second later detonated explosively,
sending the drivers flying all aflame, and bathing the whole wagon in
hungry flame. Red drew back again, the arrow igniting with Dwarf-magic,
steel flaming with the hunger of the land, and took another guard down
in a streak of flame. On the other side of the line, Glaede was smoothly
pumping out his flaming shots between oiled motions of cocking his crossbow.
The spellcasters dove over the edge of the road to find cover as
their guards hastily assembled a shield wall in front of them, and the
line began to converge towards the ambushers.
Errant rose out of the ground, streaming dirt and leaves, almost
directly between the two spellbinders, and the gaping cultists barely
had time to acknowledge his presence before his gray blade cut down and
relieved the nearest doompriest of his head. With a blur of motion he
was spinning at the other one, smashing his way past one guardsman and
sending him tumbling downhill before driving his blade into the gut of
the second priest and twisting savagely. A backhand strike opened the
mans throat as he fell away, and left Errant in the middle of nearly a
dozen outraged elite guards.

The ground heaved skywards in thunder and flame, and Errant

raced sideways as men screamed and tumbled aflame all around him,
lashing out at any target presenting itself. Men forming a shield wall
against the archers were his primary targets, shocked to find someone
behind them slicing into their legs. As they turned instinctively to
protect themselves, the arrows following his progress found easier homes
and openings appeared, and he was up on the road and moving for the
Marines above as outraged cultists surged after him.
The second wagon blew up in an inferno of flame as the third
madly headed over the edge of the road and tumbled, dragging the
screaming horses and drivers with it as it rolled once, twice, and
crashed into the trees, scattering the contents over the hillside.
Errant raced up the steep slope, easily out-distancing the
cultists, arms and legs pumping in defiance of gravity as arrows hissed
past him and took their tolls.
Perhaps they were expecting him to vault over the short wall.
Instead, he stopped on a single level spot on the north side of it, in
the shadow of it, and turned with a cold smile on the men following him
as he reached up and reclaimed the hat waiting atop that wall. His blade
spun once with that baton-like precision as Red calmly leaned over the
wall and took the closest man full in the face with a flaming arrow.
Come and take me, maggots of Rath! Come and Feed the Land! The
first man crested the slope and the gray blade licked out to take him
across the eyes, and send him falling back screaming, and Errants sword
began a dance of classic Mitharn sword and shield as the archers above
him took shots of opportunity.
The nearest of the knights made the error of spurring his
hellsteed up the slope towards them in a valiant charge. Five arrows
drove into it as it almost reached the wall, sending it rearing and
falling downslope into the mass of footmen who had followed cheering
behind it. They were fanning out now to the sides, but found the slope
uncomfortably sheer there, impossible to move up above the shaped
strongpointand very open to archery. Glaede and Red happily picked off
a handful of men each before they got better ideas, motivated by the
surviving knights who had quickly dismounted and had men lead their
horses away to avoid the fate of the rest of them.
The shield wall was pressing up, stepping over the men who fell
with arrows in their legs, when again Trencher let loose a minor spell,
and the whole hillslide grew slick and slippery as a greased pig, and

startled cultists shouted and tumbled and lost all cohesion, smeared
with a black stinking substance that had welled out of the earth beneath
their feet.
The first flaming arrow ignited the whole batch of black stuff
rapidly, and the screams of alarm became screams of pain as the men
tumbled wildly, trying to put out the flames that crawled all over them
oil-smeared bodies. The whole lot back was driven back down the hillside
and over the edge of the road to seek cover as arrow fire hounded them
mercilessly.
Errant kicked one of the half-dozen corpses in front of him down
the flaming hillside, wrinkling his nose at the sickly-sweet odor of
burning human flesh, then knelt down behind his shield as the cultists
went scrambling for bows.
The last wagon went up, and the flames there went spraying down
into the forest over the contents, finding eager purchase here and there
under the dampness of the trees. More curses sounded at Trenchers
anticipation of their strategy, and for a minute the site of battle was
quiet as the cultists marshaled below. Errant took the opportunity to
vault over the edge of the wall and grab up the last bow and some arrows
of his own for use.
Looks like at least forty dead, the Mick said approvingly,
flexing his fingers with a broad grin. Nice little redoubt ye got here,
firebeard.
My people have some experience with stone, Daen, Trencher said
calmly. Theyve not much choice but a charge with shields, and it will
cost em. His expression was coldly scornful. Of course, they can run
away, too, but without supplies its going to be a hungry march.
Two days back and more forwards, Red said. I imagine they are
pretty pissed about now. Even with what they can scavenge, they cant
mount a major attack.
Pity. Trencher, you might want to put that fire out before any
of the forest burns. The locals might not like you burning down their
trees, Vade spoke up.
Ah, correct. A tap of/ Cudgel/ and the fires in the woods
seemed to leap down to the soil and vanish. The fey never seem to like
you burning their homes down about their pointy ears. He sniffed in
disdain. They should use stone.
Now, is that bastard coming up to lead a charge or do something

stupid Hodre asked, pointing at a man in a hugely ornate set of armor

and full shield stepping carefully around the edge of the burning wagon
in front of them. Hodre didnt miss the resemblance of the weapon the
man bore to his ownand how appropriate it was on the other.
Jaggara Guildhes from Gunden, Vade spoke up, studying the
other. Big on individual honor and accomplishment. Its a challenge.
Stick an arrow in his shield. Well see about challenges after
about another ten dozen of his fellow idiots are dead, Hodre coughed,
and Red obligingly drove a flaming shaft directly into the center of the
mans shield. He withdrew behind the wagon, raising his barbed blade in
insulting salute as behind him another line of shields formed.
I think they forgot weve got a firemage here, the Mick
wondered aloud. Trencher shook his head slightly as the shield wall
advanced up over the lip, men crouching low so as to cover their legs,
while other shields were raised to ward from on high.
The flaming wagon, of course, disrupted the line of
advanceparticularly when it blew up again as they were passing it,
throwing men back and aside, all afire, and giving the archers many more
targets as the soldiers scrambled to reset their line. With a roar of
command from the knights behind them, the sides collapsed inwards and
surged up towards the wall.
Red and Glaede smoothly dropped several of the men, breaking the
line and opening holes the others were quick to exploit, but there was
no way they could prevent the wedges of men from reaching the wall
together, scrambling to the corners and kneeling down so that the men
behind them could scramble upwards overtop them.
The wall of flame that opened beneath them almost instantly
crisped the men in front, and sent the back lines screaming backwards
with their skin burned, hair and clothing aflame, and the smell of
charred flesh filling the air. The archers gave them no mercy as they
retreated as fast as they could scramble away, and Trencher took the
time to make several of the men explosive centers of more fiery
explosions if they didnt get the flames out quickly enough. The
three-meter wall of flame lasted only a minute, but the effect it had
lasted much longer as wailing men crouched again below the lip of the
road, nursing horrible burns, while their leaders had to consider the
fact that the dwarf in command might be able to do so again.
Think theyll be able to scavenge enough spears to do the job
Vade asked, looking over the motions of commanders shuffling behind the

trees, and watching Glaede and Red loosing the occasional idle shot to
good effect.
Well, we just took another thirty or so out permanently, and
wounded at least another twoscore. I be thinking they are taking our
irritation somewhat more seriously now. Tis a good thing their
spellbinders are dead, or morelike wed be hacked up and ready to serve
instead of them. The Mick relaxed amiably behind the wall against the
hillside. Ocourse, they can keep us bottled up here a good long
timebut if they do that, why then, the Dwarf gets to recharge his
strength. Not the best strategy, methinks.
Half their force is downthey are running out of faithful minions.
I can give them something else to worry about, too. Errant
said, once again doffing his hat, and grabbing one of the extra quivers
of arrows. I think you can hold the wall, but I think they need to
worry about someone killing them from the other side, yes And with
that, he was over the wall and running with a smooth, very impressive
balance and power down the charred slope, over the fallen and blackened
corpses, across the road as men shouted, and then through and over the
lines of the enemy with a casual jump before hitting the treeline and
getting lost to view amidst the trees and the surge of men rising to
watch him pass.
Four of those men fell as waiting arrows took them down cleanly,
others shouting loudly as they took off after Errant angrily. The Mick
cocked an ear after them.
Hurns Bloody Beard, I think a good two score of the bastards
are actually going to try and catch him. Are they daft the Mick grinned.
No, they are wanting some revenge. And stupid, too, but thats
Daens for you. The Mick nodded, then turned an accusing eye on the
Gater, who just smiled and didnt look at him. And you know, thats a
very long and strung out battle line we have there. Just how long a wall
of flame can you make there, Rockborn
Trenchers polished eyes almost twinkled. About thirty meters,
manling. I do have to be able to see the ground, but, with a little bit
of a boost in height, he dug out his extension for /Cudgel/ and began
to screw it together, Im thinking we might thin their numbers down a
mite bit more. He looked significantly at Hodre, who grunted and bent
down obligingly. Careful, Man my people are even heavier then we look.
One foot each shoulder then, Vade suggested, kneeling next to

the bigger man. Trencher nodded, stepping up to the wall with a strange
nimbleness for his squat size and build, placing one big boot first on
the bear-like Corixs shoulder, who grasped his foot and took his hand,
and then slowly doing the same to the solid Gater. Both men grunted
under the weight.
You werent kidding, Dwarf! On three, VadeOne, they got both
legs under them, two.three! Both men rose smoothly, Hodre taking
care not to straighten to his full height too quickly and unbalance the
Dwarf as they held him aloft.
Why, such a nice view of them looking up at me, the Dwarf
smiled, as he accepted the extended length of /Cudgel/ from the Mick. He
tapped the butt end of it down, and the focus began to heat up quickly.
Lets hope they continue to gape stupidly as I dothis!
With two words the Marines couldnt remember, he swept /Cudgel/
out in an arc, and the earth opened and let forth fire right along the
line of cultists laying upon the ground, a line of flaming death that
extended far to the right and to the left, catching a large number of
the foolhardy men in its deadly embrace.
Down, the Dwarf ordered, and was obligingly swung down by the
Marines with some effort. Immediately he began disassembling the
extended length of his weapon.
Mighty impressive, Rockborn. Ye think ye thinned em enough for
us to come down from here and really give em a taste of what for the
Mick asked, caressing his Ladies in anticipation.
Weve still their leaders to deal with, and Ive some minor
spells leftbut they are spread out. If we are going to hit them, now is
the timeand before the ones chasing him make it back here.
No, Vade vetoed instantly, drawing a sharp look from the Mick.
The Haxan is out there, with two full quivers. If they try and build
something, hes going to kill some of them. If they stay in the trees,
hes going to kill some of them. If they wait until nightfall, hes
going to kill some of them. If we go down there, every single survivor
is going to mob us, including their leaders, and maybe some of those
chasing him are going to come back. We are good, but we arent that
goodwe go down there, we die.
Ach, but such an opportunity he trailed off as the wall of
flames slowly began to die, leaving a great deal of smoldering greenery
and scorched trees behind.

Think theyll pull back They need to set up a defensible

camp, Glaede asked, looking for a target and seeing only men keeping a
careful distance or ducking from tree to tree.
With the Haxan out there The nearest thing I can think of is
that meadow two kliks back, where they can camp out of arrow range,
Vade pointed thoughtfully. How about in the other direction, Red
Something wide open like that At least 5 or 6 kliks, the
archer said thoughtfully, having tracked the running priest a good long
distance this way.
How long will it take them to realize it the Mick asked.
I imagine however many return from chasing the Haxan will have
a good bearing on it. Can you imagine what hes going to do to them if
they string out a search line for him in the woods Vade shivered with
exaggeration. If Red was that fast of leg, we should have sent him to
double the fun.
Och. The Mick winced at Vades words, and Trenchers knowing
smile. And theyve wounded, too. Burns arent fun healing, either,
takes plenty o water to help the process along, and theyve no healer.
Which means using up beakers stuff that should have lasted a whole lot
longer then it has.
Whats the odds they get reinforcements Red spoke up
worridly. Two spellcasters and three wagons seems a mite small for a
force this size.
Unless yer worm-tongued priests and most of yer forces are tied
up north where the locals are a mite more active then hereabouts.
Trencher did roll a wary eye northwards along the trail. Theyve
probably the measure of all the local lordlings, and dont consider them
much of a threat. And a handful of mercs they should have been able to
deal with fairly quickly, knowing our numbers.
Yes, and local agents and maybe stores to supplement their
lootings. They werent prepared to deal with professional bastards like
us. Fists met all around, and even Trencher participated with a grin.
So, we sit and wait The Mick reclaimed his seat against the
hillside.
Looks that way. And, of course, we hope they dont find the

horses so we dont have to lug all of our own supplies, but how likely
is that Hodre groaned with exaggerated pain for all of them. We can
pretty much expect some of them to get away, and take all the good loot
with thembarring whats on these unfortunate bastards below us.
Well, then, let me see about getting some meditations in while
the enemy screams out yonder, and we shall see what we shall see.
Trencher retreated back next to the Mick, seated himself with /Cudgel/
before him, braced upon the ground between his legs, and closed his
eyes. Slowly, a gentle redness began to run up the center of his focus,
and a distant hammer to beat slowly and regularly in the air.
Stretch out and relax, gentlemen. Next move is theirs.
------------------------Errant watched the last of the Daens hurridly moving off down
the way theyd come, leaving the wounded behind who were unable to walk
with callous disregard for their own. He quickly silenced these
marauders in their pain permanently, feeling little sympathy and not
having a Pureheart here to adminster Mercy.
Despite the dark, Trencher saw him coming easily, and waved the
archers down as he came up to the base of the wall. No light was flashed.
Theyve gone back north, but Id not trust them. Suddenly
racing back here should you come out of your hole could get you all
killed, or at least separated and running in the night. And some of
those knights were moving too easilythey could see cleanly in the
dark, he hissed up at them.
That would be a good tricka sudden charge back here, hoping to
catch us by surprise, Vade agreed. But we cant stay up here
foreverdo we pull back as well How many did you kill out there
All told, including wounded Thirty-four. The Marines whistled
low. Yes, I thought they were being stubborn and brave, but it turned
out to be just plain stupidity. Dont give me any credit. They kept
bringing swords to an archery session.
So what do you think they are doing the Mick asked, also
keeping his voice down so it wouldnt carry.
I think that at least two of their number are hiding close and
watching. That quieted them even more. The dark champions, Im
guessing. The warmains are probably awaiting a signala horn, or arrow,

or something. Im guessing that Ive a couple poisoned arrows centered

on me right now.
Aye, the illriggers of Rath are often assassins, too Trencher
murmured knowingly. That means the warmains are doubtless leading the
others stealthily back, hoping to catch us by surprise down from here,
cut us off while their warriors run up.
Thats what Im thinking, agreed Errant, as his shield was
handed down to him casually. So why dont you just stay up there and
keep them extra fire lights handy while I hunt these bastards down.
Aye, go do the work, ye Haxan bastard, the Mick yawned,
earning a flash of a smile from Errant.
If that force is small enoughyou may even want to come down
and kill them. That woke the Mick up. After I hunt down these two
murderers. Ill let you knowand Red can join me. He paused, then
grinned at the two archers. Be ready for a light. I may mark them for
you to pick off, and if so, you wont have more then a second or two to
follow up on it.
And then he was off with a blur, dancing down the slope with
evasive dizziness, and something hissed and thunked sharply in the soil
about him before he was down the road and once again into the trees.
The Marines astutely backed away from the edge, although theyd
had shields up the whole time. Red and Glaede crouched down with the
patience of hunters, relaxed for the moment.
-------------------------Errant knew how to stalk man and beasts, how to listen and feel
and smell for the sign of a foe he couldnt see. Of course, he had his
nightvision lenses on and could see reasonably well, albeit in blacks
and grays for the most part, under the trees.
From what he remembered of his lessons on illriggers, they had
virtually perfect night vision, easy to see in complete darkness as
daylike a pitspawn. They were also paranoid, alert, and probably a lot
better trained then their idiot troops whod made such thoughtless
targets for the last six hours for him. Youdve thought after the first
half-dozen theyd wise up and head back, but nooo, theyd just grouped
up and kept voicing challenges to come out like a man, thinking all
those shields together would save them. How many had he just picked off
before theyd finally gone racing back to the lines Another dozen

Idiots. But then, Rathians werent known for the ingenuity of

their hired help.
He wasnt sure he could avoid being seen by the doomknights as
he approached, but he was equally sure that if they were going to try
stalking him, they were going to have problems. Hed seen their armor
ride offthe less then professional manner in the saddle is what had
alerted him that something was up. So he had two unholy knight-assassins
out here spoiling for a fightit just remained to find out which of them
could see the other first.
If they were smart, theyd do a sweep and cover routine,
counting on their superior night vision to see them through. If they
were rivals, little to no teamwork.
And were they aware of the invisible creatures flitting around
in the trees They were being careful and trying not to giggleof
course, given the amount of dead men around, somberness might be
appropriate. Still, if fey were involved, they could have fun with both
sides, just to see more blood.
Fey annoyed him.
Lets see. They knew hed entered the forest to the south of
them. They would assume hed circle and come up the middle or from the
north, which is why hed simply stopped and was slowly advancing south,
making sure to keep his tread light and not give himself away. The trick
wasnt to be silent, it was to make your noise blended in with all the
other noise of the forestand the forest was never utterly quiet.
The happy thing was, the forest like Sources. Sources gave off
life energy, life energy was always appreciated. Hed heard tales of
high level Sources waking up from sleep with flowers growing all around
them. In the middle of a desert.
Champions of dark gods werent nearly so well liked, if not
downright reviled. Especially after making a Darkpool like that back
there. So the forest was on his sideall he had to do was be patient.
Lets see what they had to think with. If they could climb, they
would. More shadows up high. No armor to stop them. If they saw him,
theyd drop magical darkness to blind him and move in for a kill,
probably with poisoned weapons.
So, best for them to wait and expose themselves. It would have

been nice to have a Cat or Hound along right about now, to hunt the
bastards down with their noses
His eyes narrowed as a thought struck him.
These bastards werent pulling out because they feared a fight,
they were doing so because they didnt have any spellcasters. If they
sent out a good runner, he could move far more quickly then a
columnmaybe reach a staging area in another day.
Spellcasters could get back here VERY quickly.
So these fellows werent just here to kill himthey were there
to watch the Marines and call the alarm if they pulled out. Which meant
they wouldnt be moving much at all.
And that meant they needed to have a view of the wall, which
meant their choices of viewing spaces was indeed limited.
Errant smiled to himself as he again began to work himself
patiently forwards between the shadows, measuring the angles to the
wall, and moving his eyes up, slowly and carefully.
A leaf moved out of time with the wind. Errant narrowed his eyes
and slowly began to discard the shadows, making out the contour of tree
and limbs and branches and what did not belongthere.
Five meters off the ground, with a clear view of the wall, even
a fair shot should he choose to take itbut with no targets.
So, his ally had to be in visual range to cover him, and cover
his back. Errant moved his eyes around at ground level now, looking for
what didnt belong. Camouflage had the disadvantage of narrowing down
ones view and maneuverability. Not likely. These were men of the dark,
theyd feel at home in darkness. Someplace deep in darkness, where
nothing could be seen, a gathering of utter shadowsthere, where the
trees clustered and bushes were tall and nothing could grow below, or be
seen. Clear line of sight to the archer, and slow turns of the head gave
him a view of any approach but directly down from the road which the
sniper could see.
But the archer would have to turn all the way about to shoot
down here. And the sitter couldnt see on the other side of the tree the
archer was on.
Errant drew out one of Trenchers special arrows, an alchemical

toy just for non-magical fools like himself, a wedge-shaped little

hollow thing filled with alchemists fire, guaranteed to collapse it
impacted from the front in a right mess. Good for starting a small fire
in a particular locationlike the chest of an archer.
It took him about five minutes to draw the arrow back and make
sure he wasnt seen. He had to make sure of his path of retreat and when
to go. His aim steadied, waiting for the wind to settle just a tad and
improve his chances through the screen of branchesand then he stepped
out and fired straight up into the archers ass.
The man almost fell out of the tree at the impact of the arrow,
then looked down to see that he was on fire and a grinning Haxan was
waving at him from below. As he started to scream, the first two shots
from Glaede and Red slammed unerringly home against his silhouetted ass,
punching through flesh to nail him to his perch. He started to sag off,
and two more shots rammed home and kept him up there as he died.
Now, the man on the ground got to watch his buddy burn, and
should cover the area in darkness about
Errant stepped out from cover and sent a blind shot winging
directly into the middle of the cluster of shadows.
Alchemical fire ignited, revealing a lean, broad-shouldered form
rising to his feet with a hand raised, looking in shock at his shoulder
where the sticky goo was burning merrily away on his leathers,
spattering down about him with betraying illumination.
Hey, there, he smiled, and sent another arrow spinning at the
man, who dove desperately out of the way behind a tree. Errant moved up
quickly, unslinging the whip that was coiled tightly at the back of his
belt, easily able to pinpoint the bastards location as he beat at his
shoulder, cursing and trying to tug out his sword and remain out of
Errants line of fire.
The whip lashed out, easily wrapping around the tree to deliver
a stinging lash in the area of the mans eyes. He screamed and lept
away, yanking his sword free as he let his bow drop, spinning to face
the Haxan.
The whip lashed out again, wrapped around his sword, and Errant
simply drove around the other side of the tree, fist wrapped around the
corded handle of the weapon.
The illrigger was a second too slow in letting go of the sword,

his attempted parry dragged out of line, and a long thrust sliced up his
arm and nearly took his throat. He finally let the sword go and
desperately pulled out his dagger, Errant noticing the dark paste on the
tip of the weapon. He let go of the whip as the sword pulled away,
cleanly flinging it out of reach of the doomknight, leaving his other
hand free on his weapon as he advanced remorselessly.
For the Dark Lord! the man screamed, lunging at him, trying to
hit his unarmored hands or face with wild thrusts and cuts.
Errant ignored the sudden confidence of the fool as he caught
the weapon on his blade easily, spun once, and flung that too, away. The
leering delight in the mans eyes faded into black fear as the silent
sword of the Haxan came back, and Errant pressed in mercilessly.
-------------------------------Errant came strolling up from the North after some shouts and
screams in that direction faded away into the distance, about an hour
later. The Marines were sleepy-eyed but watching as he trotted up the hill.
Time to get out of there. Lets get our looting done now and be
off. If theyve sent for spellcasters, its a decent time to pull out,
and I imagine theyve not the nerve to press south.
The Marines didnt complain, hoisting their supplies and
clambering over the wall. Errant ran off to fetch the horses theyd tied
off a good half-klik south and off the trail, while Red stole up the
trail to make certain the cultists didnt come riding back. Busily, the
rest got to doing one of the bittersweet joys of merc work
supplementing their pay.
-------------------------Not a bad haul, all things considered. The Mick looked over
the assortment of coins, personal jewelry, higher quality weaponry and
armor theyd looted, stacked and divvied up amongst themselves, with the
Dwarf looking over each and every piece thoroughly for signs of
corruption. Minor geegaws for the most part, but every trinket helped in
the survival business. Theyd stacked anything they couldnt need or use
from the wagons together and refired them, cut the horses up for steaks
apologetically, and were now eating well with a smokeless fire whose
light couldnt be seen more then ten paces away thanks to Trencher.
Idve given half my share to see that Warmains face when he
sent someone up to check the cubbyhole and it went boom on him. Vade

snickered as he scooped up his share of coins in one of the purses,

marking it with colored strings the Dwarf passed around so they could
stow the confiscated purses on the horses.
Haxans coming back proper path. The Marines looked up, and
Hodre grabbed up a plate for the man and started carving off the rough
spit the meat was cooking on for him. Some fried tubers and greens were
added to the plate and waiting for him as he strode into camp. He
accepted it with a nod of thanks as he sat down, digging in immediately,
slicing the meat into strips and eating each slowly in turn as he spoke.
Flight of six spellcasters came into camp by air. I saw two
undead griffons, two riding bats with ten-meter wingspans, and a pair
riding True Nightmares. A rider came into camp too, on the roadand he
had a pack of hunting wargs with him.
The Marines looked at one another. They are going to try to run
us to ground Glaede asked uncertainly.
With spellcasters bombarding us by air, no doubt. Errant
chewed thoughtfully at the meat. I imagine they want to kill us all
several times over for the havoc weve been causing them. Of course,
they are imagining its just going to be a hunt and chase scenario. They
obviously dont have a lot of familiarity with a Geomancers arts.
Trencher smiled thinly. They had left no tracks, no spoor behind, erased
completely behind themthe finest bloodhound born would find no scent to
follow them.
So they are going to spread out, look for us, signal the fliers
above when they find the trail, who brings over the wargs, and the chase
is on, eh Vade stroked his short beard thoughtfullyshaving had not
been an issue the past couple of days. Are you thinking what Im
thinking, Mick
That theyve sent out the last of their spellcasters just to
deal with us Aye. Which leaves their main holdings rather light on
security, all things told. He made a sweeping motion with his hand. We
do an end run around them and hit their base. That should really annoy
the piss out of them!
Especially if they are annoyed enough to spend a couple days
out here looking for us, Red agreed with a slow nod of his head. They
have to be reinforcing and resupplying the company after what we did to
them, too.
Tramping thru the woods will probably irritate the locals to no

end, Errant commented, as he munched on a tuber thoughtfully. Trencher

already sent the Greenpriestess a message telling her whats going on. I
imagine she has friends who have friends and the woods are going to get
plenty dangerous here shortly.
Aye, lets leave them to their fun and games in the woods, and
make them pay. The Mick lifted a mug of spring water cheerily in a
toast. To a lot more dead bastards in the days to come!
Hear, hear! Everyone agreed happily.
--------------------------------------It took two days of hard travel through the woods reach the
enemy camp, and that only because of the woodcraft of Errant and Red
guiding the rest unerringly in the proper direction, finding game trails
and clear paths with devoted regularity while overhead and behind them
circled the spellcasters, making their presence known to anyone with a
set of eyeballs as they widened their search circle and certainly
stirred up the locals. More then wargs were howling in the night, and
from a distance, they even saw some sign of a spell battle, and at least
one rider fall flaming from the air.
Stirred up the locals, indeed.
The camp itself looked built out of an abandoned mine, set back
well in the hills with only a single trail accessible by wagon or mount.
Constructing a crude lean-to for the horses that also confounded any
view of the area by someone trying to scry them, they came up the sides
of the hills away from the sentries keeping idle watch looking for large
forces at some distance.
It had a nice wooden wall, complete with two guard towers and
alarm gong, and external barracks of some size for billeting men. There
were two entries to the mine, the lower one by far the larger, the upper
one seeing much less traffic. Large piles of tailings and orecart tracks
indicated expansion was ongoing and at least some digging was
continuingthe noise at the smithy outside never truly stopped and there
was a large coalhouse seeing regular visits. There was a smelter in
operation tooTrencher identified it at a glance, and the ore piled up
as poorer quality iron, but serviceable if purified enough. Undead
seemed to be used as rote labor, given the rotting and shambling corpses
that were pushing the ore carts, doubtless the fate of many of the
captives or slaves the raiders had taken in the past.
Making their own weapons, but not very quickly. His eyes

narrowed as the sound of a brazen gong echoed up from within the compound.
Call to worship. Morning services, as it were, Errant said,
eying the falling sun, which had touched the horizon. Keenly interested,
they watched the sparse numbers of men below converge on the mine and
file within.
None used the top, Vade pointed out. Nests for the fliers
Who are currently away on business, the Mick smiled. What do
ythink, sentries change after services
That would give us a decent amount of time to get into position
and kill them without an alarm being sounded, Red agreed, looking
around to spot the highest ones. Only four of them. One in each
watchtower. How many in the barracks Twenty
And some of those will be coming off shift. A skeleton crew
indeedthey did indeed strip the place to go looking for us. The Mick
sniffed the air. I can smell that temple treasury now.
We shall see what kind of guardians theyve left on it when we
get in there, Errant said. Shall we get into position Call it, Mick.
With careful glee, the Daenlander gave his orders, and the
Marines slithered away to get into position.
This was going to be another eventful night.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------/*DAENLANDER VI*/
The sentries died with astonishing quickness. Tocs hurled spear
and a whirling axe from Hodres strong arm disposed of the pair
overlooking the main entry. Glaede and Red cleanly picked off the bored
guards in the watchtowers. And the Mick and Errant had no mercy for the
remaining two at hilltop posts.
With the urgent speed of men who had little time to lose, the
Marines made it to the main gate, which Errant vaulted over with Hodres
help easily, and had his blade drawn and striking out to the bored
guards within before his feet hit the ground. He unlatched it, allowing
the Marines within, and then quickly reclosed it as he made sure the
bodies looked to casual view like theyd fallen asleep at their posts at
worst, and were just stone bored at best.

At a trot they made for the barrackscareful counting had

revealed only a dozen men within, probably guards rotating off shift and
mostly asleep. Errant stole up to the door, blade out, with Red and
Glaede covering, and swung it open casually.
The dimly lit interior showed lines of bunks, few of which were
occupied, and nobody gathered at dice games or anything. It smelled of
bad ale and sweat and urine, and in doing so like most soldiers
barracks hed been in. With a grim face, he moved within carefullynot
trying to be too silent, but moving with the care of one trying not to
awaken and annoy people, a subtle difference. From the door, Red and
Glaede covered him while the others kept watch.
He was deadly and he was precise, long knife thrusting in deep
to sever the spinal cord, not just slit throats. Thrashing was minimal,
and with little slowing of his progress, he moved up the rows carefully
and coldly, killing each man quickly and precisely.
One man came stumbling out of the urinal as he drew back his
blade from one of the last killsErrant slid aside and two shafts
whistled the length of the barracks to send the luckless bastard back
against the wall. The last two men blinked and rose, clawing for their
weapons, when Errant rolled over the top of the bed of one and came down
between them, long blade hissing out in a semi-circle of ruthless
precision. Neither managed to rise from their beds.
Having no desire to loot mere soldiers pay, Errant headed back
the way hed come after a cursory glance into the jakes and what looked
like sergeants quarters. Satisfied as to the numbers hed seen enter,
he trotted back to the others, and they made for the smiths, where
hammers still rang from within.
Errant opened the door and strode inside as if he owned the
place, followed by the Mick. Four steps and three as the smith and his
two helpers turned to regard them curiously, and both stepped aside to
show Red and Glaede in the doorway, taking aim.
The Smith went flying backwards from the blade he was working
on, and leaping swords at the astonished helpers who were clawing for
hammers to defend themselves quickly finished them. The smelting area
was likewise quickly cleared of Rathiansalthough here were four brawny
but ill-fed slaves to feed the machine. Hammers smashed on chains, and
the men were free, quickly heading for the gate and what freedom they
could garnerbut not before taking weapons and armor off the dead they
met on the way.

That left only the stables, which were empty and so unmanned,
and the mine itself, which they moved in on quickly, bypassing it to
take the quick trail up to the higher entryway.
--------------The interior area was well-lit by blood-and-black mageflame, and
there was again another guard posted. Red and Glaede drove their
missiles into the luckless fellow with precision and skill, and the
Marines moved within, eyes roving and weapons out. They could smell the
beasts that nested here, and side passages opening off confirmed it
quickly, as well as their emptiness. A single converted mineshaft become
steps led down, and Mick and Errant led the way carefully into the
living area of the mines.
They came into a crossways corridor, Trencher waving them right.
Errant carefully tested each door as they passed, pushing them open just
enough to see what was within, or to confirm they were locked. A couple
Trencher waved him back from, and they stole past carefully as they made
their way down another level, not wishing to trigger any magical defenses.
There were sounds from below here, and the clatter of dishes and
sounds of voices. Very carefully, they crept down, to find themselves in
a larger hall adjutant to a much larger room carved from the stone,
where tables had been set up and men were eating. Women wearing iron
collars and bracelets with chains running from one to the other were
serving food and wine to themattractive women, hard and muscular.
Errant lifted his hand to forestall the comment about to escape
the Mick, studying the dozen cultists who were covered in soot or
dustminers. Something about their help
Those arent slave women, he said after a moment in a low
whisper. They dont have the right body language. Those chains dont
restrict their movements at all. And they wear no foot-collars.
Yer paranoid, Haxan, the Mick breathed, but not as if it were
a bad thing.
They are wearing the symbols. He pointed down the hall with a
questioning look at Trencher, who nodded. Quietly, they avoided the
door, passing by another one that was mostly closed, and by the sounds
within contained a sizable kitchen. And I didnt see an overseer. You
always supervise slaves handling your food.
Ah, the Mick agreed, fingering his blades. A shame. He

resisted the urge to peek in the door to the kitchen somehow, and kept
after Errant, who took his direction cues from Trencher.
-----------The double doors of black stone were closed and carved in a very
disturbing scenery of domination and tyranny, of great fiends lording it
over hapless Men in the fires of perdition with rather graphic displays
of what was done to punish the guilty. Trencher trembled with revulsion
upon seeing it, but resisted the urge to shatter it into a thousand
pieces somehow. Instead, he hummed a deep tune to himself as the party
kept watch down the wide corridor leading up to here, /Cudgel/ glowing
softly, and tapped the doors.
With a loud and ominous grind, the right side swung open. Errant
squeezed in first before it stopped moving, followed quickly by the
Mick, then Red, then Trencher and the rest. Hodre leaned against it and
was happy to find a handle allowing it to be more easily handled from
this side.
Simple benches lined a large, falling natural cavern carved out
with painstaking care and precision. The walls were alive with scenery
of unholy rites and tales of the cult of Rath, an overwhelming display
of the attributes of fire, might, and fear, a massive display of hate
and fanaticism that must have taken years to painfully carve out of the
living stone. The chamber was large enough to hold hundreds of men,
leading down to a massive altar carved from the iron ore of the mine,
flecked with rust stained even darker by blood sacrifices enacted upon
it. The mageflames flickering over it all gave it a hellish light, and
the air hung heavy with a dark atmosphere of dread and hate and anger.
Door, Errant hissed, pointing, and suited deed to word as he
quickly raced towards it, keeping wide in case the archers needed
line-of-sight.
Again, his paranoia was well-founded, as a man walked out into
the doorway, clad in robes of black and red, with pale skin and reddish
hair. Whos there he demanded, and then his eyes fell upon the
streaking Haxan coming for him with a sword out, and he almost jerked
back in time to avoid the two bolts that struck his shoulder and side,
crying out in alarm.
Errant smashed into the closing door with his shield, driving it
open and his blade coming up to block the smashing morningstar of clawed
iron driving down at him. With a grunt of effort he kicked the priest
away into the corner, following immediately to deny him any chance to

use a spell as the man tried to mouth a prayer, keeping his feet and
trying to reach the other door desperately.
Errant economically slammed his shield into the man and drove
him into the wall, keeping the priest away from the other door and
easily blocking the descending morningstar again. With a heave he spun
the man about and drove him back towards the door hed entered, giving
the Mick a fine backside of a target as he came racing up. The /Ladies/
thrust in deeply, and the shocked doompriest writhed and died in
disbelief on his unholy ground.
Search the bastard and toss the room. Errant suited word to
deed, quickly opening every drawer and cabinet to reveal religious
paraphernaliarobes and vestments, ironwork goblets and obsidian service
dishes, what looked to be bottled blood and decanters of unholy liquids,
texts and letters and the like. Some of the latter he gathered up,
running his hands over areas he couldnt see, feeling for keys and the like.
Keys on the bastard, the Mick said, lifting a set. Trencher
took them and looked them over calmly.
Door keys is allno chests. But hes not old enough to be a
major priest. Best we find the treasuryit wont be far. The Dwarf
nodded at the far entry to the room. Private chambers of the priests
should be that way, and any unholy vestibules and the like would be off
the main altar.
The high priest would be near the treasury, reasoned Errant.
A symbol of his power. He gestured everyone in and they closed the
door, while he moved to the next one, quickly opening it and stepping
out into a silent corridor.
Living quarters, Trencher pointed to a door carved with the
flaming fist symbol of Rath, turning to regard a long tapestry on the
wall, portraying a scene from the netherworld with a distinct
inclination to move out of the corner of the eye. Cut that down. And if
it moves, keep cutting at it. Blades were lifted as Hodre and Vade
moved to opposite ends, reaching up and severing the loops in unison.
When, instead of falling, the ends of it began to fold in at unnatural
speed, blades began to chop and hack with desperate speed at the threads
and fibers of the living tapestry, ripping it apart before it could
enfold anyone as a whole. Trencher blew the whole thing into blackened
ash after a whispered spell sent roaring fire racing from one end to the
other, leaving only swirling ash behind.
The wall behind was blank, or at least looked that way. Trencher

studied it for a long minute, Dwarven eyes seeing patterns in stone that
eluded those of Men. At last he reached out with /Cudgel/, and gently
tapped the wall.
A sparkling rune of pure Earthfire flashed over the stone
expanse, complete in an instant, and somewhere a gear turned and
groaned. With a smooth grinding, the entire section of wall, some six
meters of it, fell into the ground, revealing an open room beyond.
With an equally certain grinding, the eight-foot statue of
many-spiked armor in the middle of the floor woke to life. At the sides
of the room, human-sized suits rattled and began to rise, spectral eyes
appearing within iron helms, and it was time to fight.
Ive the golem! Errant said, leaping in with extended blade as
the thing took a heavy step that made the room shake. Get the undead!
With a ready roar, the Marines charged in, keeping well clear of the
statue as it lashed out with unhinging arms longer then a man, the blow
smashing into Errants shield with tremendous power. His blade struck
down at the gears of the elbow, adamantine carving the softer animated
metal, vivic fires hissing up at the impact. His second blow plunged
into the joint between faux armor and neck, punching into the hollow
area within the golem, and the vortex of power there that contained its
animating spirit.
Like a bellows, it turned its visor and exhaled on him, a
raging, caustic inferno of flaming poison gas he barely lept away from,
circling to its flank and again punching his blade into its kidney, deep
and true and getting more vivic flames erupting from the corrupted metal.
The Marines were hacking madly with animated suits of armor,
blades cracking against hollow-sounding metal as they tried to keep
hacking longswords and cruelly flanged morningstars that burst into
flames at bay. The armor had a disturbing tendency to wink out under
their weapons and appear behind them, poised for killing blows, forcing
rapid motions and scything maneuvers to send them careening this way and
that.
With both hands on his blade, Errant struck out at the knees of
the golem, hacking into them and half-severing the black iron,
collapsing the massive hunk of animated metal to its hands, and then
bringing his blade down on the momentarily bowed spiked helm with brutal
force. The iron rang and split wide open, vivic flames sparking wildly
around the opening and he was turning even as the golem completed its
collapse to watch the Marines shout in pain and anger as hellfire roared
out of the hands of the undead they were hacking on in eerie precision,

momentarily filling the room with crosscurrents of a deadly inferno.

The Marines were having none of it, and in another second three
of them were ripped open by the vengeful return blows of Vade, Hodre and
the Mick, with Tocs sweeping two off their feet and misdirecting their
blasts into the ceiling at the same time. Red and Glaede fell on one
with hacking axes, and then Trencher moved up to crush its hollow helm
flat with one massive blow, driving the butt end of /Cudgel/ into the
one that appeared behind him and uttering a single word which sent fires
spurting out every opening of the armor. A second later, Tocs smashed
its helm from its shoulders, and the thing dropped down, nothing but an
empty suit of armor.
Errants blade lashed out, and the nearest suit screamed
hollowly as vivic flames poured up the inside and consumed it, the neck
thrust as fatal as it would be on a living being. The Micks Ladies were
ringing with real fury on the second one facing him, his tartan scorched
from a near miss, coming in at odd angles and then spinning as his foe
disappeared, dropping and hacking at the armored legs that appeared off
to the side and avoiding the sweeping blow that smashed into the wall.
He sheared them through and the creature stumbled back to where a single
backswing of Errants blade dealt with it permanently. Vade and Hodre
were slamming theirs backwards, backs to the walls and on guard, seared
and angry and chopping madly at the animated suits, final blows sending
them tearing across the room in pieces.
Breathing hard and swearing at their own charred hair and
reddened skin, the warriors looked about for more danger. Theyd been
careful not to bump into any of the four chests in the room and set off
any more traps, and hurriedly stepped away from them before accidents
might happen.
If youve healing elixirs, drink them. We may have to fight our
way out of here, Errant stated pleasantly, watching the golem crumbling
slowly to shards of whitish rust. Trench
Runework traps, fairly standard. Ikcha, Ignis, Negus, Bracus,
he pointed out in series, his polished stones of eyes glowing gently.
Strongly cast, too.
Knowing the names helps immensely. The Haxan moved to the
first chest, looking it over carefully before he reached out with his
bare hand on the carved lid, and set his finger down. Magic hissed with
cold fire, and seemed to unravel as he traced a pattern across the lid
of the chest, winking out after a few seconds. He stepped to the next
one, and after a minute of examination, put his finger down in a

different place, tracing a different pattern of erasing hellfire. The

third coiled with inky black chillfires that clawed at the eyes to see
them, the last with putrid green bubbles of acidic light that winked out
before his finger.
Cute trick, eh, Trencher nudged the Mick, who was obviously
chomping at the bit to investigate more. Of course, now we have to look
for the mechanical traps. Stay out there, lads. He tapped /Cudgel/ to
the floor, frowning and looking at Errant. Pit under the floor. He
looked about for something to be pulled, pointed out a sconce near the
entry. Errant glided over, shooing Red away, and looked over the torch
and the sconce holding it carefully.
When he pushed it, he used an arcing counter-clockwise motion,
and they heard a clicking sound from below as something locked.
Now, lift those chests out of there, Trencher waved the
Marines in, and the fighters whooped as they paired up and grabbed the
hefty chests and muscled them slowly out of the room, Trencher and
Errant pairing up last. Ten seconds after the last of their weight was
off the floor, the wall rose smoothly behind them.
Aye, now, careful! Trencher spat, slamming down /Cudgel/
loudly enough to get attention. That were not the end of the traps, eh
Flying spikes, poison gas, creatures in stasisthe chests can hold
plenty of surprises. No opening them until we are well out of here. The
Marines groaned but didnt go for the clasps or locks. And weve four
chests and eight of us, which occupies our hands if we are spotted.
Careful now.
Attentive and eager, the Marines were nevertheless careful as
they slowly fit the chests thru the doors to the rectory, and began to
haul them up between the rows of benches towards the main door.
And thats when the wall beneath the great carved statue of the
bloody-eyed wolf-headed knight began to throb and pulse with a strong,
unearthly red glow.
Off to the sides NOW! roared Errant, suiting word to deed as
he made for one of the columns with desperate speed. Shuffling and
cursing, the Marines scrambled to get behind the transformed stalagmites
and out of sight of the altar with all haste, throwing themselves
against the stone as a wind laden with fresh air, distant screams, and
the smell of blood, sweat and iron particular to a battlefield poured
through with a low howl. There was a wrenching popping sound, and the
distinctive sound of armored boots striking stone.

Cautious eyes peeked from down low at the gaping hole in the
wall, leading out to a starry night somewhere, a single dark figure
victoriously holding the portal open as a pitched battle raged in the
background. As an armored knight on horseback drove for the dark figure,
he spread his hands and the portal collapsed into red and black flames
with a roar, leaving behind nearly a dozen heavily armed and armored
menwith a single prisoner hung between them, head lolling blankly as a
thin golden circlet fell away from pale blond hair and tinked slowly to
the ground.
The Royal Crest of the Cronal of Daenland, stained with blood
and torn by swordblows, still showing the Tower and the Rose upon his
armored chest.
Errant looked down at Trencher, who just pointed with his nose
to the gaping rectory doors and the body of the priest within. Errant
tilted his chin towards the brazen gong that called the faithful to the
temple. He lifted his blade and slowly unslung his shield, saw the
Marines carefully and hurriedly doing the same as the newcomers paused
to recover from their trip. His gaze met the wide eyes of the Mick, who
slowly pantomimed the circlet about his head.
Errant simply nodded, holding up three fingers, counting them
down quickly.
And then he spun around the corner and charged silently.
The Rathians saw him cominghow could they not But one of the
knights was just starting to bring to the attention of the others the
open door and the body on the floor beyond when he came down the benches
like stairs, his floating stride too weirdly smooth and making them
stare in surprise and shock before they registered the blade that was
out and the other men also beginning to charge down towards them. Their
shouts of alarm were just starting to rise as he vaulted the altar and
struck at the men holding the King of Daenland.
His shield slammed into one with the force of his charge, as his
blade tore deep into the armored neck of the other. The warrior was
driven back into his fellows, the other fell with a gurgle, clutching at
his throat, and Errant was in the middle of them, standing over the
dropped and unconscious body of the Daenlander King.
Red and Glaedes first shots hissed down to either side of him,
further widening the opening as Errant set himself grimly.

Blades were being raised all over and warcries echoed off the
macabre carvings as Marines and Rathian elite warriors surged together.
Tocs hurled his spear as he came, sending a mailed and robed spellcaster
twisting away, and Glaede continued the mans troubles with another shot
of his crossbow. Red was pumping for all he was worth at the two men
flanking Errant, forcing them to face him with their shields or be cut
down, and so unable to get on either side of the Haxan whose blade and
shield were now dancing a mad parry against their weapons over the
fallen man.
Hodre unleashed a massive blow against a fully-armored knight
who barely raised his shield in time to deflect it, just as the charging
Tocs altered the angle of the spear he was holding from the man braced
to receive it and drove it into the joint of chest plate and girth
against that knight, punching it in deeply and delivering a horrible
wound. Tocs other spear lept back to his hand, and began to spin in the
style of a born staff-fighter, licking out like the tongue of a serpent
and sweeping for the knees and joints of his foe.
Hodre let go of his greatsword to grasp the embedded spear and
surge forwardsthe Rathian screamed in agony as he was unable to resist
the charge, almost lifted off his feet by the muscle of the Corix
Marine. With him out of the way, Hodre let go of the spear and let the
knight fall back, clutching futilely at the death in his belly, grasping
his sword with both hands and sweeping it around behind the shield of
the man occupying Tocs, the wicked mass of the dire greatsword smashing
a horrible wound into the fellows back even as he tried to shift and
turn to meet it. The next second, the end of Tocs spear smashed into
his knee and dropped him down to one leg, and he had no choice but to
raise his shield against the skull-crushing mass of the greatsword
hammering down at his head. He was still screaming defiance as Tocs
almost leisurely drove the razored barbs of his spear directly into the
cultists eyeslit.
The Mick had smashed into a flail-wielding bastard with almost
no thought for defense, smashing one Lady into the flail as it started
to spin and fouling the wind-up, driving the man back with a whirlwind
of hewing blows that had him retreating from the sheer ferocity of the
assault and the howling Old Daenish curses being spewed at him by his enemy.
Vade was locked tight with a warrior using a dire version of his
own new claymore, blades sawing back and forth against one another when
Vade jerked his shield over, caught the tines of the mans blade, and
jerked it out of position. His claymore slid over the others shield,
and nearly got him in the throat as the man jerked back instinctively,
startled at the unexpected maneuver. Vade pressed his advantage as the

man freed his sword, but found the intervening shield consistently
slamming down or to the side to catch the barbs and spikes of his blade
and foul his attacks as Vade pressed him backand then lashed to the
side to take the Micks opponent in the back of his knee.
Shield dropped and the man faltered, and the /Ladies/ came in
smoothly, once, twice, punching a gap in the mans side, and then
thrusting up with lethal finality into the lungs to finish him. The Mick
promptly lept on the second man attacking Errant, leaving the Haxan free
to turn his attention on the other one still trying to get past the
combination of sword and shield swirling in an elaborate patterna
pattern that now sprang apart and viciously on the attack.
The last man had made the error of running for the gong, pulling
a mace to throw out at it. He did hurl it, but the weapon never made it
to the enchanted metal, veering widely away and clattering harmlessly to
the stone floor as the surprised knight watchedrolling right up to
Trenchers feet as the Dwarf mounted the dias and took two pointed steps
to plant himself firmly between the man and the gong.
The quick-minded fellow snarled and started forwards, and thats
when the arrow drove into his side. Trencher smiled and waited as Red
leveled another arrow, and the fellow grit his teeth and charged, trying
to reach the alarm. Trencher lifted /Cudgel/, set his feet, and made it
very plain that wasnt going to happen.
Vades opponent died in astonishment as Vades claymore came
down, caught in the hooks on his blade, and then the point dipped at
that pivot point and the descending slash became a thrust into his
throat, so clean the man just stared at the blade in disbelief at the
betrayal. Then Vade kicked him off it with casual contempt, turning to
help the Micks next victim, and between the two of them the shouting
and wincing dark knight didnt last too long.
Trencher drove the hooked flange of /Cudgel/ thru the
breastplate of the knight just as a final arrow found a home in his
neck, and hurled the dying man back and away from the gong to prevent
any dying heroics. Errants opponent was down, dispatched with thorough
speed once Errant had gone on the defensivenot that having Hodre come
up behind him and bury his greatsword a foot into his chest with one
blow had helped matters.
Panting, the Marines looked around in surprise for more enemies,
but Errant didnt waste any time.
Someone stuff a healing potion down this mans throat.

Trencher, ID the magic. Rest of you, get to lootingnow! If that bastard

of a priest comes here personally we might have problemswe have to get
moving NOW. He began to heart-thrust every dead cultist with his blade,
to make sure they didnt come back living or unliving.
The Mick uncorked one of his reserve flasks, as always mixed
with a fine brandy, and gingerly first splashed a little bit on the head
of the prostrate, unconscious king, watching it sizzle and bubble around
what looked like a smashing head wound, and then as the man shuddered
and his eyes wobbled, bringing it to his lips and slowly tilting it in.
The Cronal of Daenland shuddered and opened his eyes, hands
going to the flask at his lips and tilting it up. Color flared in his
cheeks, and when he took the flask away he exhaled loudly and shook his
head.
Haw! That burns going down, damn me! He blinked and looked
around at the very busy, active men who were hurriedly stripping the
dead, and then found himself meeting the eyes of a gallowglass-tartaned
MacMikal who offered him his own Discrete Crown and his royal sword and
scabbard.
Weve to be moving, Yer Majesty, afore the alarm gets spread or
the fellow that nicked ya comes here by magic.
On your feet, o King. Errant hauled him upright as the Cronal
sought to take in his new surroundings. And keep it quiet. Chests, lets
move! The Cronal was going to say something, but the looks of the
bloodied men, the urgency in their faces, and forceful pressure from an
obvious foreigner a Haxan, in Daenland kept his questions
momentarily to himself. He didnt know where he was and what he was in
foronly that there were a lot of dead cultists around him and he pretty
much figured he owed these men his life.
His eyebrows went up went he saw the chests girt with symbols of
Rath and he got an idea of why they were here. He was surprised when
Trencher handled him a bundle of wrapped weapons, hastily done up in a
cloak contributed by the Dwarf, who growled, Theres about forty
thousand gold in weapons in there, yer Majesty, so yer probably carrying
almost as much as the rest of us put together. Just so ye feel
important. The Cronal managed to smile in amusement as the seven Men
and the Dwarf hauled on their chests and began to make time towards the
door.
They made good time, knowing the path, Hodre closing the door
behind them, trotting as fast as they could with their heavy loads. They

slowly and carefully moved past the kitchen and dining hall, with
Trencher contributing a minor illusion field to block sight of them
moving past the open door and muting the sound of their passage. Getting
up the stairs was no picnic, but they persevered, moving past the nests
and out to the high entry to the mines, where Errant and Trencher took
long, slow looks around.
Htth. Errant pointed south and west. Flier coming. Looks like
one of the bat riders. We cant make it down before hes close enough to
see us.
Kill him, the Mick stated flatly, moving his chest into a side
room that had the smell and chill of having housed something not alive.
The other Marines and the King silently pulled away into their own side
rooms, weapons readiedalthough Mick indicated to the Cronal he was to
stay exactly where he was. The Cronal was about to protest when the Mick
told Vade to sit on the royal person if he made any moves towards the
fight, and the Gater looked down at the smaller Daenlander King and
shook his head calmly.
It only took a couple of minutes before great wings beat at the
air and the musty smell of a large beast filled the corridor. The
Marines thanked the night for obscuring the dead sentries scattered
aboutand probably a tired and irritable rider. Said robed rider was
leading the great bat down the hallway towards its lair when Errant
swung out of that room, long knife in hand, tackled him and brought him
down, and Trencher followed with upraised /Cudgel/ in full axe-mace
mode. Red and Glaede swung out on opposite sides and let fly over the
Dwarfs head with deadly precision into the rearing huge bat, and then
Tocs darted forwards to thrust his spear over the Dwarfs head as
Trencher drove at the things massive belly, silver tip driving for the
throat as /Cudgel/ ripped into the hairy belly with brutal force. The
writhing creature tried to spread its wings instinctively, but had no
room, nor could it turn easily, and Trencher fearlessly drove into it as
Tocs thrust his spear in deeper, and another volley of arrow and bolt
drove into the beasts head and ended the struggle abruptly.
Errant had the Blackrobe wrapped up in a tight embrace as the
man writhed wildly, rolling over and up and giving the Mick a fine
target as the gauntleted hand hed jammed into the mans hand prevented
spellcasting, and the knife wedged into his kidney made struggling
painful. The Mick expeditiously drove his /Ladies/ up under the mans
ribs, played around a bit, and watched the light fall out of the shocked
mans eyes.
Errant rolled the body in Trenchers direction and stood up,

eying the bulk of the beast now blocking most of the corridor.
So, either we drag it out of the way or we find another way
down. Start pulling.
Chests were shuffled into the corridor, the things limb head and
wings were grabbed, and Hodre and Trencher did most of the muscling as
the bulk of the massive bat was dragged slowly out of the way so the
group could squeeze past, all the while tension levels were mounting in
case someone finally noticed the numbers of dead people at their posts.
But they actually hadnt taken all that long since the shift change.
Going down the fairly narrow trail wasnt at all fun, handling
the chests. But greed is a powerful motivator, and their eyes were sharp
and nervous as they slowly manhandled their heavy loads down.
Okay, Trench, were out of there and on level ground. Make it
easy, Errant said, as the last chest was heaved down on the ground by a
panting Vade and Hodre.
Trencher nodded and indicated the chests should be stacked on
one anotherthe last one with some difficulty. Then /Cudgel/ glowed
warmly in the dark, the chests hissed and slid and snapped into
alignmentand raised smoothly a handspan above the ground.
Hodre, you get to pushit shouldnt be very hard. Lets move.
Hodre, blinking at the sight of hundreds of kilos of chests floating off
the ground as one, gave them a push, and they reluctantly moved
forwards, as if riding on some strangely thin water. Grinning then, the
big Corix put both hands on them, and it took only a little effort to
overcome the inertia and get them started forwards at a walking clip.
The Cronal took the opportunity to ask the Mick, MacMikal, just
who are you people and what are you doing here At the same time
unloading his bundle of weapons onto the grinning Daen.
Aye, Sir, we are your creditors! The Mick foisted the load off
on Trencher, who simply slung the bundle over one shoulder as they
quickly scooted out the main doors, closed them behind, and with Hodre
pushing and Vade quickly improvising a rope bridle to help steer,
hustled away from the place. He whipped out the letter signed by the
Steward of Cromwell as they hustled along in the near-dark, and waved it
merrily. Ye can read it when we stop for a light, Yer Majesty, but
were in a mite hurry to get out of the range o that big bad sorts and
his flunkies who might come looking for ye. The Cronal raised his
eyebrows curiously.

A blind man could trace a group of men in heavy armor, the

Royal said worriedly, and earned a merry snort from the Dwarf ahead of him.
Trust the greedy bastards that we are, Yer Majesty, the
MacMikal winked. The Dwarf there, hes a right canny mothers son and
theyll be hustling off south after the tracks that are leading that way
afore they mysteriously peter out. Our own, why, we be leaving no tracks
at all, for the wolves or the magijust have to get into a mite of cover
so he can erect some anti-scrying defenses for us. Thinks ahead, he does.
Both intrigued and impressed by such professionalism from what
amounted to a band of opportunistic thieves, the Cronal fell silent and
concentrated on keeping up with them. His head still ached from the blow
that had laid him low, and he did owe these men his life. While
disrespectful, they showed him no ill intent and indeed seemed quite
good at their jobs.
And they had a Haxan and a Dwarf with themtruly an unusual band
of hireswords.
------------------------------Ah. The Cronal looked over the letters of credit with some
amusement. Creditors indeed. I see my weapons did indeed arrive safely,
even if I didnt quite manage to lead my army there as readily as Id
hoped. He looked at the opened chests lying near the mouth of the
shallow cave sheltering them all and the pair of horses with them. It
had been interesting seeing them openedgases that were burst into
flame, a summoned otherworldly beast that was dead seconds after it
arrived, spikes launched in all directions, a blast of lightning the
Dwarf deflected harmlessly into the ground, poison on the locks that
were simply hacked off. Terribly exciting really, and the gold, silver,
electrum, shining platinum, and small bag of jewels and trade bars had
gotten the mercenaries terribly excited. The Dwarf had tallied up the
entire haul with little more then a glance, and the Cronal had been
mildly impressed at the sumthese mercenaries had made a fair sum of
coin looting that temple, enough for them to retire comfortably on if
they so chose. Combined with the back pay, theyd be doing well for
themselves.
Aye. Let me tell ye of what weve been going thru for the love
of the motherland, despite the fact we should be sleeping. The Mick
grinned widely and proceeded on with a lavishly embellished retelling of
the travails of their journey here, although he did stop doubling and
tripling the numbers of combatants after the Haxan kept interrupting him

with the actual figures in an annoyed voice. Still, the tale was
impressive enough on its own, and the sun was rising slowly in the east
before the tale was doneand the Haxan heading out to greet it.
My tale is somewhat blander, the Cronal admitted, watching the
Haxan out of the corner of his eye, going thru his morning routines.
The forces I was leading south were ambushed by a very strong and
numerous force led by the Dark Druid himself. Doubtless he had the aid
of at least the MacGregors to whelm such a force so quickly. His blue
eyes were cold and hard at the thought. I was overcome by a mighty blow
that rendered me senseless until I was revived in the temple behind us.
My men are doubtless highly concerned about my whereabouts and my fate.
As, no doubt, are the Rathians who took you. Trencher picked
up a stone close to him, eyed it carefully. I can help you send a
message if you like, no more then ten words, to someone you know and trust.
The Cronal leaned forwards eagerly. Excellent, friend Dwarf.
Allow me a minute. His thoughts raced as he closed his eyes, and then
accepted the stone held out to him.
Speak into the stone, picture the recipient, and toss it into
the air, Trencher said calmly. The Cronal did so, speaking slowly and
precisely.
Im free. Rescued by mercenaries. Meet me at Caer Romgain.
With a glance at the Dwarf, who nodded patiently, he tossed it into the
air and watched it vanish with some pleasure.
We should get some sort of reply back in a minute or two.
Trencher waited calmly. Indeed, after a few minutes, the stone popped
back in the air where it vanished and dropped into the Cronals hasty grip.
MY KING! A mans great deep voice sounded out with a shout,
then paused. Understood! Another pause, obviously listening to the
words. We ride for ROMGAIN!
The Cronal smiled despite himself at the enthusiasm of Braun Of
the Spear. I trust theres no questions about our heading for Romgain
The mercenaries looked at one another with a shrug. Ye can be
assured that the enemy will know where the army is heading almost as
soon as it moves, sir, Vade ventured respectfully. Theyll definitely
be scouring the hills trying to intercept us.
Aye, but well simply be picking up and moving while the army

goes to Cromwell to pick up its new equipment. Who here has the best
chance of making it to Romgain alone
All eyes turned on the Haxan out performing his morning
salutations. The Cronal smiled despite himself.
Yell have to pay him, Your Majesty, Trencher said firmly,
earning an appraising look from the King. Haxans are loyal to their
ownif others want their loyalty, they have to rent it. Hes better then
mithril once paid, however.
Indeed The king sat back thoughtfully. I do notice that you
seem to have a fair amount of free coin on your hands, something I seem
to be lacking in. He didnt miss the subtle shift in the air, and waved
dismissively. No, Id not think to appropriate your bounty. However, I
do have a surfeit of services and goods and loyal vassals who might be
able to offer you things you desire at a fair rate for those who rescued
their much beloved liege. He coughed delicately, and the mercenaries
exhaled together.
Well now. The Micks dark eyes were dancing as he glanced at
Trencher, whose polished eyes were also intent now. That be a fine
thing to hear, Your Majesty. Gather round, lads, and let the Cronal know
what yer looking for, and see what he has to offer.
-------------------------The Daenish knight was a towering mountain of muscle,
flame-haired and blue-eyed and looking extraordinarily anxious as the
Haxan was shown to him by wary, nervous Cronal troops. The pure novelty
of seeing a Haxan so far from his home meant something unique was afoot,
and the Kings Champion was worried sick about his liege.
Good morning, sir. The light drawl of the Haxan as he doffed
his hat was as singular as that hat itself. I have a letter here
addressed to Braun of the Spear, sent by the hand of the Cronal. He
looked at the mighty lance thrust into the ground at the side of the big
man, almost amused at the sight.
That would be me. The Champion rose to his feet, towering a
full head over the outlander, and thrust out his hand. The Haxan calmly
picked it out from inside his tunic and laid it in that ham-sized
gauntlet, and stood waiting.
The Champion studied the seal on the letter intently, then tore
it open and read the elegant writing there with haste and fervor. He

relaxed visibly.
Aye, this is the Cronals own hand. He looked up and stared
hard at the Haxan. You know where to find him, outlander
Not anymore. I believe his orders were to lead a strong force
to get you your supplies from Cromwell, and to ready the clansmen to
head east towards the temple inland His bland expression didnt change
much despite the man looming over him.
So it was. The Champion frowned suspiciously. And why did he
choose you to bear this message
I was the cheapest qualified person, the Haxan said calmly.
Im ready to move when you arefor speed youll need a minimum of sixty
extra horses to carry the crates and each man should be mounted or a
dedicated runner.
The Champion looked down at him. If what the king says is true,
you just ran twenty leagues to get here. Yet you are prepared to leave
again
In Haxan, you ride or you run. And those who run can outlast
those who ride. I said Im ready to goare you
Braun blinked, then burst out laughing and laid a hearty slap on
the Haxans shoulder. Spoken plainly and proudly nonetheless. We shall
be shortlyan army moves somewhat more slowly then a man. Grab you food
and water and we shall be ready to proceed shortly. He hesitated once.
"How is the King"
"He is learning new curses. The healing to deal with his injuries almost
made him wish he'd stayed battered head to toe." The Champion thought
about that, then burst out into relieved laughter once more, before
turning and beginning to issue orders.

/*Daenlander VII*/
So, you think this is a smart play by the Druid A fight out in
the open and all Red asked Vade, who eyed the line of men drawing
themselves up on the hill opposite the Cronals forces.
If they tried to hold that mine, the Cronal would just bring it
down around their ears. That is an archmage he has for an advisor,
right He pointed at the man in the heavily enruned long coat, staff,

and long white beard standing next to the King and his Champion.
Yes. Loremaster Ketriff MacKlegin, I believe, Errant spoke up
from where he sat astride his own mount now, calmly surveying the lines
opposite him. He can probably do a good job shutting down the Druid, if
that one makes his presence feltI rather expect that one will send some
minions to do the job rather then risk such exposure.
If they dont get him, this is basically just a waste of a
fight, the Mick spat once.
Not if they take out that temple. Oh, that would be a hell of a
blow to the cult. Errant nodded agreement with Vades assessment. We
arent a problem anymore, although they definitely are going to want
their revenge in timeheh! If that really is the central temple we
lootedwell, we took their money, we took their great success and we
exposed their base of operations. They either fight or they runand
running just isnt an option.
Think theyll get reinforcements Glaede wondered, fidgeting
with his crossbow as normal.
Only if they win. The big Clans are watching to see which way
the pendulum turns, figure theyll come out stronger no matter whose
side triumphs. The Mick spat once. Of course, those papers ye had
showing donations from certain parties who preferred to use other
namesah, once they hunt those down, twill be a fine excuse for some
heads to be rolling.
I imagine those parties have some fast ships nearby and urgent
business elsewhere, agreed Hodre, lazily swinging his new horse-cutting
claymore in both hands. The knight he had traded his dire blade with had
been delighted to make the swap for the more fearsome looking weapon.
Aye, thats the proper way to do it, agreed the Mick
knowingly. Treachery is a fine tradition among them.
Not like your own Clan Vade asked archly, which brought a
heated flush to the cheeks of the black Daen. No offense, Mick, but the
general consensus among your countrymen is that your whole Clan is a
band of pirates, bandits, cutthroats, thieves and puppy-kicking bastards
without a jot of honor in your blood.
The Mick had the grace to smile cheerily. Aye, and we came by
the rep honestly and goodly, we did. Ye did notice that there werent
much boasting and calling out of a band that dared have a MacMikal

leading it, now, did ye he shot back smugly.

They were expecting a few accidents to happen in the friendly
bouts Tocs asked knowingly.
That, and theres two men here wearing Silver, and four with
triple Copper, Errant interjected without looking around. I imagine
the stupidest among them has seen men with Freesword bars before. Weve
been measured in a manner no stupid chest-thumping match is going to
trump. And what would you do if some kinking Bronze came up to you and
demanded you prove your metal
A growl rose from all of them simultaneously. Theyd walked the
Hall of Swords, laid hands to the Blades of Freesword, felt themselves
standing with thousands upon thousands of others, measured in ways
theyd never imagined they could be. That someone of a lower metal would
dare challenge their right to wear their barsthe very thought made
their hands go for their blades.
Whoever he was, hed not be fighting todayor for some time,
Hodre stated simply, and earned a general nod from all present.
Right enough. Ye do get to measure a Freesworder even before
yeve bars of yer own. Cold-eyed and dangerous bastards, the lot of
themnot ones to play about boasting, the Mick recalled, then grinned
that white smile again. Aye, and we be Freesword mercs in our own small
way, be we not He laughed lightly.
Just dont be claiming you are Steel or Iron, or they will hunt
you down and stick you like a pig. Thats a metal you dont pull off a
sword, Trencher told the humans, at ease on his own mount. Hed had to
clamber up it, but had managed that with surprisingly little problem and
a lot of obvious practice.
True enough. We are just little Marines doing our little jobs
in little places for a little pay. Vade grinned at his own wit as the
rest of them groaned aloud.
Red, there, Errant broke in, pointing. Looks like that Jagger
Warmain. They did come racing back here.
Thats him, right enough, the archer agreed, studying the
banner the man flew, lightning bolt across the dark fist. Not subtle
either. Ah, I think hes seen your hat, Haxan. There was some pointing
among the armored men on the other side, and some shuffling of the lines.

He thinks Im going to engage in a jousting contest with him,

hes got the wrong Haxan. Of course, if one of you fine bastards wants
to take his head off when he comes hunting for me, I wouldnt mind at
all. He glanced at Vade significantly.
Oh, I absolutely LOVE carving up a man in full Harness, the
Gater warmain replied with a smile. You go first, though!
And well have Tocs go second. The spearman half-smiled and
lifted his longspear, now fitted with a grip for use on horseback. He
was by far the best lancer of the lot of them.
Ye want Hodre and me to kill his little friend there the Mick
asked with mock plaintiveness, pointing at the second man in somewhat
less ornate armor coming in next to the first one.
Actually, I think me and you are going to do that, while Hodre
teaches the cultists the proper use of a horse-cutter, and wearing
decent armor. The big man grinned nastily.
Take out his horse Tocs asked professionally, already
planning his move.
We can be pretty sure hell do the same. We shouldnt expect to
reach the second man on horsebackthey wont order a charge, theres too
many longspears about. So it will come when the lines break, Vade said
crisply, in his element now.
And Ill be dismounting to help with that, Errant stated
calmly. I can ride well, but Im not a Horselord. He slapped the neck
of his rusty steed amiably. He doesnt want me flailing around atop him
in a fight.
The Marines tried to picture the Haxan flailing wildly, and failed.
Well follow the hat, the Mick promised sternly, and earned a
dry look from the younger manand a careful touch of his hat brim.
-----------------------------Four longspears flew apart into useless wooden bars, and he was
among them, a howling band of gleeful claymore-wielding big men in
armored kilts following his lead as he hewed a hole through the thicket
of spears and directly into the midst of the enemy lines. The hole grew
as he lashed out right and left, and cultists screamed and dropped and
backed away, and Daenlanders surged past him into the opening to hack

and hew and send blood flying.

With a bloodcurdling cry, the heavy foot of the Rathians ran to
intercept them, men of fanatical devotion in full armor. Behind them,
the warmains raised their swords and moved to advance.
Errant ignored the rest of the battlehe wasnt in command, that
was someone elses job. He concentrated on ripping open the cultist
line, splitting spear after spear with his blade, and sometimes the
cultist holding it, too, and the line of Cronal loyalists surged
forwards to support their own, where massive blades were ringing on one
another with ferocious powerand the warmains were moving quickly
towards him, opening a space as they drove forwards.
He was watching and waiting as the group of mounted men closed
in on him, suddenly snatching up a two-meter length of long spear hed
just hewed off and hurling himself backwards to plant it and avoid the
sweeping crush of a massive blade. The second warmains steed drove its
neck firmly down the point of the splintered pikeshaft, and the man
cursed and swore as Errant lifted his shield to deflect another blow
from the Jaggers huge sword, rolling into the dying beast as it
thrashed and fell and the warrior dove free.
The Jagger was hit hard by Tocs driving spear, punching him
square in the chest and hurling him from the saddle as his armor
screamed at the impact. Hodre was right behind Tocs, cutting down with
his new blade and removing the head of the fire-eyed beast the man had
been riding with one colossal blow, before hurling himself into the
midst of the knights attendants, who were eager indeed to come to blows.
The Jagger rose to his feet with astonishing speed, his outsized
dire blade still in hand, and his armor moving about him like a second
shield wall.
Vade nearly took off his head as he drove in, smashing the other
warrior backwards with the force of his mount and swing, and then
rolling clear as one of the attendants skewered his mount cleanly with a
lance just before Hodre took that ones mount out from under him by dint
of removing its forelegs. Tocs had been dismounted cleanly, too, but not
before forcing another warrior from the saddle, and the Mick had come
racing through the press, also on foot, his blades now out and the
Ladies spinning merrily. Behind him, Glaed and Red drew down and fired,
and the last man ahorse jerked wildly and spun off his mount as the
pile-headed shafts drove deep.
Vade rose, blade singing out cleanly, as the Jagger turned to

scowl for a moment at the Haxan who was now busily engaged chewing into
his second, but the threat and presence of the big Gater he could not
ignore.
Helfir Grundfuhl of the Jagger School! the warmain shouted out
in challenge, leveling his massive dire sword as he pulled his shield
off of his fallen mount.
Vade Cruxmey of the Castellan Academy! the Gater replied
formally, also lifting his much simpler blade.
Bah! A soft Southern school, fit for hiding behind walls and
directing sieges while real men fight! the Dakon scoffed with his heavy
accent. His heavy blade rang on Vades shield with real force, sparks
flying.
Which is probably why I was booted out of ittoo busy learning
how to kill men in heavy armor with big swords to study how to build a
catapault properly. Vades claymore hissed out with startling speed,
almost fencer-like, whipping over the other mans shield and nearly
reaching his eyes. The big Dakon jerked back reflexively, and the Gater
pressed in grimly.
You fight like a prissy swashbuckler, Castellan, the Dakon
hissed, bringing his blade around in a massive blow that splintered the
armor on Vades shoulder and drove it into the muscle.
True enough! With a driving thrust, he slid his weapon past
the shield and moving plates of armor, spinning with the shield and
lifting his own shield to catch on the hooked weapon of the Dakon. The
Jagger barely managed to step away before his groin was lethally opened,
and Vade bore into him, dragging the big sword out and past him as he
spun his back into the other mans shield, hooking his blade around it
with practiced precision and thrust into the others kidney area. When
he lept away with the force of the shield slam, ripping his own shield
free, he noted with satisfaction that the tip of his blade bore a red
stain. First blood, Jagger, he smiled, lifting his sword up on guard
now, waggling it as he worked his shoulder against the massive bruise he
was no doubt going to have.
The Jagger snarled and came in again.
--------------------Errant, of course, was having not very much of the honor thing.

Doubtless he could have beaten this over-armored lummox alone,

but he liked to kill idiots fast and be off to kill more of them,
preferably keeping his own injuries to a minimum. Tocs was taking one of
the other lesser knights down with repeated haft-blows to the knees that
were buckling the man, Hodre was coming down on another with massive
swings that threatened to split the intervening shield as the fellow
stepped back from the giant Corix.
And he had to fence. Bah.
He saw the Mick moving in quickly, as did the knight, who
quickly shouted for aid. Footmen raced towards them and the Mick moved
to intercept them with a shrug of his shoulders. Errant didnt begrudge
him, as he slid in a thrust that slid between armor plates into the
mans shoulder, came back in time to catch the others counter-stroke
between sword and shield, mixing them all up and throwing them wide,
leaving him open to deliver a full frontal kick square to the jaw of the
startled warmain. Fancy crap, ah well.
Errants blade smashed down into the others swordarm with
deadly precision, slicing at the joints of mail and padding and drawing
blood. He let the others slashing stroke slide by his head, locking
shields up and snapping his elbow forwards to turn the mans helm
sideways and interfere with his vision, one of the problems inherent in
heavy helms. He was promptly shoved backwards as the man cursed his
honorless manner of combat to grope with his skewed helm, which lifted
his shield out of the way and let Errant slide a long thrust into the
mans hip a full four fingers, twisting as he pulled it out to make the
man gasp and lean that way, shield instantly falling to protect the weak
side.
His blade spun around and sliced down into the exposed knee,
cutting deep enough to make the man almost fall save for the support of
his armor. Errant fended off two desperate swings with smashing
deflections of his own shield, timing his next blow down on the weakened
sword arm and into the same blow as before. The warmain screamed as he
hit bone, and the dire long blade the man bore fell from his suddenly
nerveless hand. The cultist knight tried to back away, but Errant was
having none of it, driving the shield down once, twice, then hooking up
under with his own to lift it heaving out of the way, and hacking his
blade up under the upraised chin with a gurgle of red blood fountaining
forth.
He hated fighting men in armor. He kicked the dying man away,
looking around for Vades fight, and two big warmains tearing away at
one another.

Glaed and Red met his eyes, raising their weapons towards the
dueling warmains, and he waved them away for the footmen that the Mick
was keeping at bay with a deadly web of slashing blades through leathers
and kilts to lethal effect, bringing down taller men with a strange ease
despite his stiff leg, mostly as he shouted curses and mockery of their
parentage at them. Arrow and bolts hissed out to take their tolls.
The Jagger looked back, to see the Haxan gazing at him, his
seconds blood pouring out on the churned grass behind the outlander,
and those level eyes locked on his own. The Gund knew he was not going
to make it out of this battle alive.
With renewed fury he threw himself at Vade, who parried with a
brutal efficiency that caught Errants eye. With a half-smile, the Haxan
turned to help out Hodre and to break the line completely here.
Vade let the force of the Jaggers rush smash past him, driving
his blade down again on the kidney area hed struck before, widening the
gap in the plates and bending the movable layers of the mans Harness.
Shifting patterns of metal squealed and locked, and Vade pressed his own
assault now, driving the Jagger back with precise blows, smashing his
sword on the heavier blade of his enemy again and again and again, and
then abruptly catching it in the hooks and turning a slashing downstroke
into a driving thrust that tore across the face of the Dakon with lethal
force.
Half-blinded, shocked at the maneuver, the Jagger still nearly
took his head off with a ripping half-slash, but shield and helm took
the worst of it, and Vade moved back another step, breathing hard as he
readied his blade, and appraised the blood streaming down the exposed
face of his enemy.
That is not a Castellan technique! the Jagger gasped, his one
clear eye wild with shock at the turn the fighting had taken.
I did tell you I got kicked out, Vade replied humorlessly.
Mostly for beating up on classmates just like you. His smile was
acidic and grim as he advanced, and now it was the Jaggers turn to
retreat and fend off the blows that were coming for him with his
increasingly heavy weapon that Vade was working mercilessly.
The end was startlingly quick, as Vade attacked with his shield
edge, driving it into the hooks of the Dakons sword and forcing it down
and wide as he spun his blade overhead and almost fell onto the Dakons
pinned sword, turning what should have been an overhead cut into a

nearly upwards thrust across the waist of his opponent, punching between
the sliding plates of the harness and armor and up into the soft organs
beyond.
The Dakon stared down at the cold blade buried inside him, his
shield caught on the wide guard of the claymore, levering the wound
wider with his instinctive attempt to deflect it. Vade wrenched at it as
he rolled off the mans sword, tearing a huge internal wound in the
Jaggers chest as he slid his blade out with a rasp of metal, back on
his own feet and ready for anyone seeking to come to the relief of this
enemy.
Blood streaming out his mouth, the Jagger collapsed forwards,
dead where he stood. Vade took a moment to take a few long breaths,
smirk to himself once at fond memories, and move slowly towards where a
few less-then-eager warriors were suddenly finding better places to
beexcept for a outlander with a strange hat in the way with no mercy in
his eyes.
---------------------------Aye, the spellbinders were ripping and tearing at one another,
summoned beasties flying back and forth and the Kings Champion a-hewing
and laying about him with lance and swordquite the tale for the bards.
The Dark Druid made an appearance all right, but the Loremaster took
care of the hellknight he brought with him and the Royal Guard had a
fine ruckus with the Dark Templars. The bards are all quite pleased with
the fire and blood and battle and looking to compose the appropriate
ballad for the histories. Pity the bastards dont have much left in the
temple to loot, eh The Marines guffawed despite themselves as they ate
their rations about the fire that evening.
Dont sell yourselves short. We broke this side of the line,
and badly. They had to overcommit reserves, which left the center weak,
and gave the Cronal his chance to press in. Vade worked his sore arm
stiffly, his shoulder black and blue. Healing magic was naturally at a
premium in the aftermath of the fighting, although many had remarked on
the fact that Trenchers form of healing got louder screams then most of
the injuries he helped deal with.
Aye, so we did, and a fine tally of dead we made, and
battle-booty to trade away. The Jaggers armor alone was getting
covetous eyes from many of the Cronal elitessuch superb armor was not a
common sight in Daenland. Theyd get a fine price for it. Well be
living high on the hog a bit whilst the services we bandied about with
His Majesty get done with, and then see about a proper trip out of here,

I be thinking There was general agreement from the other Marines.

You know the Cronal will probably offer you permanent service
if you are inclined to accept such, Errant pointed out calmly. The Mick
burst out laughing at the thought.
A MacMikal serving the Cronal The old gods would hang their
heads in shame were they to see it, Haxan. His eyes narrowed shrewdly.
He sent for ye earlier, to offer you such he inquired.
I told him Id get a proper Armsbrother this way if he wanted a
Haxan on hand. Haxan Independents dont make good retainers. He was
disappointed, but not before he offered me a small job on the side
thats been bothering him for some timeand needs to be dealt with, if
not discretely, at least by a band of independent and greedy bastards
who have no direct ties to the Throne, eh
The Marines stopped moving and polishing and eating as the Haxan
thoughtfully took a drink from his canteen. Ye got us another job the
Mick asked, surprised.
Well, you arent going to be very busy the next few weeks, I
figured that with most of your money spent youd be looking to shore up
some extra credits and score some hard cashagain. The Marines looked
at one another, little fantasies of much debauchery in the Capital
slowly evaporating. And when we get done, well, we can head back to the
mainland and Freesword. Hes willing to pay our expenses if we can help
some of his loyal warriors get into a few of the better training halls
thereit seems he was impressed with the reports he got about everyones
battle performance, and wants to create a team of somewhat more eclectic
professionals to handle jobs in the name of the Crown.
A job and free passage to Freesword Haxan, do you never stop
to rest just a wee bit the Mick asked with a hurt expression.
You DO know the brothels in Freesword are much better then the
ones hereabouts, dont you, sir the Haxan replied evenly. And the
drinks. And the food. And, he leaned forwards, I think the other
Marines would like to all wear Silver too.
The Mick blinked, looked around at the others, who had all
gotten a bit misty-eyed at the possibility, and were looking at him
expectantly.
Aye, then, right enough, I can spend me ill-gotten gains in
somewhat better places then the capital of all Daenland, he agreed

dryly. The other Marines laughed, and broke out with the jokes and
boasts of who would draw silver, wagers on anyone drawing Gold, and the
like.
------------------------------You dont see many Warmains from any college using the Three
Rules much, if at all, Errant noted quietly to Vade as the Gater passed
him, coming back from a trip to the trenches to relieve himself. The
Gater paused and looked around hurriedly. I didnt expect to see them,
but obviously you learned them some time ago, judging by how readily you
put them to use.
I learned them from a Freesworder mercenary who retired to
Northgatehe was a consultant to the Academy I trained at. The Gater
looked down at the curious Haxan with his penetrating eyes. Castellan
graduates are supposed to be master tacticians, strategists and
logisticians, and instead of being great fighters they buy big weapons
and bigger armor and even bigger friends to do their fighting for them.
I didnt have the same access to funds, so I spent a lot of time
learning how to beat the hell out of the arrogant bastards and their
goons from this cranky old bastard who loved seeing them taken down a
peg or nine.
You dont learn the Rules without learning the other things,
Errant said calmly, and the Gater looked away. I suspect that what he
told you about the Codes of Battle and the gods is as much responsible
for your getting booted as your success in humiliating your peers, eh
The Gater looked back at him with somber, dark eyes. To
Northgaters, war is a game of profit and loss, pieces moved here and
there. That old bastard used to tell me stories about soldiers, and what
it meant to be one, and a good one, and have officers who were soldiers
and not all bloody generals-aborning, who meant what they said and
trusted their men and did well by them and for them. The Castella is all
about ego, intimidation, and winning by cunning and force of will. Most
of the students could care less about those under them, their eyes are
latched firmly onto the prize of their glory, and maybe that of the
House or Family that sponsored them. I got too good at taking them down
as they tried to order me around, of beating the crap out of them when
they tried to play their games on me, and getting a following among the
younger students who saw there was a different way. Strings were pulled,
humiliations were heaped on my family and my name, and I had the choice
of pulling out in exile or having some well-paid graduate come in and
spit me on his greatsword.

Errant nodded understanding. Which left you mercenary work to

prove yourself and your ideals. Why the Mick Errant nodded at the
dozing Daenlander curled up in his roll near the fire, two empty
aleskins laying defeated about him.
He was recruiting at the time, he was the most un-Castellan
fighter Id ever seen, and he needs a level head around him to keep his
on. We make a good pair, and the rest of the team fell in with us after
less then a half-dozen jobs, Vade replied with the practice of someone
whod told the story many times.
And not because he could stand to learn a few things about a
Code too, eh The Gater glanced at him and looked away. Hard being a
closet Mitharn, isnt it
The Gater glared at him for daring to say it, but there was no
intimidating the bastard of a Haxan, and Vade looked away first. Being
a Mitharn loses you a lot of jobs and contracts in the Throne. Everyone
thinks you are some Ahltaran crusader bent on converting the heathens,
some overzealous cavaliar trying to tell people how to live their lives,
or a Haxan spy scouting them out. Mercs think you are a soft-hearted
pushover who doesnt have the stomach to be a real fighter, and clients
think you are dense and try to cheat you and take advantage of you. It
sucks, but thats the truth of itand so I dont go around gaily
announcing I believe in Mithars Code.
Good enough for me. Just remember, theres places where
Mithars name is a good thing to have behind you, too. He touched his
hat brim and ambled off into the darkness while the Northgater looked
thoughtfully after him. Vade then shrugged and made for his own bedroll.
The Mick opened his eyes and followed the progress of his
lieutenant for a moment.
The Northgater was a Mitharn Born in the clutches of the most
grasping and ambitious city on the Deeps Gods in hell, howd that
manage to happen
No wonder he never tried to cheat me or take command, the
Daenlander mused, closing his eyes again. His second, a Mitharn! His
bastard of a father must be turning over in his briney grave to hear it.
And, if he could toleratehells, be friends with a Gater
Mitharn, what a horrible MacMikal he must be. Spitting on the deeds and
blood of his forefathers, he surely was, throatslitters, scoundrels, and
black-hearted bastards all of them.

Cheered immensely by that thought, the Mick got back to the

serious art of sleeping, and dreaming about all the women hed be making
the fine company of in Freesword again.

/*Daenlander VIII*/
/Five months later/
Haxan
Yes, Mick
Have I told ye just how much it will please me to get ye the
Hells and Demons away from me once we hit Freesword
I believe about 17 times or so, Mick.
I wish to reiterate how happy I am going to be when not in yer
company anymore, ye daft, cursed, crazy, bewitched, stubborn bastard of
a Haxan!
Duly noted. Do I get to take your loot with me when I go
Stow that crap, Haxan! Just rewards for having to put up with
the trouble that finds ye no matter where we go! the Mick howled. And
you, he whirled on the merchantman with a foul look on his face, who
gripped the ships wheel ever more tightly at the sight of the angry
Daen, had best not be dallying about. I want us in berth, offloading
and this bedamned son of Haxan away from me afore the next evil warlord,
monster of the deep, pirate captain, plotting demon, treacherous
nobleman, or creditor of YOURS catches up to us! he roared in the mans
face.
Yessir, right away, sir! Nothing much happened, of course, the
crew already highly committed to getting into harbor as soon as
possible, but the Mick was satisfied as much as his foul temper allowed,
kicking the mast and stomping off towards the bow.
Errant shook his head once. Obviously, the Mick wasnt big on
kharmic retention procedures. Of course, he probably wasnt used to a
life of such unending business. Probably needed to get a woman really
bad. Having to kill that succubi and all her daughters just hadnt gone
over all that well, but then again, they had been planning to feed his
soul to something the Mick wouldnt have scraped off his boot. Or had it

been the kraken The sahaugin attack The ghost ship theyd laid to rest
(and got the pirates treasure, although the coral golems and undead had
been anything but friendly) The Flesh-eater assassins The Rathian
ambush That exiled noble Magister who thought theyd make great
brain-dead servants as he took his revenge against his rivals The
raiding pirates posing as fisher-folk theyd stumbled across on a
slaving raid The merchantman they were now aboard, their fourth ship,
being assaulted by unhappy former business partners. Stumbling across
not one, but TWO fleeing Daenish lords with a bone, an axe, and a sword
to pick with them in Valuzuve. The bounty hunters out to collect on
Errants head for his killing of the noble sibeccai Flesh-eater hed
offedthe vampire whod thought to make his own ship of the dead, hiding
among the cargo. That temple of dramojh-serving servants that had been
miraculously raised from the Deep just in time to let them run into it
in the middle of nowhere on the open seathat had been the first ship.
Then the second one had picked them up and been blown ashore onto the
rocksright at the foot of a nobles manse who was intent on making them
patsies for the fiends come to collect his soul. Then the third one
theyd commissioned had been dragged down by that sentient swarm of
magically mutated seaweed things led by that Darkbonded Jytan before
Trencher fried them. The fourteen duels theyd had to fight since
leaving Daenland The Jytan Dwarf-Crusher squad The Underdweller
slavers in thralldom to the illithids The Dark Cult out to paraform the
landscape to something amenable towell, he wasnt sure what it was
supposed to be home to, because theyd not let whatever it was come
thru, and the Cultists had been rather forcefully made very dead to
insure it.
Errant had to smile. The Cronal-sponsored Daens they were
escorting had gotten quite a trip and a show. Theyd been beaten up,
beaten down, covered in things much worse then mud and blood and guts,
hacked and hewed and bruised and tired and hungry and thirsty and not
given much time at all to recover from anything before the next disaster
hit them.
The worse thing about it was, he probably was the cause. Sources
attracted trouble like honey did flies. The Mick promptly blamed
anything that went wrong on him, despite the fact that no one had died.
Well, none of those he felt responsible for. Of course, theyd had to
endure more trials and tribulations in the last four months then they
had in several prior yearsand all without any wenching or disporting in
between.
The young Daens whod come along had gotten more real life
exposure on this trip then theyd ever imagined. Wide-eyed, cocky,
kilt-wearing idiots brought face to face with some of their worst

imaginingsagain, and again, and again. They didnt boast much anymore.
They had more scars then theyd ever imagined theyd accumulate and live
to tell about it. Theyd learned that bravado went exactly so far and
then got you killedhalf of the dozen so far, lost to stupidity,
overconfidence, inattentiveness, inability to adapt. The remainder were
a grim-eyed, edgy group of men in reasonable armor who could operate as
a well-oiled team, warriors covering the spellcasters, picking their
targets well and learning to use spell and sword together to slay,
protect, defend, overcome. Lessons on the fly from himself, the Marines,
Trencherthe best kind of lessons, the ones proved to work or you die
for denying them.
They were going to hit the training halls of Freesword and rip
them open. Errant smiled despite himself.
And they were rich. Filthy rich, by most mens standards. Loot,
salvage, swag, booty, and archeological treasures equaled money, as the
old saying went. At his advice, theyd deposited most of the wealth at
Trisun offices to hold for them and got credit issuedwhich had proven
remarkably prescient given the number of ships trashed under them.
And now, Freeswords twin lighthouses framed the Bay of Blades,
the nihilor chain drooping low across the entry to allow entry between
the broken islets of the Bay entry. Marked illusionary buoys hovered in
midair to indicate the current safe course, the captain tacking back and
forth directly for them, helped by the circular current of water
streaming into and out of the Bay.
Freesword generally impressed those who saw it for the first
time. It had been once built out of the side of a cliff, the same cliff
whose edges extended for hundreds of miles along the Western Deeps.
Geomancers had literally cleft a huge chunk of the cliff off at an
angle, letting the stone fall away in a long angled descent that had
raised the harbors floor level a great deal, and allowed them to build
a steepled set of buildings right down to the waters edge from the
lands higher above. Strictly regimented building codes had followed this
implementation, of who and what could live where and how, with most of
the city parts that were actually famous on the higher slopes, and the
lower slopes restricted to the natives of the city and workers, and the
trades that made it what it was.
The destruction of the city had turned that slope into a massive
crater with the blast that had annihilated everything within half a klik
of the city walls, and Freesword had gone down in legend.
Now it was rebuilt, the crater now integrated into the new

slopes that had been carved anew from the uncomplaining rock, reaching
farther inland, exposing more of the city to the eye.
At the highest point of the city, where the crater met the land,
rose the highest towers, the tall and stern gray battlements of the
Halls of the Steel, the greatest mercenary band of Freesword and the
Thronelands entire. The interior walls of the city extended from that
strongpoint out and around and down, slicing down the sides of the
slopes like razors to the sea, into the harbor proper.
At the center of where crater met slope, gleamed the rebuilt
Arena and the House of Swords attached to it.
Even from here it gleamed ivory white, and you could see the
vaulted pillars of the coliseum rising above everything around it, an
image of stark beauty that still conveyed the strength and might of the
Rockborn who had aided in rebuilding it with a startling gracefulness
that spoke well of their artistry with stone. It was said that depending
on your view of the Arena, you could see the hand of many races come to
rest there, a rumor he knew to be true, though few could pick out the
subtle differences and emphasis on their own.
Falling away from the Arena, layers of houses in long steps,
rising above the sheer walls that dominated each of those steps, a
maddeningly difficult climb for any hostile force, with collapsible
stairs and massive barriers at each step. From the top of many houses
waved flags and banners proclaiming loyalty to this or that company,
school, nation or clan, and between key areas bridges rose, arcing from
house to house above the ground trafficlightly traveled, and speedily
for the most part, roads for messengers and massive deploymentsand
archers, if need be.
The fiery red walls of the Crimson Scabbard always caught the
eye at the south edge of town, rising proudly against the wall of the
city, raised even higher as a symbol of status as the foremost naval
mercenary company of the city. Currently six vessels at dock, three
flying the red flag of the Crimson Sails, the others no doubt trade
vessels buying secure dock space and storage.
There were a huge number of docksenough that the harbor, so far
as Errant knew it, had never actually been full. Docks were long and
massive fingers of gray stone extending out into the waters, more
breakwaters then piers, and of sufficient numbers to berth something
over three hundred vessels, hed been told. The city didnt support
nearly that much trade, so many of the docks were used for idle walking,
random and temporary storage, and by the fishermen who lived here to

load and unload cargo.

There were rows of warehouses, clean and orderly, and extending
outside the city walls, carved right out of the cliff faces in some
cases. There were some extreme penalties for abusing storage space
underground near Freesword, and words of spontaneous flooding,
collapses, assaults by teams of eager mercs and the like were common in
the Freesword streetsfor some reason people thought trying to make
tunnels up into the famed sewage system and underground transit area of
the city was a sneaky idea and theyd not get caught and the Steel who
ran the city wouldnt find out.
The glowing ball of light above /Cudgel/ slowly dissolved into a
trail of particles. They were now inside the Great Ward of the city,
coming in slowly towards the central docking area. He couldnt hear the
gentle woosh-woosh, like a cycle of gentle waves, but he saw Trencher
close his eyes and relax despite himself. The Daens opened their eyes
wide, looking about for something causing the effect, and Red, standing
nearby, chuckled and told them to calm down.
No magical powers or psionic energies could be released in the
city. The turning of the Ward Engine drew all that energy in, along with
any ambient energy released by the people of the city, to power a
variety of defenses that had been known to make archmages pale, probably
more intense then anything outside the Auroran Weirhold. Hed been given
to understand that the magically gifted, like the two gawking Daens
gaping all about them, could actually see the field of magic all about
them, a great and vast /Living Weave/ powered by the Ward Engine and
powering it in turn.
Now, they were in Freeswords true domain. Here, swords ruled
and battleskill, strength of arm and quickness of hand. This was a
dangerous place to be a spellbinderand conversely, one of the very
safest. Picking on someone with fewer bars then you, especially of a
different metal, generally got you the kind of attention from passers-by
that left you a bruised and unconscious bastard on the ground. And then,
if the spellbinder lived, you had to live thru his revenge once outside
the realm of Freesword. The most common spellbinders here were
battlemads and healers, and very few warriors wanted to make either kind
angry.
The Four Temples to Mithar, Valus, Amana and Hurn stood in a
grand circle of silver, white, blue-gray and marbled rust, the patrons
of battle, warriors, and mercy togetheran odd assembly of somewhat
rival deities, but all embraced by the inhabitants of the City of Battle.

They were coming into dock now, smoothly and cleanly, an

experienced hand on the ships wheel and eager sailors looking for shore
leave. Flagmen were signaling and guiding them to a cargo dock, with one
of the great hoists rolling slowly to take its place and unload their cargo.
The Dockmaster was hard to miss, a three-meter Jytan in fine
armor with a white sash proclaiming his status as White Steel, and a
short Aqua tabard showing his assignment area. He was also lifting a
tally the size of a shield and holding a rod the size of a human staff
as he conferred with another hands-wringing captain, a Sibeccai in rough
trousers and sparse jacket typical of southern Throne lands who didnt
seem to like what he was being told.
Errant knew dock fees per day and the like were remarkably light
for the city, the better to encourage thru trade, and the nearly three
score ships at dock underscored the importance of Freesword, far more
then a city its size should command. Massive amounts of Haxan foodstuffs
flowed through Freesword and out to other landsmany of the ships were
haulers for Haxan soft goods, leather and food highest among them. Haxan
beef was in nearly constant flow from here to the Cloudseat further
south, such that one of the Docks was devoted strictly to the trade of
meat and another to grains. The modernistic hoists could load and unload
ships with remarkable speed, especially if the captains knew how to
package to take advantage of them.
Deftly the captain swung them in close to the dock, where wards
rose with faint light and deflected impact the longways, making the ship
slide down and come parallel to the stone and the pilings. Dockhands
were waiting to catch thrown ropes and tie them off, and with a gentle
creak, the /Old Gray Tern/ was in dock.
----------------------------Dont be leaving the ship til the White give ye the word, the
Mick growled as the eager Daens made to disembark, making no move
towards the dock only a few inviting feet away. They stopped and backed
away without questioning, something theyd wisely learned to do. The
Mick turned to glare at the Captain, who was issuing his last orders at
the sailors, collapsing and tying off sails and otherwise preparing the
ship to unload cargo. The man could feel the Daens stare, hurrying to
his cabin to get his manifests as the White Jytan came striding up
calmly thru the crowd of assembling dockworkers. On his neck, he wore
Thrice Gold.
Ho, there, /Tern/, the Jytan rumbled in a surprisingly soft

voice. I did not expect you back in harbor. I trust you had luck on the
seas. Permission to come aboard
Captain Grossmyer looked suitably abashed as he hustled out,
waving for the deckplank to be laid, and the Jytan crossed over calmly
and with a defusing smile, taking the cargo manifest from the human and
looking over it calmlyalong with the somewhat less neat later additions
to it with a frank raising of eyebrows.
I see you had someluck, dealing with your creditors.
Grossmyers eyes slid sideways to the Mick standing nearby, which was
noted by the attentive Jytan. Fortune smiling kindly upon you, no
doubt. The Micks cough of disbelief didnt escape his attention
either. Spirits and finer cloths, some perfumes and oils, raw gold and
silver and warmetalsand salvaged coins and other various swag. The
Jytan looked directly at the Mick. Your property, I am assuming
Aye, sir. Nothing too illegal about the haul, and nothing by
rote as harmful by word of a Rockborn Geomancer. The Jytan showed his
surprise as Trencher stumped forwards, holding /Cudgel/ firmly. That
which was, got Fed to the Land.
A Geomancers word is solid as stone in Freesword, the Jytan
stated with a nod at the Dwarf. Anything harmful or of interest to the
city to declare
Without preamble, the Mick waved forwards Vade and Hodre, who
held a small and obviously heavy chest between them, set it at the
Jytans feet, and then backed up quickly.
The Captain took a step away from it. The Mick took a step away
from it. The Jytan lifted his eyebrowsand took a step away from it.
And this is he asked, with magnificent non-chalance.
Dangerous, but potentially useful, Trencher growled, eying the
chest as he withdrew a sheet from his hand and held it out to the Jytan,
who took it, and held it up to read. It took him a moment, and he
glanced twice at the chest while doing so.
An apt description. He lifted his rod and closed his eyes briefly.
With a wink and pop, there were suddenly two more White Steel
standing next to him, complete with staves out and ready and girt in
warding spells. The Littorian, the senior of the two by her Iron Bars,
took the sheet of paper, reread it, passed it to her partner, a graying
and scarred human, who also scanned it.

By the Forgelord, you swear truth in this matter, Rockborn

the Littorian asked crisply, pointing her staff at the Dwarf.
As far as I am able, I so do, he stated grimly. The Littorian
nodded to her second, who took the other side of the chest. There was a
popping of air rushing in to replace them as they were abruptly gone,
the chest going with them.
Needless to say, we dont get many of those passing through,
sir. The Jytans rod extended out lightly to turn the Micks cheek and
display his Twice Silver. How long has it been since you have been to
Freesword, sir
Me and the lads, two years now, sir, and the new blood there,
the first time. He hesitated as he looked down at Trencher.
Five years for me, the Rockborn stated, rubbing the Iron bands
that gleamed right through his gray stonewire beard. Haxan
Two years, three months, nine days, Errant replied easily,
well behind the Mick, but standing out in his distinctive hat.
You The Jytans lips curled back in a knowing smile. I
believe she still harbors a grudge, young Master Errantand she does
live here, you know.
Errants eyes rolled theatrically as interested gazes turned his
way. Women, he said, and got knowing sympathetic grunts all around.
You, sirs, will stand forth. His rod touched the Micks Bars,
and a line of red suddenly materialized across them, marking them as
having untried Bars. The others lined up quickly as he waited, and
slowly and solemnly marked them one by one with his rod, those who had
never drawn blades earning a single red stripe.
You may pass into Freesword, and proceed immediately to the
Hall to test your Metal again. He half-bowed to all of them, noting the
bars and numbers scattered among them, and having an excellent eye for
the grim prowess of fighting men. Do you wish to have me call an escort
for your spoils of battle
No, the Mick stated calmly, rubbing his tingling cheekmark,
his eyes very hard. If someone wants to take it away from us, Im going
to take out my frustration on him and all his friends.

Understood. The Jytans eyes actually twinkled. I do suggest

renting a cart. Its nearly a klik to the nearest tallyhouse. He
pointed directly to a set of gray-roofed buildings near the base of the
first Wall. The Mick nodded agreement.
--------------------There were no beasts of burden in Freesword. Packages and goods
were moved by the muscles of sentient bipeds or techno-magical
Wheelcarts equipped with Perpetual Motion Devices, simple magical
devices that turned endless revolutions and so provided power to turn
wheels and trundle carts along. The Steel Whites managed the PMD lines
which moved calmly along the city streets via stated paths, providing
rapid movement from point to point, where teams of stevedores often
waited by wagons of various sizes, ready to move more goods.
They didnt have to move much off the main path to enter the
Trisun tallyhall, whose Twice Bronze Gnomish proprietor looked up
without surprise as they came striding thru the heavy open doors with
chests and trunks and boxes in hand, pointing quickly to a floor area
for them to drop the loot. They did so quickly, chests hitting the
floorboards with the heavy clink and crash of weighty metal contents.
Trencher stepped forwards to present a comprehensive list of
ingredients, which the gnome took up with delight to read. Nimble hands
mumbled and conjured as he went from chest to chest, alternating looking
at the chests and the lists, waving for them to lay out the armor and
weaponry for his perusal, which they moved quickly to do. Soft glows of
magic confirmed the listing, and the Gnome mumbled rapidly to himself as
he deciphered the glows with the intensity of an artist who loved his craft.
So good to see a Geomancer at work, the little fellow beamed,
folding up the list and placing it inside his jacket. The total
evaluations is acceptablewe should be able to find a market for even
the, ah, more dramatic pieces. He held up an old urn showing the
sinuous curves of a dramojh or servant lording over masses of faceless
servants. He looked over the group of humans and Dwarf. Is the price
acceptable for all of you
Yes, the Mick stated, before anyone could even think to ask.
Divide it evenly among all of us. The younger Daens eyes went wide at
this unexpected fairness, and generosity.
Have you a tally ring the gnome asked politely, climbing up
on his stool. With nearly identical gestures, the 13 men and dwarf drew
out the necklaces with the simple rings about their necks. The gnome

took them one by one, tested them by insuring the metal of the rings
passed harmlessly thru the flesh of his own hand, but not the one
handing it to him, and touched it with a plain band on his thumb,
smiling pleasantly the while.
Excellent. Chits or a running balance
There was some variation on this, but only a few of the
hundred-crown chits were issued, each tappable to tally ring to attune
it to the ring-givers balance. The rings were slung back on necklaces
of good steel and tucked under shirts and armor once more.
Their cart was still waiting for them, the driver politely paid
to idle while they transacted business. The mercenaries hopped on board,
and let the Wheelcart hustle along at the speed of a man's trot along
the grooves of its path, moving easily up the ramp at the center of the
first set of stairs to the next Tier of the City, following the red
bricks that led to the Arena as the path turned and twisted. The younger
Daens gawked at the houses all of stone, many creeping over with
climbing ivy and adorned with flower boxes and roof gardens, streaming a
host of banners of all manners of organizations they wanted to know of.
Too, the numbers of people and races was astounding. All of the
races of the Throne were represented here, but they gawked as a bull-man
in full armor clomped by on his steel-shod hooves; full-blooded orcs
were passed pulling a wagon loaded with barrels of provender; and there
were tribes and clans of all races represented with proud colors and
traditional garb everywhere, from Hiken Wereyns proclaiming their totems
with furs and ivory, to Sibeccai nomads of the south all in white
shrouds and veilsand heavy scimitars.
Study, take the measure of, dont gawk, ye slack-jawed apes,
the Mick cursed, slapping the nearest one roughly, who immediately
closed his mouth and adopted a more professional manner. Many curious
eyes followed them and their luggage, but the sight of red-banded Iron
and Silver turned eyes away, or narrowed them in thoughtful interest.
They halted on the level below the Arena, signaling a young lad
at the stop there who happily proclaimed that the Alloyed Halls did
indeed have room for all of them, recited the prices and offered to
deliver what luggage they had. They accepted, paid him the token fee,
and got back on the Wheelcart for the final leg of the trip.
-------------------------------The Wheelcart stopped at the edge of the vast plaza, where the

grooves went no farther. No riding on the Plaza of Swords, sirs, the

young man, wearing Once Bronze, saluted them. Wordlessly, the
mercenaries disembarked, giving the lad a good tip for his time, earning
another salute from him as waiting folk there quickly took the place of
the Marines.
Errant and the Marines all led the newcomer Daens in a half
circuit around the Arenanone of the main entries came straight to any
of the doors, especially the Hall of Swords, forcing those who came
there to walk and gaze up at the thirty meters and more of the Arena,
from which could be heard the sounds of cheers and applause even now.
The crowds were not badthis was between bouts and not a day of
great competitions. Still, those present saw the array of redbanded Iron
and Silver men coming their way and astutely removed themselves as the
outsiders silently looked up at the history and faces carved into the
bleached stone of the Arena and its columns and pillars and buttresses,
all seeming to lead to the long processional attached to it, with
connoladed roof and fluted supports open to the windsand a wall within
it, about which many people milled, and the end of which held a short line.
The Hall of Swords.
Even Errant could feel the wind fail and drop to the gentlest of
breezes. The stones seemed to suddenly hang overhead, resonating with
the psychic remnants of countless warriors who had trod these stones. As
one, the group paused, taking note of the solemn reverance that was the
equal of any great house of worship, a place where even the sound of the
Ward Engine faded into the background, the roars of the Arena faded to
nothing, and the words of onlookers dropped to gentle murmurs and whispers.
The sense of history was overwhelming. Every footstep, in the
wake of those who had gone before them, leading them unerringly up to
the line of men and women gathered there, to pause and wait in silence.
Jytans looked about with a strange humility in their eyes, Littorian
ears were flat as if surrounded, haughty Men in nobles garb looked
stricken and uncomfortable, the ears of Hyen and Flind and Huul and
Sibeccai quivered uncertainly, nervously.
They were small things here, in this place of warriors history.
Everything they had done, had been done by those here before them, done
better, done more grandly. It made one feel small, yet like they belonged.
To Errant, it was a welcome change of perspective. One day, he
would walk down the Hall, and not feel small at all. Until then, it was
good not to feel too confident.

His eye strayed to those ahead of him with a practiced eye.

Mercenaries and gladiators for the most partthat Jytan looked like an
Imperial Legionnairemost looking to upgrade their metal, although that
Ealian fop wore no bars at all and by Errants estimation would be lucky
if he drew Bronze.
There were only two Whites in attendence, both old and both
wearing Thrice Gold, both human. A very honored post, to stand among the
best in the lands and show what the Steel made of you. Neither wore
officers Barsthese were the soldiers of the Steel, a fact designed to
be impressed on those who came here.
He saw the recruiters for the Bronze, the Rollers, the Ebon, and
the Iron, as well as a dozen other interests both mercenary and
mercantile, and speculators and younger folk people watching the
assortment of warriors who came thru from a respectable distance. People
who did not admire the tradition here and openly mocked anyone drawing
blades had been known to end up abruptly deadeven hated rivals did not
mock those who found their Metal here.
Slowly, one by one, those ahead of them went. Walking slowly to
the first Copper blade, laying hand upon the hilt, and slowly drawing it
forth, the first Soldiers Blade - those who had never Drawn, gaping in
awe as they were overwhelmed by the presence of all those who had drawn
the blade before them. Those who had Drawn before, stepping calmly to
the Blade they had drawn once before, bringing it out, pausing as they
found themselves among those who had held it before, and moved on to the
next one.
A Flind with Twice Bronze before them drew his first blade, and
his ears drooped. Without drawing a second sword, he stepped away,
knowing he was donea great disappointment, but one watched only in
silence. No mockery within the Hall of Swords.
The fop drew only Once Bronzehis rapier-wielding escort drew
Once Iron. The common-born man turned an enlightened eye upon his
employer, and Errant knew that the relationship between the two had just
shifted significantly.
And then it was the turn of the young Daens, who steeled
themselves one by one, even the spellcasters, and strode forth with all
the calm they could muster, to lay hands to the First Copper Blade,
/Eins Cuprin/, the first Soldiers Blade.
The staggering look of awe and wonder, the shaken expression in

the eyes as those who had never seen a Truly Perfect blade of Highest
Mastercraft drank in the sight of what it meant to hold the ultimate in
a crafted weapon. Slowly and reverently, the blade was sheathed once
more, the warrior took one stride, and drew forth the next, a seeming
twin to the first, save the richer and deeper hue of the coppery metal.
And then the next, from /Zvei Cuprin/ to /Dreis Cuprin/, to
/Eins Brozen/, the First Bronze, the first Sergeants Blade. And /Zvei
Brozen/, and /Dreis Brozen/, and lastly, /Eins Ferruns/, the First Iron,
the first Lieutenants Blade.
The first Daen, a tousle-haired redhead by name of Omrin, stared
at the length of greyed cold iron in his hand long and hard, seeing
every hand, feeling every person that had held that sword. Slowly, he
sheathed it, and turned away. He did not reach for another.
With a spark of light, a single gray bar flared into existence
upon his neck, wiping away the scarlet mark. He wore Once Iron.
Errant saw the Marines looking at one another in some surprise.
They largely wore Thrice Iron among them. Seeing the Daen draw Once Iron
was a bit of a shockclearly, the last few months had been damn nasty to
push them so hard.
One by one the younger Daens wentthe spellbinders to draw Once
Bronze, the warriors to draw Once Iron. There was polite applause from
some of those watchinggenerally speaking, drawing Iron your first time
through the Hall was a distinct achievement.
Hodre was first among the Marines to stride down and take and
take his place, laying hand upon /Dreis Ferruns/ and pulling it forth
with a long breath. Even so, he rocked on his feet as he, too, was swept
up in the grandueur of those who had gone before him, and slowly and
reverently placed the deep blue iron of the blade back into its scabbard
in the Wall.
He laid hand upon /Eins Argentz/, and pulled the First Silver
blade free.
There was more polite applause all around at the sight of the
shimmering Captains Blade. Drawing Silver was akin to Arrivingit
signified that you had made a name for yourself and were truly an
exceptional warrior, suitable to command troops and a dangerous
combatant. A strong, tough warrior wearing Silver was a truly dangerous foe.
With a strange mixture of confidence and trepidation, Hodre

reached for /Zvei Argentz/, and pulled the even more polished blade
free, almost shimmering in the half-shadowed Hall. His eyes closed and
he took a deep breath as he held it for a long moment before sheathing
it. His feet took him another stride, and his hand started towards /Drei
Argentz/but he did not draw it. Slowly, his hand lowered and he stepped
away. Light swam and Twice Silver gleamed proudly upon his neck.
Not today. Errant nodded thoughtfully.
Tocs, then Glaede, then Red all followed in Hodres footsteps,
earning Twice Silver with some pride, and then Trencher went, grasping
/Once Silver/ for himself with a grim smile of some satisfaction. Errant
was highly aware of the progress the Dwarf had made in his spellcasting
power, if not breadth of knowledge, and knew the Sword was a small
indication of the deeper strength beneath.
Then it was Vades turn, and true to the advancement of the
others, the tall Gater wound up with Thrice Silver, which only
disappointed him a little bit.
Errant lifted an eyebrow at the Mick, who indicated he should go
first. Aware of the Micks need to be best and so last, he stepped
forwards and reclaimed /Zvei Argentz/.
That seemed so long ago. He could feel himself back then, more
eager, less tempered, the hands that held it tested and tried and true,
but open to so much more. But he felt also the lack of focus he had, the
way he had strayed from the martial path to broaden his foundation and
not pursue total mastery, and knew his progress was not what it could
have been had he stayed straight and true on the course.
Life had gotten in the way. He smiled as he felt Vades presence
before him, strong, sure, focused, and devoted, on the cusp of greater
powerbut not yet.
/Dreis Argentz/ was drawn, shining mirror-like in his hand as it
had Vades, and he resheathed it to step to and smoothly draw /Eins
Auhrum/.
The Golden Blade, first of the Knights Blades, gleamed like
soft butter in his grip, he stood among great warriors whose names were
on the brink of being legends. He could feel the focus of their spirits,
and knew his own had much greater breadth, depthbut not the honed edge
that would entail the leap to the next level of accomplishment. He had
spent a great deal of effort mastering skills not integral to combat,
with almost desperate speed at times, and it had cost him.

He saw another hand gripping this blade, one that made him
wince, and then many, many others he might knowand knew he was not
beyond them.
He returned the Blade to the Wall, and much to the surprise of
the Marines and even Trencher, did not draw another. He felt his Bars
swim and knew a single /Gold Bar/ gleamed there now.
He watched the Mick make his slow progress, and also draw /Eins
Auhrum/, and not go beyond. Carefully the Mick returned the Blade to the
Wall, and under many curious eyes, the band regrouped again.Iron,
Silver, and Gold all present, a formidable fighting force by even
Freesword standards.
Youll have no difficulty whatsoever entering a decent Academy
wearing Ironor Bronze, Errant told the Daens as the band slowly
stepped away from the Hall and the Arena, to give those behind them
their chance to draw. Weve given you the names of those we think
bestI trust the six of you have made your decisions
The six Daens nodded their assent slowly. You spoke of the
House of Master Clivis and the Academy of Alablastar. These sounded the
best to me and my allies, Master Errant, the senior of the trainess, a
once-rambunctious and arrogant young man who'd learned to shave his
beard, his tongue, and his attitude on the harrowing trip to Freesword.
A new respect shown in the eyes of all those around, as they had been
able to feel the shadows left by those before themincluding the
Marines, and Errant.
Good schools both, the training will serve you welland you are
in sore need of some proper training. All fieldwork and no play makes
Daenlanders sloppy. Errant smiled slightly as the Daens just nodded
woeful agreement at how much they truly had to learn. Lets get to the
Alloy and get you settled in. You are going to be here awhile, and
probably moving again, but no reason not to show you the part of the
city the Mick came here to enjoy.
--------------------Haxan, ye intend to be leaving, do ye not
Errant looked over as the Mick paused, the very, very fetching
brown-skinned lass on his arm waiting demurely for the rest of his
affection. The other Marines and the Daens had all departed earlier in
the arms of the ladies of the Nine Veils.

Ive some training Ive to catch up on too, Mickbut you are

correct, I wont be here all that long. Ive no weapons waiting to be
enchanted, armor to be made, swords to be forged. Just a few essentials
to be pounded into my thick skull.
I felt you, Haxan, in the blade. Holding it, just before me
The Daenlander trailed off, uncertain how to convey what he had felt.
Ye wereso much more then meand yet
You are on a faster road then I am. Dont begrudge the
judgmentthe Swords are never wrong. You have your Gold and you earned
it. All I got was Gold, because its all I earnedI dithered and got
distracted. Errant was extremely unjudgemental, and the Mick, even
half-sauced and very tempted by the delight on one armand an ivory
skinned limb threading thru his other arm, still managed to hold out a
moment longer.
And to where will ye go Yere a curse and a doom, but Gods
know, it were the most exciting time of me life being with ye.
North again. Im looking for someonesomething. Perhaps we
shall meet on the Wyrmbreak Wall one dayif you ever want to wear
Platinum, I will see you and the Marines there someday. He lifted his
hand in a salute to the Daenlander, who finally had to indulge himself
in a smooth neck and shoulder.
Aye Haxan, perhaps one day you will. And with that the Daen
let himself be pulled away by the delights on his arms, leaving the
Haxan alone on the stuffed pillows, and discrete Veils regarding him
carefully.
Errant rose, stretching once, trying to ignore the prodigous
amounts of food and drink hed indulged in with Daens and Marines, and
despite the very speculative gazes of the Veils, made for the doorway
whilst reclaiming his hat. Aware of the peculiar nature of Haxans, the
Veils did not attempt to stop him. He had no doubt his companions would
be very finely cared for, indeed, and the Veils would not overstep their
bounds. It was a very good place to introduce the urban to the charms of
civilization, without having to step in the crap along the way.
Now hopefully, he could avoid her while seeking out the masters
he needed.
/*Story Daenlander IX*/

He felt her before he saw her.

Dragon Warriors of the Profound Houses, like most enlightened
warriors, had little problem sensing the presence of others who delved
into the mysteries and power of spiritual strength. His own spiritual
prowess wasnt that impressivebetween traipsing and sailing all over
hither and yon butchering stuff and earning his kharmic wings, hed not
gotten in much time, if any, to pursue something as simple and peaceful
as profound training. Thus, he felt her before she felt himwhich of
course, gave him about two breaths to recognize her, mutter an oath to
nothing in particular under his breath, and close his eyes in fatalistic
acceptance of whatever was coming.
YOU! came the very loud, very precise shout, forceful enough
to bodily move the nearest warriors out of her path as her eyes zeroed
in on him across thirty paces of street and stone.
Out came the swords, the matching curved short blades known as
Wings, bursting into red and gold flames as they did so, so fast it was
more like they lept into her hands then were drawnand then she was
coming for him.
He could probably have whipped his shield around. He definitely
could have gotten his sword out and up. He certainly could have gotten
into a fighting stance, defensive or otherwise, and might have been able
to actually run like hell if he was of a mind to do so.
He didnt do anything of the sort, of course. The former actions
could land him in real hot water and were tacit approval to duel to at
least some extent.
She came across the interval between them with a crazy dance
that wasnt quite a straight line, yet faster then any normal man could
have charged, on top of him before another exhalation could escape him,
swords coming in at angles somehow not quite right, aiming for neck and
stomach as nothing more then blurs of heartfire.
Neither, of course, cut him. Oh, she wanted tohe could feel the
killing force behind the blades as they jerked to a halt just shy of his
skin, the fires flaring just shy of contact and burning him, see the
seething anger in her eyes as she stared at him in a Very Picturesque
Pose (as a Balladeer would be wont to say), green eyes alight with
internal fires, red hair somehow dancing too freely, alive with her own
/chi/.

He met her stare with a clinical levelness as he turned his neck

for her to look at the two Gold Bars there. Now, now, girl, no good
picking on a measly Twice Gold now, what with you sporting Platinum and
all.
The look on her face was worth the humiliation of not being her
Barred equal measures of vanity and superiority mixed with disbelief,
frustration, more fury, desperate thinking to circumvent tradition, and
then a blazing-hot resignation that there wasnt a damn thing she could
do to him now that she was better then he was.
Her Wings were snatched away and sheathed nearly as quickly as
they had come out, and she stood there glaring at him, looking utterly
ravishing in the fiery red blouse and black vest and tight black pants
and knee high boots and tumbling mass of rich red hair, her presence
burning on his soul with her vast irritation with him. Impotent fury lit
up her eyes wonderfullyhe decided she really should indulge her temper
more, it brought out a lot of highlights.
Errant of Ruin, glorysword of Haxan, she spat at him, or
around him in his general vicinity somewhere. Exactly what are you
doing back in Freesword I have been hoping and praying you would come
back, so I could she glared again at his collar in disbelief.
Challenge me to a duel for the right of your honor Oh, get in
line, woman. Ive more important things to do then go fight a pretty
lady whos pissed because I wouldnt marry her, dont give a damn that
her father runs a Scabbard, and learned a bit late that wagging your
lips about the wrong things costs time, money, and lives. He was
utterly merciless as he bit off the words, and saw her temper escalating
even more wildly, hair billowing as her fingers began to burn. So you
went to the best dueling school you could get into and you want to mop
the floor with me. I didnt, and I dont share the sentiment. He kept
her glare stonily, despite the overwhelming force of her angerthere
were Steel nearby, watching this confrontation with great interest. They
probably couldnt stop either party from fightingbut once word got out,
if either of them drew a blade, they were in deep trouble, and the
younger daughter of the Crimson Sword was not exactly someone who could
hide.
Errant, of course, had not the slightest bit of intention of
drawing a blade on Rashalve Crimson. Fire Dancers were dueling masters,
their whole style oriented to taking down anyone stupid enough to
exchange blows with them. His own style was considerably more of a
flexible nature, designed to be adaptable to any situation. Taking on a

specialized Profound duelist just was not the kind of thing he didand
besides, their masters would be really, really unhappy to have students
at cross purposes this way. Happy if their School won, of course, but
otherwise not happy at all.
You are a lying, deceitful, manipulative bastard, she began
with deep-seated anger.
And I kiss good, too. Which, if I remember arightly, is why you
dragged me into your bed in the first place. It truly was entertaining
watching the flames flicker inside her eyes and hair. Her skin was an
odd mix of gold from her studies and red from the heat of her anger,
very fetching, he had to admit. And I fed you a bunch of tales you
happily blabbed to anyone you met, and a bunch of folk died because you
couldnt keep your mouth shut, he drilled into her. You did the job
pretty damn well, have to admit. Almost makes me wish Id thought of
using you in the first place, but I give credit to the Elders for that.
The Matron knew just what to do, I reckon.
She was giving serious consideration to going at him, and
thereby screwing her entire family and especially her Father, who would
probably have to cut her head off to keep his Scabbard if she went to
town on someone with a lower Bar refusing a duel. Errant crossed his
arms, took a long and loud sighing breath, and waited patiently for her
to do something. Not the kind of woman who took well to being usedbut
then hed known that, and done it anyways. It had been a hell of a
fling, after all.
Why are you only Gold she finally ground out, so frustrated
it looked like she might have heartburst. Its been more then two
years, damn you! Ive heard youve been all over the northern Thronelands!
Ive been too busy fighting to pay much attention to my
dueling. You know, mans work. Button, push. This truly was remarkable
to see. He doubted he could say anything nice to her, at least in her
eyes. Hack hack, slash slash, pound pound He mimed for her
pleasantly. Great heroics in far off lands Killing dire foes, saving
royalty, battling demons, undead, necromancers, bone priests, pirates,
slavers, cannibals, and what not while you practice against
shaven-skinned egotists on the Arena sands Mens work.
Her jaw was clenched so hard he was almost certain her perfect
teeth were going to break. That would truly have been a pity, although
it would have let him saunter off, at the least. You-you-you! she
spluttered, almost incoherent with anger.

I, I, I he repeated pleasantly and patiently.

You are going to pay for what you did! she snarled into his
face, seething with the desire to cut him into little kibbles.
As opposed to the woman who couldnt keep her mouth shut He
spat eloquently off to the side. He did a really good eloquent spit. He
looked her dead in the eye. All you had to do was say nothing to your
family and company of what Id said, and you couldnt do it. So we both
know where your loyalty is, and your ability to hold a secret. Now get
out of my face, and go find some idiot Gold to challenge me to a duel if
you want to. Hed best be really good, because I hate to duel.
He wasnt afraid to meet her eye, and she didnt intimidate him.
He just hated dealing with angry womenespecially ones who trained in
profound fighting styles.
He wasnt going to turn his back on her, and his posture
indicated he was perfectly willing to sit there while she seethed and
simmered all day. They were drawing quite a crowd, and she was looking
much worse then he was, what with the burning hands and all. If shed
been someone less important then the daughter of a Sword, she might have
risked starting something. As it was, she didnt dareeven if her loose
lips had cost her family a fine ship, crew, and over sixty Crimson
Marines, all to be laid at his feet.
She did manage not to scream again, spinning and stalking off so
hard her first three steps made the stones crack under her heels before
she reined inand the flaming hands were more then enough indication for
the locals to get the Hell out of her way. Messing with a Platinum and a
Crimson was not a good idea.
Errant extravagantly pulled off his hat and wiped his brow,
earning a laugh from the surrounding Freesworders, who could appreciate
weathering the ire of a Platinum and a local hellion. The observing
Steel closed in calmly on him.
So youre Errant, eh, lad the crusty senior White observed,
sneaking a glance at the wake the Crimson daughter was leaving. You
might want to be thinking about leaving Freesword, son. That girls got
a temper, but her fathers got a cold eye for revenge. Theres plenty of
eager Metal willing to take a stab at glory for a Captaincy in the
Crimson if they can take you down fair.
I go outside the city now, Freesword rules dont apply, and
Ill be killed just as an example of who not to piss off, and hell take

his consequences from the Elders and be damned. If theres Crimson

wannabes or youngbloods interesting in proving themselves, I can and
will kill them as they comeI suppose I should be working on that side
of my rep a bit now that Im here. He shrugged. Ive the feeling that
whenever I leave town, shell be waiting regardlessbest to get some
practice in.
Perhaps. The older mans eyes twinkled. Shes really been on
the blacklist of her family since that debacleshes a lot to prove, and
shes been taking it out on her foes in the Arena. Shes good, lad, and
I dont mean just as Platinum.
Fire Dancer is a dueling school. Its her element. Mines
killing things. Ill take her into account when I go. Now, if you
gentlemen will excuse me, Im off to see Master Tawndra for some lessons
and to get my clock cleaned by a demented old man.
--------------------------Son, what exactly have you been wasting your time on
Errant groaned despite himself as he tried to get up, found no
air or strength in his gut, and sat back down to recover both, sucking
in tiny little bits of wind and trying to throw off the effects of the
palm strike to the diaphragm. He held up a finger as he tried to
concentrate on the wonderful act of breathing, while the gnarled and
scarred Elder squatted down before him. Master Tawndra was a smaller man
with graying hair, a dark beard that grew exceptionally fast despite
daily shaving, plain gray and brown tunic and leggings, not an ounce of
fat, and enough inner power to put his hand through a stone block if he
needed to.
I can see why youre still Gold. You havent been working on
technique at all. You got that Valuzuvan and Corix fluff worked into
your style, you keep trying fancy tricks when you should be about
killing the enemy, and you really need to work on your Devotions. Being
Gold, your Devotions are a sin to behold. A callused hand reached out
and slammed him on the breastbonehis diaphragm suddenly realized it
could expand, and he took such a deep breath he almost fell over.
You old bastards think us young idiots got all the time and
energy in the world, and keep sending me here and there without regards
for my proper educational needs, he replied, sucking in sweet loads of air.
You looking to get your ass kicked again, you smart-mouthed
snot Master Tawndra asked him pleasantly.

No, but since its going to happen, I might as well earn the
right. The Elders bushy eyebrows lifted, and he actually managed a
chuckle as he rose from his squat and dragged Errant to his feet. Triple
Platinum Bars gleamed on his cheek, and he wore the badge of Flowing
Waters prominently. Every Haxan who knew the style and fought outside
Haxan ended up in Freesword sooner or later, and they came to him for
training.
I read that pretty bit of prose you cooked up for Elder
Seivson. If the Rockborn hadnt countersigned it, and that fool of a
Daen gone boasting that theyd done three times as much as youd
written, Idve thrashed you just for trying to pass off some half-baked
foolishness on us as an excuse for goofing off for months, the Water
Master said, waving him to a spot opposite again. Errant groaned again
and took up his stance, hands up, and the older Master waved him in.
Well, I was rushed to pen it all, seeing as how busy the Land
made us. Damn good thing the Rockborn had that case of his, or Idve
lost the journal about six times! Errants hands darted out, pumping
smoothly through the motions of the form as the Master batted them away
or slid away, about as easy to hit as sunlight on the water. Gradually
he accelerated the pace and force, concentrating on his breathing,
following the Elder around the room as he tried to accelerate past the
older mans ability to block or dodge, finding neither, and as the
attack climaxed, his leg was scooped under him by the single
counterattack, and down he went with a thumpat least not landing on his
tailbone, he reflected with a sigh, regarding the warm brown woods of
the ceiling and supports.
Yer handwork is worse then your bladeworkwhich is to be
supposed, I guess. The weathered Elder looked down at him with a
serious face. Been out saving the world and had no time to sit back and
eatcher kharma, eh Ill pass the word that yer off the firefighter list
til I say so. Youve got to get beat back into proper shape.
Errant tried not to think about that as he got his feet under
him and rose directly back up, earning a snort from the Master. Well
start work on your Devotions next. I dont want you insulting Aru any
longer then you have to with that mockery you call a kata. Errant
managed to not roll his eyes with a masterful effort. Now, lets see
how your defense works again.
Two minutes later, Errant finished being chased and bounced
around the room with a headlong slide into one of the support poles of
the sparring room as his counterstrike to the shoulder never quite

landed. That wasnt Flowing Waters, he mumbled into the floor as he

waited for his eyes to uncross.
What, you think us old farts cant learn some new stuff either
Get up so I can beat on you again, boywell get you straightened out on
such things soon enough, I reckon. Errant winced, knowing he meant
every word, and pushed himself back to his feet strongly. The Master
knew exactly how much he could take, and pretending he was worse off
then he was would only earn the Elders scornwhich was infinitely worse
then earning his tongue-lashing.
Well, at least he wouldnt be bothered by the Elders asking a
Ruin to take care of this or that little matter for the next monthhe hoped!
----------------------Next week.
But-
Next. Week. Errant pulled up his shirt and revealed four fresh
scars, still with stitches in them, across his chest and back. Unless
youd like to have Master Tawndra stand in for me. I understand he likes
to take the swords of young idiots, break them over his knee, and shove
them up their ass sideways.
The Crimson Marine flushed and stepped back despite himself. He
had his Twice Gold, but mucking with a Tri-Plat Water Master wasnt
something most sane people did. He tried another tack. It is a simple
matter to heal your previous injuries
Im a Source, you palsied idiot. I heal by me. Errant waved at
him dismissively as he turned and walked away. Get in @#%$ line. Ive
got work to do, Ive buried two of your friends, and another idiot
hopeful, and you still think you got a chance My challenge list is up
to nine people. You want me to get a second
The Crimson scowled, but hurried after him nonetheless, keeping
his hand on his sword, while the crowd met the eyes of a half dozen
Whites and decided not to follow and add to the congestion. The honor
of the Crimson is at stake, you Haxan cur. We will not be satisfied by
merely cutting down a stand in from your treacherous Cl-
Dont, Errant interrupted him coldly.
Dont what the burly sailor demanded in challenge, sensing

weakness excitedly.
Dont bring my Clan into it. They are watching this whole
stupid escapade really carefully. As long as your Colonel keeps his head
on and makes it between me and him, hes fine. If he starts blaming the
Clan, naming the Clan, challenging the Clan, you are all going to die.
The Elders will dust off their little trophy swords on the wall, some
toothless old fart is going to rip your Colonel into bloody pieces in
the Arena, and no ship flying a Crimson Sail is ever going to make port
if it leaves Freesword again. Errant stopped to look into the Crimsons
eyes. Im a member of the Clan of Ruin, you stupid sonuvabitch. Do you
know what it means to piss off my entire Clan Do you have the slightest
idea how quickly they could make you and your precious Scabbard just go
away Do you He took a step towards the paling sailor. Get the Hell
out of here and dont bother me again. If the Clan gets one hint a
stupid gloryhungry merc is crapping on their name trying to earn
asskisser points, they are going to send you home to Niord and not worry
about your little Colonel in his tiny little sector of a city where they
are on first terms names with the ruler. Go, you idiot! I promise not to
tell them a damn thing IF I never see your stupid swill-puking face again!
The Crimsons sunbrowned face had gone astonishingly pale,
probably recalling all sorts of tales whispered under the breath in a
city of mercs that had escaped him while he was showing his ego and
willingness to die. He turned and went, and quickly. Errant growled and
shook his head and hefted the sacks of supplies on his shoulders.
/Builds character/, Master Tawndra had said, which Errant took
as, /Pull your own weight, you thankless idiot/. He shouldve thought of
the Clans rep some time agothe list would probably dwindle pretty
quickly. He wondered if the Mick would want to cut a few of them up. The
Daen would probably love the practice, and the chance to have some fun
on the Arena sands. Hed have to aska gatekeeper wasnt an unknown
practiceBars measured skill, not physical ability, which could vary
widely. Two Gold Barred could have vastly different capabilities based
on their natural speed, strength, and endurance.
The more he thought about it, the more he knew the Mick would
enjoy the Hell out of it. After all, nothing like a cheering or booing
crowd to get an attention-loving fellow like the Mick worked upand in
the eyes of the ladies. The Crimson would likely hop on it as an
excellent way out of a bad situation, since he was killing all these
fine young sots coming for him, and not in a manner they could be
revivified since he couldnt get the same treatment. Truly a waste of
Twice Goldshave to send the Daen a message.

And besides, the Daen was doubtless bored and needed something
to wager on.
---------------------Now this, this was /fun/!
The roar of the crowd. The sun beating down on the sands. A ring
of bloody fire, the limit of the whole world. The skirl of steel on
steel, the anger and the sweat and curses of fighting men using every
ounce of skill and strength to win, the smell of blood in the air, the
pounding of his heart and the biting of a keen blade into meat and bone
in the thrilling wash of victory.
The crowd roared again as the Crimson fell, scimitar falling
from nerveless fingers as lifes blood poured out on the sands. The
wine-colored skinned Verrik Marine collapsed onto the pristine sands of
the arena as the Mick raised his swords, and basked in the adulation of
the crowd.
Hed made at least three hundred gold too, by his wagers.
This one had been good, no doubt of it, scimitar and knife plied
in the sweeping patterns of the south, a dancing dervish who wanted the
Mick to chase him all over the place as he pranced about like a desert
whirlwind. The Mick certainly wasnt having any of that, and had simply
punished the fool whenever he came within reach of his sabers with a
furious array of attacks that had sent the man stumbling away as or more
bloodied then the Mick himself. Too, the fellows taunts and insults
werent quite up to the standards of a MacMikal, and finally the fool
had lost his temper and come in blade to blade to duke it out like a man
instead of a prancing sissy.
That, of course, had been a mistake. The Haxan was a royal pain
in the ass, but hed been more then willing to spar with the Mick,
forcing the Daen to devise endless ways to try and overcome the wall of
steel the man could put up with a fluidity that had been breathtaking to
see at times. This vapid swine wasnt in the same league, and the Mick
had woven strike after strike thru his parries and defenses and even his
last ditch stand, until the Verrik fell with his throat opened and
darkly red blood spilling forth.
Good practice, good fun, and good money, the Haxans note had
said dryly. Also a way to make a rep, get the Crimson pissed at you, and
have a few Haxan Elders and a lot of mercs get an idea of whom they
could be dealing with.

The bloody fires of the ring rose higher, and the Mick felt the
cuts and stabs across his chest and leg and arms closing with a fiery
burning sensation, not unlike getting healed by Trencher, but
considerably less unpleasant. The blood on the sands vanished, and
visibly retreated back into the throat of the downed Verrik, the liquid
leaping back into his artery and the near-decapitation closing with
incredible speed. The Crimson Marines eyes flickered back to life,
blinking away sand and sweat in disbelief, and then looking up into the
smirking expression of the Mick with a cold and defeated expression on
his face.
Off with ye now, ya bilge-swilling ponce, the Mick sniffed,
pouring salt into the Crimsons wounds. Glowering darkly, the Verrik
reclaimed his fallen blades as he rose to his feet, stalking from the
Arena with shame burning on his shoulders as the bloody fires died down,
leaving the Mick with a distinct urge to go find a good woman and engage
in an extended bout of some other sorts.
The expression on the face of the woman in the nearest seats
watching this duel might have stopped the heart of a lesser fighter, but
the Mick had always prided himself on the quality of his callousness at
times. He smiled winningly and waved to the absolutely stunning redhead
wearing Platinum who looked ready to call down fire and thunder upon his
head.
Rashalve Crimson. He rolled the name over on his tongue. Where
did the Haxan find them He swaggered off to collect his winnings and
return the finely balanced swords to the Arena Whites who oversaw all
the duels. Then it was off to collect his winnings and then to meet the
others at the Veils for another fine night of debauchery and another
sampling from the very extensive collection of liquors that fine
establishment possessed. After making suitable rounds of the local
boasting holes to poke fun at the Crimson and make sure his name got
known, of course. There was a group of Zyayrans whod been frequenting
the Lions Roar the last few days, and he was a good MacMikal, figuring
that the world would be a brighter place with more little Micks running
around. Hed heard they didnt have much use for the Crimsons, so the
odds were quite good hed find more then a little luck, hopefully with
that doe-eyed whiskey-hued one that had been eying him last night
He had to admit, he was liking his stay in Freesword much better
then the last time around. In a few days, the rune-carving on his
/Ladies/ would be done, and he could finally have his own blades to hand
again. His fellow Marauders, like himself, were spending gold on
training, upgrading their gear, and the many pleasures of the City of

Mercenaries, and were getting keenly interested in the boastful tales of

the Arena fighting he was undertaking. And, of course, the extra gold
got their attention, especially since he spent it so quickly, to the
delight of the establishments he frequented.
Hed looked in on the young Daens toopurely with an eye to
recruiting them away from the Conal, of course; not some misguided sense
of responsibility for butchering half of the lot on the way here, of
course not. They were being good, fine Daens, arguing heatedly with
closed-minded instructors, brawling with Imperial snobs, practicing
their taunts and insults and getting their Iron heads handed to them
every now and then in good fashion. He was quite proud of them, and took
a fine paternal joy in showing them the wonders and pleasures well,
pleasures, mostly of the world beyond Daenland. And the ladies did
seem to get taken with the old Daenish crooning now, the wee sweet things
Humming to himself, the Daen wondered when the backlash of doing
something with the Haxan behind it was going to explode, thrust such
thoughts firmly into the denial base of his brain, and headed off to get
many a drink.

/*Daenlander X*/
This situation with the Crimson is getting out of hand. That
Daen is making a mockery of their Golds and the gloryswords trying to
make a name for themselves, and your Ruin clansman has had to kill six
fools so far, including two who hadnt updated their Bars yet.
Master Tawndra scratched the stubble on his chin, still growing
in faster then he could keep it shaved. He was unable to keep the smile
off of his face, even in the face of the Generals expression. Aye,
well, its not like he asked to duel them all. I understand the rest of
the Micks Marines have thrown themselves into the fighting with some
enthusiasm, too.
The haunting green eyes of the General flashed dangerously, but
the Elder had long since outgrown any fear of her, be it dying, or
general abuse. She radiated competency, skill, and absolute control, and
was beautiful enough to make even an old mans heart skip a beat. She
was also his grandmother about fifteen generations back or something, he
knew, with more then a little pride.
His little band of gloryswords is making the most competent
band of naval mercenaries in the city look ridiculous. That makes the
Colonel of the Crimson look bad, which makes the ruler of a Scabbard

look bad, which makes me for allowing him to keep that Scabbard look
bad. The General leaned over to look Master Tawndra in the eye, and
there was no way he could look away from that stare. I do not /Like/
looking bad, Master Tawndra.
The Elder swallowed extravagantly. No, I imagine you dont.
The, ah, problem here is Rashalve Crimson. She really and truly wants to
get her revenge on Errant for that little problem involving Lord Ro-Kros
some time ago, and hes a Source. Since he doesnt have access to
healing magic nor revivification as she does, the only fair duel is
outside the Arena, and making sure neither party can come back if they
lose. Since shes got metal on him, thats not likely to happen.
Rashalve Crimson is a dilettante who hasnt seen more then a
half-dozen real engagements. How in the world did she earn higher metal
then a Ruin who, by all accounts, has had his boots in the mud and face
to a grindstone the General asked with icy disbelief.
The boys been working, and the girls been working out. Rather
obsessed with the whole thing, I gather, Tawndra snorted back.
Errants a true Ruin, an Independent of the first order. He can handle
pretty much anything the Elders throw at him, and its diluted the
purity of his fighting focus. Hes good and tough, make no mistake, and
damn cunning too, but the fact he can climb a thousand foot cliff with a
dagger in his teeth, speak seven languages, slit throats and shadow
skulk with the best of them, and identify every wine and the poisons in
them from here to Eali from a sip dont make him a master duelist.
Independents have to be a bit more versatile then that.
Then a single duel will resolve this mess In the Arena She
waved off his objection before he voiced it. There are ways around your
/primos/ resistance, Master Tawndra. I will expressly authorize a match
between the pair of them in one weeks time. You will be given a Blood
Ring at the door, and your young Ruin had best be wearing it every
single moment until that duel.
A Blood Ring Master Tawndra frowned thoughtfully. That would
certainly do the trick. Shell just want to keep killing him, you know.
Every time she does, shell just butcher her honor and
reputation more. By the time she is done, I expect shell be tasting
ashes in her mouth, and the Shunning will be in full force.
Master Tawndra winced despite himself, seeing the truth of the
matter. The girl was going to damn herself with her own headstrong
anger. Being Shunned from Freesword was a death knell for a mercenary,

except those who undertook the worst kinds of jobs.

Ill see to it shes got a place on the Wall, if nowhere else,
he said slowly, not unkindly.
Im sure her family will be overjoyed. The cold knife-tone was
not lost on himElder machinations had done this to Rashalve, a lass
largely innocent of the whole debacle her father had involved the
Crimson in, raiding Haxan business interests at the behest of a Jytan
noble. The Crimson had gotten the warning, and now were truly starting
to appreciate the costs of their stupidity. Tawndra wondered exactly how
guilty the Colonel Crimson felt over what had happened to his daughters
life and career through his greed and political ambitions.
I best be about telling the lad about how hes going to get
killed a few times then. Im sure hell take it well. Master Tawndra
smiled despite himself, and even the General allowed a flicker of
amusement to escape her control. She waved a curt dismissal, and the
Elder rose, saluted once, precisely, spun, and exited the sparsely
decorated chamber from which the General conducted much of her public
business.
He passed the Colonel Crimson in the outer chamber. The old
pirate started on seeing him, and for a moment Haxan Elder and Freesword
Colonel matched gazes and their hands itched for swords.
Colonel. The Generals voice sounded behind them, with enough
edge in it to shiver both mens spines. Master Tawndra quickly continued
on his way as the Colonel instinctively straightened himself and tugged
at the scarlet of his uniform tunic.
A stately old White, wearing Platinum himself despite his thin
frame and few remaining locks of white from advancing years, gravely
handed a simple wooden box to the Elder as he made his way out of the
Halls of the Steel. Tawndra shook the older mans hand gravely, inquired
about Major Amdrills children and grand-children (having tutored two of
the latter) and was walked to the gates by the Generals aide so they
could converse politely. Once outside, the Master hefted the box and
headed back for his school with a wary eye.
-----------------This was so not going to be fun.
The personal challenges had dried up, although the Marines were
making such an enthusiastic reputation that theyd truly gotten into the

gladiatorial matches of the Arena even once the Crimson backed awayand
lingering bad feelings meant a lot of Crimson or hopefuls were coming
back for rematches.
The whole city was abuzz over the matcha Platinum duelist
matching up against a Twice Gold adventurer. Smart money was on the
duelist, and thats where his own gold would go, too. He knew what a
Fire Dancer could do. If hed been focused on picking up the skills of a
Water Master, he wouldnt have been so worried, but its pretty hard to
practice profound fighting skills traipsing over backlands and
deathtraps and ships at sea and whatnot.
He sighed and rubbed the Blood Ring on his hand. It was an item
made expressly for use by Sources, basically storing the extra life
energy they generated and capable of pouring it back into them to heal
them. Such things had distinct limits, but this one was attuned to the
Bloodfire fighting rings of the Arena, too. He wouldnt exactly enjoy
the process, but the Arena there could heal him, too, as long as this
Ring held out.
Nothing physical from Master Tawndra now, merely tons of
meditation, concentration, and practicing his Devotions. He could feel
the Ring on his finger getting prickly with power as he practiced and
stretched and recited.
No, he wasnt going to enjoy this much at all.
-------------------------------It was not a bright and sunny day. As a matter of fact, it was
gloomy and overcast and raining and rather cold. Water was streaming
down the force screens that covered the Arena, probably into the
reservoirs that fed the city water supply. Strong storm winds howled
along above the walls of the Arena, rather muffling the cheers of the
crowds as men fought and bled in their contests of skill.
Errant grimaced, feeling again the blood-ruby Ring wrapped about
his finger. He so did not want to go out there. Going out to a fight
simply to die was so not his style, and it went against his every
instinct. Going out to kill an enemy, take him down by dying, sure,
fine, hed do what he had to do. To cater to a foolish womans notions
of revenge Hed rather slit her throat and be done with the matter.
Damn pretty throat, however.
He had a new blade in hand, one kept by the School precisely for

dueling situations, a work of High Mastercraft that had taken his breath
away when it was handed to him. It reminded him forcibly of the lost
Clansword of his own family, an item hed been assured the Elders had
been attempting to locate ever since it was lost with his father. This
blade felt almost alive in his hand, adamantine perfection, a wonder to
behold, singing beautifully with what inner resources he had, and
hopefully the equal of Wings in the hands of a Fire Dancer.
No, he wasnt going to enjoy this much at all. But to hold a
blade as finely made as /Foam/, at least he had something to experience
for this.
He was very, very sure shed be coming out with /Fires in the
Blood/, the Fire counterpart to /Hazy Shades of Winter/ of his own
school. A combination of razored cuts and fiery /chi/ along made wounds
extremely painful and distracting, every motion an agony of burning
blood and skin. The longer you fought a Fire Dancer, the more painful it
all became, until it became nearly impossible to fight effectively. He
didnt know the /Winter/ katayou had to be both further along and have
the time to learn it, and had stuck with the Devotions he knew best.
As Master Tawndra had said, this was going to be painful. He
took another deep breath as the sympathetic Arena White cocked an ear,
and opened the door for him.
----------------------She was trying not to smirk, keep her focus and her emotions off
her face. Fire Dancers fought best with emotion, however, so it wasnt
working too well. He read the gloating behind her eyes for what she was
about to do to him.
Fine mail under the flamboyant gold and crimson blouse. Wings
still sheathed. Wasnt bothering with a shield. Faster then he was,
reflexes honed for the Arena and the duel. Her footwork would be erratic
at best, and downright confusing at the worst, her swordwork wild and
crazed and dizzyingly quick to exploit the slightest openingand to find
openings where none should exist.
Hed abandoned merely light armoravoiding a Fire Dancer was an
exercise in futility. He had on greaves, bracers, pauldronsa whole
assembly of fine armor, which shed actually been startled to see him
in. Water Masters didnt usually wear any more armor then did Fire
Dancers, since Water techniques tended to be particularly effective
against anything rigid. He was more armored up then he ever dared to be
on the trail, fully aware he wasnt going to match her mobility or dodge

away from her blades.

She, however, had to deal with the spikes on his shield, which
he really was pretty good with, and the fact that Flowing Waters was a
very flexible school. She had doubtless fought members of his School
beforeprobably better students then he was. He was not, however, going
to let her get away with things.
The crowd was getting worked up, but he focused his attention,
and they ceased to exist. He could see the opposite was true for
Rashalveshe was being energized by the attention and the crowds, trying
hard not to let the fires of her soul erupt on her hands before the
official start of the duel.
The stentorian voice of the White was saying something he
couldnt hear. He only saw her eyes widen and her swords come into her
hands faster then he could make out, and she was coming for him.
/Foam/ flowed into position, he braced as she came in, a flaming
array both preceding her and masking her precise movements. Without
preamble he stepped to the side, feeling for her presence as he thrust
the wrong end of his blade into that wild swirl of swords, and then
smashed his shield squarely into the heart of the pattern.
Fiery pain lashed up his shield arm, shoulder, across his leg as
she danced away, head tilted to the side from the pommel hit which had
nearly knocked her cold, streaks of red matching the spikes on his
shield on her left arm.
Three blows to two, he thought with a hiss, gritting his teeth
against the pain, wondering just how in the hell shed gotten a sword
around his shield. He could feel, even vaguely see, the burning force
around his injuries, saw her delighted smile at the success of the
exchange. He calmly set his feet again as she began to circle himshe
couldnt waste time or the Fires would burn out and shed lose her
advantageshe had to hit him and keep hitting him, until he was
virtually burning alive or dead.
Now. She seemed to read a misstep as she came in, swords again
forming that cloaking wall of blurred flame, which he ignored as he
concentrated on serenity and smoothness, knowing that whatever her reach
and erratic path, she had limits like all flesh, and it was there he
could punish her.
Fire lashed across his neck, and almost took his eye. She spun
away, and he saw the shock in her eyesshe had nearly impaled herself on

/Foam/s point, a long line of red cutting across her torso, parting the
links of mail as shed barely managed to turn in time. Two strokes to
one, as he adjusted his stance again, and waited for her.
She circled more rapidly now, doubtless wishing to be free of
the useless mail shirt shed kept out of habit. The sudden rigidity of
his movements caught her eye, a reflection of both the increasing pain
of his injuries and his use of the /Rule of Hurn/, and this time, when
she came in, he stepped into the charge.
It was a wall of spiritual fire in his vision, he ignored it and
worked for the heart, smashing into her arms with his shield and driving
her back with the mass of armor and muscle as he deftly wove /Foam/ into
the center of her technique and sent her spinning away madly, parrying
wildly to keep herself alive as she got out of his reach.
Three to four, but he was in agony. Shed slid a blow across his
inner thigh, and his groin was burning, he could barely see out of his
left eye at all for the wall of red burning there, his right lung had
been pierced in from the side and he was inhaling a furnace, and a cut
on his calf threatened to collapse his leg. At the same time, she had
her cheek neatly torn open by the edge of his shield, and hed almost
taken her head clean off her shoulders with a wristflick thrust-and-cut
lancing up her arm and along her neck with sheer ferocious precision.
But she had him and she knew it. His legs were about to give
way, he could barely breathe, and every muscle on his body was screaming
with cumulative power of her chi burning at him.
Hed get exactly one more cut, and they both knew it. She had
only to parry it and shed take him down almost instantlybut he would
be damned if hed let her do it with style. She was going to kill him,
but she was not going to look good doing it.
And here she came.
He thrust and he edged his shield wide doing it, turning
marginally, felt the contact of his sword being turned, but it was not
the real attack as he knee came up directly between her legs, and the
world exploded in black fire as her blade came over from the side, wild
slash becoming a driving thrust up from beneath his throat into his brain.
----------------He was dead before he hit the ground. His skull was a pillar of
fire, every wound in his body flaring with dancing fires as he fell.

Rashalves glee was mitigated by the fact she was on her knees
puking her guts out from the directed force of his knee. It had been a
brutal and dirty move, a soldiers move, and had they been on a
battlefield, one which would have gotten her immediately killed by his
companions for the desperate seconds it took her to recover from the attack.
He was goodincredibly good. She couldnt believe someone Twice
Gold had been able to think clearly with his injuries, let alone land a
blow. Hed nearly killed her instantly twice with her own enthusiasm for
the attack. He had known every attack would cost him, and done it anyways.
And hed made her look bad. He hadnt played her game of dance
and exchange, forced her to come in and cut him down like hacking at a
tree. Hed known he couldnt stop her, and simply decided to make her pay.
And here she was in victory, heaving her guts up, as every
soldier in the Arena nodded approval of exactly what hed donemade sure
shed die with him, had this been a battlefield.
Hed lost, and was still humiliating her, even with his brain
cooked and flesh blackened on him.
With a crackle, the Bloodfire rose, healing power raced along
the cuts and bruises shed received, while she fought down the nausea
from her insides and managed to drive herself to her feet. With a
grimace of continued humilation, she wrenched out her blade from his
skull and stepped back to watch him recover.
From his hand, a deep red fire lashed up to his skull, stored
power licking about the lethal wound. She blinked as she saw flesh
bubbling and settling in, blood hissing and steaming about the wound,
and red light blazing inside his skull.
He twitched, and began to writhe.
Bloodfire raced along his injuries...inside his injuriesbut it
wasnt the invigorating, tingling sensation energizing her. Quite
obviously, he was burning alive.
She realized immediately her /Fire in the Blood/ was still
eating at him, which she found amusing even as it began to die away. But
shed never seen the Arena fires make a man double up in agony as he
healed, the regenerating fires raging on his skin and inside it as they
healed him, dragging two screams, as if he was burning alive, out of him
as one by one, the spitting fires turned off, flesh sealed and muscle

restoredand a weird, fiery light raging about under his skin,

completely unnatural.
He vomited fire. It came out of his belly like bloody, angry
flames, searing at his mouth and tongue as it fell on the sands and
washed away, driven out of him by sheer force of will and determination,
searing the sands to glass before him in a gagging stream of magic alien
to him and what he was, and then dropping his head to those selfsame
sands as he shuddered in reflexive agony. Every muscle on his body was
twitching and spasming despite hands driven down into the sands and
clenching madly with the desire to stop.
Rashalve was torn between sardonic appreciation of the sight and
sudden appreciation of why the Men of Haxan didnt come into the Arena.
Shed been told it took powerful and expensive magic to make the duel
even possible, and now she saw whypartaking of the healing of the Arena
hurt him even more then she had.
How perfectly wonderful! He was going to get an exquisite taste
of all the humilation heaped upon her for what he had done.
Get up, you worthless Haxan cur, she purred, caressing her
blades in anticipation. This duel is until one of us yields. And I
certainly think Ive got more fight in me.
------------------Rashalve, no! her father blurted out, almost rising to his
feet. He felt an iron-hard set of eyes on him without turning around,
boring right into his soul, and sank back into his chair. His eyes
lifted across the way, where his experienced eyes picked out old,
cunning, and very disapproving stares beneath long-brimmed hats and
covering shawls.
Haxans. Elders. A whole lot of Haxans and their Elders.
Shed won, proven herself the better duelistbut not the better
fighter, the better soldiernot the better mercenary and glorysword, who
understood that winning wasnt everything, all the time, it was the name
and legend and honor attached to that winning. She had lost the crowd,
moreso as they saw what it cost the Haxan to actually fight the dueland
the fact she was using a famous Haxan dueling style to beat one of their
own.
And now, shed challenged him to rise and keep fighting.

The Colonel Crimson saw a gauntleted hand reach for the hilt of
that Perfect sword, one of the truly rare masterpieces of Dwarven make,
that had made the hearts of warriors sing simply to see it from the
stands. The Haxan had been trusted with that blade, and he would not and
could not dishonor it or his School, a sword many of the Colonels men
would sell their souls to earn the right to wield.
He was a gods-damned bastard of Haxan and hed die fighting.
Rashalve, youre just torturing him now he whispered, seeing
the hard stares settling in all around him, getting directed at the
uneasily shifting stands of red that were the Crimson, at the scarlet
box where he sat.
Disapproval radiated from behind and him like an icy cold wave,
spreading out into the stands. He did not need to look back to know what
the General of Freesword was thinking.
-------------------He died six times.
The second time he tried being on the defensive. Flowing Waters
swordplay, smooth and beautiful, Classic Mitharn sword and shieldwork,
the kind of pure skill and style practiced by thousands of the
onlookers, woven about him with skill and mastery obvious to seeand
distinctly less power then before.
Crazy Flame swordwork found openings where there were none,
poured through the wall of steel and that splendid defensehe simply
could not hold her back. He fell with his ribcage on fire from within
after over five minutes of being relentlessly hammered and keeping those
blazing swords at bay, displaying a mastery of defensive technique that
had every hard-bitten swordsman in the audience watching in fascination
and approval.
The next time he somehow got her against his shield and wrapped
her in an embrace and would not let go as she literally burned him
alive, driving the spikes into her chest and making her pay with agony
of her own as he burned atop her.
The fourth time a feint that would not have worked when fresh
took out his legs and her blade inserted itself into his spine. Fires
drove up his back in searing agony as he was even unable to move to
quench them.

The fifth time she literally cut him apart as he settled into
his stance, on him and past him in a whirl of blades so fast he was
enveloped and burning alive before he could mount any attempt at a defense.
The last time he barely got to his feet and simply stood there
with rolling eyes, unable to lift his shield or his sword. She didnt
even bother to draw her weapons, simply walking up to him with blazing
palms, pressing them against his chest, and letting loose.
He sailed back over six meters from the explosive blast of
/chi/, heart cooking inside his chest. When the blazing fires raged over
him, they kept burning and burning and did not go outnor did he rise.
-----------------------The crowd was moving.
The fact pierced Rashalves glee with sudden clarity, like a
cold hand about her heart. The raging storm of emotion, the glee of
vengeance and anger and hate that had consumed her, sustained, found
great pleasure in watching the silent, burning body of the Haxan,
waiting for him to arise so she could kick him more, died away to a
gentle hum.
The crowd was standing.
In silence.
She felt the eyes sweep around and pin her like a butterfly in
her fathers collection. She could not turn to even face them, her
sudden chill and horror so deep at the depth and power of that stare.
And then the General was gone from the Arena. Behind her, the
crowd followed.
Something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. She tried to meet
her fathers eyes, but he stalked from the Arena and would not face her.
The members of the Crimson looked away from her, averting their eyes,
their faces masks of shame and guiltand not a little fear.
What had happened She had demonstrated her mastery over this
loathsome cur that had cost her family so muchdisplayed her mastery of
some of the finest techniques of the School of the Fire Dancer as she
had never done beforehe was not her equal and never had been, and if
she had been allowed to kill him he would be dead several times over

The crowd was leaving, in silence. Disapproval, loathing

radiated from them like a black, icy wave, choking at her heart. Her
/chi/ guttered and went out like a snuffed candle.
The ring still burned around her. The Haxan was still burning.
Burning alive, unable to drive the fires from him. Burning,
unable to stop the agony of the healing magic that would not stop.
A single figure vaulted the walls of the Arena, dropping six
meters as easily as stepping down a stair.
An Elder of Haxan. In a tunic of red and gold. His eyes lifted,
and they were roiling gold, on fire from within, and his power drove her
back like a torch before a blazing furnace.
A Master of the House of the Fire Dancer. With the badge of Ruin
upon his shoulder, quicksilver Mithil Bars shining on his throat.
He strode thru the bloodfires of the ring, which parted before
him, snuffed out, and did not spring back to life behind him. Ignoring
her, he knelt by the unconscious Errant, who could not even writhe in
agony, and placed a palm flat on the young mans back.
Bloody fires exploded out of every orifice on his body, driven
from him in one blast of swelling power by the Masters /chi/.
Half-melted armor blasted in every direction like shrapnel, leaving the
young Haxan naked and smoking in a seared crater of crystalline glass,
scores of scars new and old sheerest white against blister-red skin.
With a distasteful expression, the Master tore off the Blood
Ring and threw it away, quenching the ring of flames about them instantly.
With deft sureness, he rolled the naked Haxan onto the back of
the fallen shield, inserted a hand under it. Fire blazed from beneath
it, and with an easy motion, he lifted the bigger, younger man up on the
shield with one hand, simmering golden flame welling from his palm like
the heart of the sun.
He paused as he turned away, eyes falling to the fallen length
of /Foam/, lying in the sand. A tap of his foot on the ground, sand and
sword lifted up to deposit the latter in his waiting hand, and gentle
waves of fire washed down the blade in eerie liquid fashion.
The stroke was singing perfection, it seemed to her as if a lake
of fire had risen behind him, a tsunami of golden fire lifting up with a

white-hot core. She screamed as it came down on her, unavoidable,

all-consuming, raging like the heart of Aru itself as it swept past her.
Her legs crumpled beneath her. Hissing, the melted remains of
her Wings puddled on the sands to either side of her, and the red and
gold shirt and vest of her School was drifting ash, leaving her mangled
mail behind.
If you ever caught bearing Wings or wearing the colors of my
School, Blackflame, I will kill you myself. And the Elder, still never
meeting her eyes, strode away, a son of Haxan on his shoulder, a Blade
of Waves in his hand, golden fires burning pure along the metal of the
shield, spikes sputtering and dripping away from the metal.
Rashalve looked at her hands in horror and called up her power.
Flames guttered inside her, reluctantly ignited on her hands
from pure reflex.
She stared at the blood-red firesand the shadowy black threads
woven thru them. Reflections of her soul, the essence and the fury of
the Fire Dancer.
She was too horrified to even scream.
/*Daenlander XI*/
Errant felt absolutely horrible. Getting burned on the inside
for healing burns on the outsideno, that wasnt fun at all. Internal
energies ripping into him from inside out, being cut and hacked and broken
Stupid Arena. In the real world, he could have just had his
Master or a senior student of her school beat the crap out of her for
being such a hardass
A heavy hand slapped his chesthe screamed despite himself as
his ravaged diaphragm rebelled at the contact.
Eh, yer alive, I see. Master Tawndras voice had a rough edge
to it. No, dont try to speak. The healer says yer lungs and throat are
ravaged like youd been drinking flaming oil.
Youve been out of it three days. We had to bring in a Sun
Master to make sure you pulled through, and you know how dangerous
bringing one of them out of Haxan can beconsider it a compliment, or
youd be sitting on your ass another month.

Errant didnt feel complimented. Being asleep would be much,

much better then what he felt right now.
You won the fight, you know. The Masters pride was
unmistakeable. Every fighter in that place knew she was dead at least
twice over because of you. You knew how to fight and you showed it, and
despite the fact she was the better duelist, they all knew who theyd
want on a battle line or at their back.
The girls been Shunned by every major Company and most of the
smaller ones. Shes finished in Freesword. She disgraced the Fire
Dancers, and if she so much as touches a pair of Wings theyll burn her
alive. The CrimsonI dont know if the Crimson will ever recover from
all the shame and disgrace theyve earned with their showing nowat the
very least, the Colonel and his family arent going to be able to lead
it. He may even lose the Scabbard if he doesnt step down.
And aint much of anyone of a mind to challenge a Haxan into
the Arena again, at least for another generation.
Theres a whole lot of people wondering if you are gonna make
it. If you died, the Crimson were going to have to run for their lives.
Theres a Moon Chaser here who is good at internal healing.
Shes got some stuff for you to eat, and you will eat all of it. His
tone brooked no argument. Ive got to tell a number of angry and
nervous parties that you arent going to die, but Ill be back. A
strong hand slapped his shoulder, and fire exploded along his side.
Good show, lad.
/Next time/, Errant thought, /you can do it/. But he didnt
drift off, and was still conscious when the woman with something cool to
drink and hands that were even cooler to touch came in and sent blissful
relief singing into his blood.
--------------Be that who I think it is the Mick asked, reining in as he
looked out to the right, where the sheer cliffs of the Western Krys Myr
plummeted hard and angry into the roiling seas below.
Red hair like that Vade squinted, eying the woman who was
perilously close to a last and final drop. Yeah, Id say thats her.
Thinking of jumping, I see, Hodre murmured softly, sympathetic

despite himself. Her reputation had been destroyed in Freesword, her

family fallen into disgrace, and the whole of the Company of the Crimson
dishonored. Her father had resigned from the Company or else the
resulting desertions would have forced the loss of the Scabbard, a loss
the company would likely have never recovered from.
Ach, but that would be a bit of a shame. Ill go see if I can
cheer her up a bit. With a broad smile, the Mick turned off the trade
road north and headed off it towards the lone young woman.
What in the world is he up to now Tocs wondered aloud, not
about to ride after him. Hed seen what that girl could do, and getting
mistaken for a bunch of brigands trying to force themselves on her would
be about the last thing he wanted to have happen.
Well, Id say he wanted to get us another good luck charm, Red
said calmly, lounging back in his saddle. After all, she put our last
one into a bed he still hasnt gotten out ofcant hurt to have another
one where we are going, can it
Shes Platinum, Red! Glaede spoke up with a laugh. Why would
she want to ride with the likes of us
Because no one else would have her the Ahltaran replied
pleasantly. The Freelander pursed his lips and had no reply to that.
She beat the Hell out of Errant, and were known associates of
that bastard. Shed ride with us Hodre protested. I mean, the Haxan
was the worse case of bad luck Ive ever knownand he made us rich and
kept us alive thru every single bit of @#%$ we got rammed into. Do we
really want her riding with us The big Corix was unconvinced of the
necessity.
Shes Platinum because shes a duelist, Vade stated calmly.
Where we are going, there arent any duels. She wont be in her
element. The Haxan could fight anythingwe saw him do it. She knows how
to fight other warriors. Shes better then we are, but that doesnt mean
she knows how to fight what we are going to, any better then we doand
likely a lot worse.
Ah. Shell fight like the Mick used totrying to show off.
Tocs rocked back thoughtfully. Kindred spirits, eh
And the fact shes a Daenlanders wet dream dont hurt a bit,
Red chuckled, earning quiet grins from all about.

----------------------She saw him comingit was impossible to miss him, since he was
whistling with hearty cheerfulness as he rode up. It was also impossible
to not recognize him, in that outlandish kilt and the twinned blades he
wore so out-of-place. His shocking white-toothed smile amidst that black
beard was firmly in place, and for a moment she considered wiping it and
his face off the Land, but found her desire to do so guttering and
falling away even as it stirred in her.
The sea beckoned. Her life was over. She had destroyed her
family, her company, her own lifeher name Shunned and to be ignored by
bards and the tellers of tales. She would never prove her skill and rise
to succeed her father at the Crimson now, bypassing her elder siblings.
Only the worst of lives was left to her nowbrigand, rogue, murderer,
puppet to Damned who would use her as they used everyone.
Hey, there, lass, mind the footingwouldnt want to irk all the
gods and whatnot by killing yerself to escape yer problems. Like as not,
send ya back to haunt everyone and finish yer penance and plague the lot
of us for the fine showing ya put on.
Her harsh retort strangled itself in her throat, and her spin on
him faltered somewhat as she blinked in outright surprise.
What she managed to say, certain shed heard wrongly.
Oh, aye, that was a fine showing ya put on, beating the snot
out of that cocky Haxan bastard. Had it coming for a long time, he did.
Wish I were able to be the one to do the beating, but, oi, ye looked a
lot better at it then I ever would. He waved jauntily. Well, me and
the lads are off to the Wyrmbreak Wall. Got us quite a commission
waiting out there, and its a mite far away from yer Crimson gladhands
spoiling for some payback. Guess theres not enough water for them out
there.
He began to turn his horse and she took a step after him, too
shocked to remember her depression. But-but arent you friends of his
she protested, remembering the beatings theyd heaped on her fellow
Crimson in Errants name.
Friends Mayhap the Rockborn is a friend of his, the Daen
replied acidly. We be associates of his. He got us into moreahhhhhhh,
never ya mind. Be it enough to say, Id trust the man with me life, me
gold, and me woman, but I dont have to like him to do it. And seeing
him get what was coming to him, that were a sight worth the seeing. Even

knowing he did it just to ruin ye and yer family didnt make it any less
the fun seeing ye tear into him. Been wanting to do the same, but itd
be my arse that would have been laid out, not his.
So, again, fine showing, lass. Dont feel bad he won in the
endthats why hes a bastard born. Take comfort in yer little
victories. I sure did. The Mick grinned widely again, and nudged his
mount into motion.
Rashalve Crimson stared after him in disbelief. The Mick and his
Marines had made their entire reputation around Errant of Ruin. Hed
basically made them what they wereand the Mick was cheering on HER
side, when shed been abandoned by her family, friends, and Company
What kinds of friends did Errant have, who would cheer on his
enemies
And why did it remind her so much of the lack of friends she had
She watched the Mick rejoin his men and together pick up their
pace and trot north and west.
Headed for Hearts Ford and the White Road across Haxan to the
Wyrmbreak Wall. Where they took anyone who could make it there, and
where, according to the teachers at her School, the true heroes of Haxan
went.
Thoughts in a roiling turmoil, she turned back to look at the
seas below, which no longer beckoned to her, but leered and jeered with
the voices and faces of all those that had abandoned her. Daring her,
taunting her.
Fires ignited in her blood as her anger grew, the longer she
stared. The crushing of her hopes and dreams, the manipulations, how she
had been usedhow he had been used to use her. A dim awareness of the
scope of forces arrayed against her, an old memory of pleasant times.
/Id trust the man with me life, me gold, and me woman, but I
dont have to like him to do it./
How true that was. Friends, just like her own. She half-sobbed a
laugh at the crazy similarity of their fates. Riding away while the
Haxan whod made them rich was lying broken on a bed, burned inside and out.
Her life in Freesword was over, but there was always another
place, and maybe a place for not just legends to be made, but for heroes.

They could learn the name of the Crimson was great on land as
well as sea. They would learn it! Learn that it stood for more then
petty vengeance!
The fires on her hands burned free of black despair and hate as
she turned her attention on the future. She would show them, show them
all what a Crimson was capable of, and not as mercenaries and
privateers. No, something more.
She would show them a Crimson could be a hero!
-------------------------/A month of general pain and agony later.../
All in all, he could chalk it up to the most painful learning
experience hed ever had, Errant mused, stretching out slowly and
breathing more deeply then hed ever been able to before in his life.
Nothing like recovering from the most harrowing experience of your life
to both find and push your limits. His blood still occasionally burned
from inside, but as his own internal power bent and surged to his will
with new vigor and power, such instances were fading rapidly.
The Moon Chaser, Lady Kilatra, had been pleased to teach him
some of the simpler control techniques of her style. The School of the
Moon was renowned for the subtlety and control of its gentle internal
powers, and having experienced the steady, inexorable power of her hands
chasing away the flames inside him, Errant believed all the tales told
of them ever the more. Perhaps it diluted the pure focus of a Water
swordsman, but hed expanded beyond the expanse of Flowing Waters
teaching just to survive some time ago. The additional control and
healing coolness of the Moon Chaser was too soothing and useful not to
learn something from.
When Master Tawndra came into the room, he sensed immediately
that something was up. Not wrong, simply in the works. The eyes the
Elder turned on him were at once hot and cold, sympathetic and merciless.
Errant lowered himself out of his inverted lotus slowly and
carefully. He knew he was about to be told his recovery time was at an
end, but not in the manner the Elders usually bothered to relate such
things.
Errant, weve received information about the Clansword of a
certain family of Haxans lost about fifteen years ago

An hour later he was out of the gates of Freesword and heading

north, eyes more deadly calm then they had ever been before in his life.
/Father, they are finally going to pay/, he thought, running
over the words and directions in his head, and the names of his
contacts. A freewheeling pair of Independents, a Hyn and a Halvyr, whose
charm and smooth tongues had uncovered what the skills of a generation
of diviners had not yet managed, and also an Armsister cousin of his
close to the area.
He was fully recovered whether he was or not. It would take him
the better part of a month to make it there, and there was business to
take care of along the way. But his blood was burning again, and there
was no Fire Dancer fueling this fire.
He had waited so long, so very long for this chance to play
Longrider.
----------------------------Oi, that theres rather comfy. This be the way to be
a-travellin across a few hundred leagues o endless grass. The Mick
stretched out comfortably, daring anyone to bring up his original
reluctance to enter the contraption of metal and wood behind the steam
belching engine they called a Steam Dragon.
Everyone knew Gnomework blew up, and blew up all the time, at
the worst possible times. Only watching a few dozen passengers enter
ahead of him, and the porter lead their horses safely into the corral
cars had incited him to actually enter the place.
Hed been quite surprised at the berths theyd been assigned to,
the windows giving an unobstructed view, the comfortable seats, the
professional nature of the attendants whod collected their tickets and
given them directions to the dining car.
Rashalve had actually ridden on one of the Steam Dragons before,
and was teasing him mercilessly now as he protested loudly and
vehemently that hed never been scared of such an obviously finely made
piece of smith work, no Gnomework in this thing, by Hurn!
The rest of the Marines left the two to bicker and call out
insults in new and inventive ways at each other, which they managed to
do with surprising zest and regularity, a couple of swords born to the
sea out of their element.

The second day the Marines saw their first Dragon.

Reds sharp eyes noted it first, soft whistle alerting the
others as he caught the gleam of silver in the distance, leagues and
leagues away. Shortly, he had quite the crowd of non-natives peering out
the same side of the coach as himself, while the Valor Dragon swooped in
closer with amazing speedand just a hint of mounting dread.
By the time it came in close, the massive spread of its wings
was almost blinding in the shining sun, a gleaming beast made of
silvered armor aloft in the deep blue of the cloudless Haxan sky,
soaring leisurely over the golden grasses and dark spots of cattle that
stretched to the horizon in all directions.
Scarcely beating its wings, the Dragon swung in behind and over
the train, settling directly over the White Road with a roar that
sounded like a thousand trumpets blowing welcome.
And then, with a single beat of its sheet-metal wings, it lept
ahead of the Steam Dragon and was racing down along and above the White
Road while they chugged along at merely the speed of a racing horse.
The native Haxans grinned broadly at the wide-eyed stares of the
outlanders following the Dragon until it was out of sight. A gray-haired
old man in professional garb, with the patch of a Crane on his shoulder,
smiled at the lot of them.
Youll get used to seeing them. All manner of them at the Wall.
Get a fine enough reputation, and you might even get to ride them one
day, he told the assorted mercenaries, Marines, and travelers in a calm
scholars voice, smiling at the wonder and delight that lept over their
faces.
Yeve been to the Wall, greybeard the Mick asked promptly,
never one to stay bored if he could help it, and a good story helped
pass the time. He could only take so much endless grass and cattle
punctuated by stops at annoyingly clean towns surrounded by whitestone
walls and gardens.
Every man in Haxan goes to the Wall at least once, Daenlander.
Weve all got kin who fell there, and to walk down Wyrmbreak Passwell,
now, that was quite the experience. His eyes took on a far off light.
Weve not had to fight there as our forefathers did, and hopefully we
never will have to again. But the stones remember, and no man of Haxan
walking those stones will ever doubt the tales told of the Wall again.

What can we be looking forwards to on the Wall, then the Mick

pressed, looking for a bit more information then old memories of dead
men. Nice and all, but they didnt earn him gold.
The old Haxan gave him a tolerant look. The Wall sees little
action of itself. Its the raiding and the slow expansion out into the
Broken Lands that generates the actionand the gold. You want advice for
your time at the Wall
Cannae hurtand the last Haxan I knew well was always carping
on about the men who fought on the Wall, the Mick sniffed.
You dont fight other Men or Throne races from the Wall,
Daenlander. You fight older and much more dangerous things crawling out
of the dark. Its a deadly, savage place, and only the best do well
therefools simply dont last long. The Crane studied the younger
warriors calmly. You want to prosper at the Wall, the first thing you
do is make friends with the Children there, especially the Halvyr. Most
of them have been killing things out there longer then any of you have
been alive, and been doing it for generations. You listen to the
Halvyryou do what they tell you to do, how they tell you to do it, and
you might live long enough to learn enough to not need their advice.
Just their orientation is almost priceless. Pay the gold for the
instructors and learn everything about the enemy you can. You are going
to need it all.
The creatures out there are meaner then you, faster then you,
stronger then you, and crawling with the powers of a thousand demented
sorcerors experiments. Your only edge is your brain, and your skill.
You dont use those, and you are going to die. As I said, its not a
place for the foolish.
Dinnae sound like much fun at all, the Mick noted, to general
agreement all about.
His answering smile was infectious. Until youve heard a Halvyr
Bard singing your name and exploits, you arent a warrior born. When you
see the evil that crawls and slithers out there where Wyrm once lived,
and you cut it apart and stand over the carcass and howl your triumph to
the skiestheres no feeling like it, Daenlander.
Just make sure you skin the thing fast, because theres more
where it came from, and having great deeds and no gold to go with em
doesnt exactly inspire a lot of folk, he noted wisely.
The Mick was the first to laugh at this practical statement,

joined quickly by the others. He was going to ask more, but the elderly
man held up his hand.
I was not long on the Wallno hero I. But the things I saw out
there to the West I will remember to the moment I last draw breath. As
you will. You are far more competent then ever I became, His cane moved
up to tap the Micks Twice Gold Bars, over to touch Vades Triple
Silvers. Follow the Halvyr. Best advice I can give you. My instructor
is probably still out there, trying to bend headstrong young swords into
some semblance of shape afore they die. The least of the senior
Passguard would wear Platinum if they bothered to go to Freesword, most
of them are Mithril and some of the most surpassingly deadly folk you
will ever meet.
Be a friend to the Halvyr and you will prosper on the Wall.
Ignore them andwell. Foolishness feeds the Wyrm, as they say.
The Marines glanced at one another. Sounded like good advice
from where they sat.
Have ye tales of the Wall the Mick inquired calmly. In
Freesword they talk of it as if it were holy ground.
It i/s/ Holy Ground. The blood of more then a million Men and
Rockborn is the mortar of the stones, the bones of their enemies the
chalk and grit and dust. The Old Crane smiled again, eyes again lost in
a memory. Youll see that when you get there. You want tales of the
Wall Before the dramojh or after them The history of it is something
of a minor hobby of mine, he admitted honestly.
There was a stirring among the listeners. Not many of them had
much knowledge of times before the dramojh, and the Jytan.
An old tale, Red spoke up before the Mick could.
Well, then, weve hours ahead of us. Why dont I tell you about
an outlander who came to Haxan and brought down the Wyrm Kings. His name
was Lone, and he was from a land now gone, called Iiur, where Dark
Druids lay claim to the soul of the nation and the Land and all those
who dwelt therein. A claim uncontested until they made the error of
angering one Man too many
And so the leagues passed along the rails, as the Steam Dragon
plowed steadily west towards the great range of mountains called the
Jotunbones, where the shattered peaks of ancient Rockborn kingdoms
lingered in memory as the Hammer and Anvil of Doom that had brought down

the Wyrm forever.

===Aelryinth
/*Daenlander XII The Sword and the Wall*/
The Steam Dragon stopped frequently, every few hours at the
larger towns, taking on and letting off goods and passengers, shaking as
freight cars were landed or let go. Occasionally another Steam Dragon
roared by in the opposite direction, doubtless laden with Haxan beef or
grain or other goods, bound for the markets of the Throne.
But this stop was different. This was a pilgrimage point.
The entirety of their journey the famous White Road had
paralleled their course. Broad and wide, imbued with magic to hurry the
journeys of any who walked or ran or rode or flew, running straight and
true into the West. The parallel lines of the Steam Dragon ran alongside
it at a respectful distance, never venturing closer then two hundred meters.
The native Haxans of all ages had grown more and more excited as
the Silver Sword came up. The great towering monument of the Haxans to
their god Mithar was famous even in the lands of the High Throne,
although precious few non-natives ever bothered or were allowed to
venture so far within the borders to see it. But those bound for the
Wall inevitably passed it, and inevitably the Steam Dragon would stop to
take on and let off those pilgrims.
The Marines could see the first glint of it from leagues
awaydozens of leagues. Just a silver gleam on the horizon, growing
larger as the Steam Dragon trundled tirelessly onwards. Hours away, and
they could see it.
Just how tall was it None of the native Haxans knew. They knew
the Steam Dragon did not run under it, but that the White Road did. That
no building rose about it closer then a klik away, and that even Dragons
and Wyrms did not fly over the Silver Sword.
It was the only temple to Mithar in all of Haxan, which struck
the Marines even more oddly. Even in Ahltar, there rose a place of
worship for Mithar, a fortress-temple staffed by faithful servants of
the silver god. And here, at the heart of his faith, in all of these
endless rolling fields and cities and towns there was no other church or
shrine

------------------It went up. Way, way up. You had to nearly bend over it to see
the point of the blade.
It seemed it should pierce the clouds from the perspective of
those below, but nosuch puffery of white approached that towering Sword.
Perhaps it was a trick of the eyes, as the silver blade rose
into the azure sky. But it seemed to be aligned upon the orb of Aru
passing overhead and somehow tilted, bowed in salute before the sun.
It threw no shadow. That were damn strange, too.
The Marines joined the line of pilgrims disembarking as the
Steam Dragon hissed to a stop among the multiple lines of the stockyard.
A klik away, held aloft on its massive arches, the Sword rose.
As they approached more closely, the immenseness of it seemed to
grow more and more, and they could make out the scale of the tiny specks
of people walking beneath the arches of gleaming silvered steel,
polished as a mirror, graceful as a swans wing, solid as a shield
braced and armed.
How much metal The size of it dwarfed anything any of them had
ever seen as a work of Man.
They walked down the White Road and
it seemed the Sword loomed over them with ever more majesty and
presence, rising higher and higher, until suddenly the arches were
rising a hundred meters and more above them, and they were beneath the
Silver Sword.
The arches threw the center of the massive Undersword into
gentle silver light that seemed to reflect off all the metal around with
stern yet calm purpose. At the apex of the arches, a pillar of golden
light shone down, as if no Sword rose in a mountain of metal above, and
one could see the skies above clearly.
Far be it from Mithar to impede the light of Aru.
The air was heavy with solemn presence, and there was virtually
no talking. As they watched, a caravan of horses drove by on the White
Road, parting silently around that column of golden light tracing the
path from west to east every day, hooves muted and quiet, departed out
the southern archway, and not even their normal leavings was left behind
to mark their passage.

All eyes turned to see the glittering sight of a crystalline

Herald Dragon come racing up from the west, impossibly fast, dazzlingly
beautiful in the sunlight. Faceted wings spread wide, and the Dragon
gracefully yet grandly alighted just before the great arches. With
neither fuss nor humiliation the creature proceeded to make its way
across the length of the floor at a calm pace, graceful as a heron,
powerful as a hunting cat, and then once beyond the area taking wing
once more. A beat of faceted wings, and it shot away more rapidly then
any eagle, a nearly blinding sight of refracted prisms and rainbows in
the afternoon light as it headed east.
They stumbled out from beneath the Sword, trying hard not to
turn and gawk up at it in continued disbelief. That could not be made
by Men, could it the Mick asked, trying to keep his dignity. A sword
rising that high, pointing, impossible, had to be a trick of the light.
Could it actually be the sword of a god
The elder Heron that had accompanied them smiled despite
himself. It would be precious little salute if wed had the labors of
others raise it for us, Daenlander. Ive read that the advice of many
races went into the construction, and theres powers wrapped into the
Sword beyond the knowledge of all but the wisest of the Eldersbut no
hand but that of Men was lifted to erect it.
But the archestheres no rivets or seams! protested Glaede,
ever the engineer.
Of course nothow many rivets and seams are there in a sword,
lad the Heron laughed gently, turning back for another fond look at
the massive structure. I never tire of seeing it. Be that wed come at
nightto see the Sword beneath the stars and Sylune is quite a
sightalthough Ive had friends tell me that when Eryl comes a-courting
is spectactular as well.
Why raise it at all Hodre asked, almost a demand. You seem
so practical a peopleall that steel He trailed off, trying to
calculate numbers and failing.
The Heron wasnt offended by the blunt comment and insinuation
of waste. Well, the story is that some outlander came to Haxan spouting
nonsense about the grandness of his peoples temples and monuments and
statues and managed to pithing irritate some Pureheart or another. The
Pureheart somehow got support enough to raise the Sword over a century
or so, and now whenever some ambassador or canon or prelate starts
spouting off about our lack of art or reverence or aesthetics we tell
them to come out here and see why we only need one monument to our God.

Anything lesser would be an embarrassment to us and them.

The Marines looked back up at the Sword, gleaming polished
silver in the sunlight, yet not harsh on the eyes, throwing no shadow,
towering in tribute into the sky.
Why did no one walk within the light beneath the sword
Rashalve asked the Heron, less awed then the Marines as she had seen the
Sword once before. The Heron glanced at her strangely, sharply. Ive
asked before, and all the Masters would say it is reserved for the
unworthy
Haxan has its own share of fools, damned souls, and twisted
minds, the Heron replied softly. When we find them, they are brought
here, and they get to look on Aru as might Mithar himself. Some are
Damned by the Light to death, some to live, and some to be Damned until
they do die. Sometimes holy folk dare to stand in the light and Behold
Arusome do not make it out with their minds intact, and Aru takes them
home.
No one stands in the Light of the Sword idly, lass.
The Mick grunted to himself. So, even in a holy place, the Sword
had a practical use. /Just like a Haxan/.
And to himself, hoped that Mithar couldnt hear him.
------------------Yere daft, man. That cant be a lake. The Mick craned his
head out to study the waters to their south, extending out to the south
unbroken, vanishing over the horizon there.
Schedule says thats the Myr Argental, or the Silver Deep.
Comes down right from the mountains. Vade made a sagely face. Thats
all fresh water, Mick. Arent there supposed to be Seven Great Lakes in
Haxan
Well, aye, I think so the Daen trailed out doubtfully,
casting his eyes at the rising mountains of the Jotunbones only an hour
or three away and this mass of water rolling off southwards as they
crossed the Silver Flow on a massive, solidly-built bridge. But a lake
is a wee puddle skipper of a body of waterI canna see the far side of
this thing!
You can sail up the Golden Flow all the way to the Fire Deeps,

and up the Silver and Crystal Flows to the Silver Deeps, Rashalve said
calmly, looking out over the picturesque sight of greenery rolling up to
the deep silvered-blue of the waters. There are sailors in the Crimson
whove done it, just to say they did. The lakes are the size of seas.
They said Dragons go fishing in them to keep down the giant pike and
crayfish and other things. The Marines eyed the distant specks a-wing
over the multitude of fishing vessels plying their trade on the lakes.
The great Schools of Haxan are built on the Deeps. The Fire Dancers are
down south, on the Fire Myr, where three volcanoes that have burned
since the Crashing of the Crowns feed into the rivers that supply it.
Her voice was soft and hushed. I always wanted to visit it. They said
it is savagely beautiful down there.
And this forest, this is the home of the Faen The Micks
question was addressed to a small number of the small fey folk, playing
some sort of blurringly fast game of stones and cards, the objective of
which seemed to be who could confuse onlookers the most.
A Quickling with stark white hair and sapphire eyes, in wealthy
merchants garb, looked back at them. One of the places, Man, the
slender, fast-moving faen laughed, fingers moving in a strange over his
cards, flipping over several seemingly randomly. The Lohrte hereabouts
is full of the Childrenour people, and the Elven, prefer it farther south.
Ye going to the Wall the Mick asked genially, curious.
The Faen all made shuddering faces. If we need that kind of
fun, we can hunt the things that come over the Jotunbones by other
ways, a Loresong female with chestnut skin and emerald eyes in a rich
auburn robe trimmed in gold spoke up firmly. Very uncomfortable place
for Faen, the Wall is.
And the Elves He wanted to call them Sidhe, as in the old
tales, but held off, not knowing if such was insult or compliment. Hed
been hoping to see one of them on this trip, but no luck so far.
The Elves keep busy, snickered the Quickling. They throw very
good parties for the dryads, the nymphs, the sirines His companions
all giggled with delight. Of course, they do like to hunt. Remember
that dracosaur that came down They had a grand time hunting that beast
into the ground over the course of a weekhad so much fun they let it
keep escaping. The other Faen all nodded in sage appreciation.
Ill be seeing one of them afore I leave this place, the Mick
stated for certain, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest.
Rashalve cocked an eye at him, seemingly reading his mind, and he just

grinned the more broadly.

==============
It was a big Wall.
Their necks craned upwards at it. They stood silent and simply
looked at it.
Stones. Fitted so tightly and surely their seemed no seam save
for the scars and remains of past battles, disjointed in hue and shade,
fitted back together in a glorious tapestry of remembrance. Stones
higher and wider then a Man was tall.
How thick How high How strong The air was charged, the very
earth under their feet hummed with an old, old power born of ages of
struggle and conflict.
Here, Dragons had died, their blood steeped in power. Countless
Thralls in their hordes, their bones part of the very Walls they had
sought to overcome.
Had overcome.
A wind seemed to be blowing, but their cloaks and clothes did
not move. It was a wind cold and old, and on it they could hear distant
shouts and cries, the echoes of battle.
This was not like the serenity and sternness of the Sword. This
place, this place was alive with the past. With the fallen.
There, the eye was drawn to a stain on a stone fused into the
mighty wall before them, and they saw a crimson scaled Dragon fallen, a
lance driven deep into its skull, its slayer clasped in bloody ruin
between huge jaws. Lines of black and gray shadows in the stone and they
saw flickers of hordes of fallen serpent-scaled once-Men. Scars and
pocks in the stones beneath their feet and they stood amidst a carpet of
dead, Men and Rockborn and Beastmen and Scalefolk and Dragons
Four parallel gouges in the stone directly between the massive
doors, each rune carved portal over fifteen meters high, the scars left
untouched over the centuries, left by a claw of unimaginable size.
A spectral claw, they followed up, and up, and up, over the
massive toppled ruins of this almighty wall, a scene of carnage and
battle unimaginable, and a Queen of Wyrms, two heads of storms-blue and

ancient forests deepest greens, lifting in fear and hate, wreathed in

the savagery of hurricanes and the decay of ages, as far as She would
ever advance, staring at, screaming Her fury atThey whirled as one, gaping at the sky, at the awesome presence
they could feel standing there, had to be there.
Behind them, the azure sky of Haxan gleamed proud and clear. Empty.
Red fell to one knee, Vade a heartbeat behind him, eyes
downcast. In a few breaths, they were all down on one knee, only the
Mick standing and staring ahead now, eyes bulging wide, darting here and
there, reading a story of ages, of sacrifices made, of the brave and the
dead who had fallen time and time again. So many brave Men and Rockborn
fallen
And the last thing they saw.
He turned back and gazed at the blue sky behind them, spreading
out, an ocean of awesome blue with the white fleet of the Storm Queen
Eyrl a-sail upon them, framed by the ageless might of the stone rising
to either side, the searing White of the Road leading to the point where
Aru rose in shining glory, and where, far beyond sight, a silver tower
transfixed the sky in salute to the morning, and the bounty of the land
spread out in waves of golden life, with the verdant green of the
forests rising in counterpoise on the rolling hills to north and south.
A land still free.
They were with him, staring out at that awesome view, the
numbers beyond numbers, their thoughts on their families, wives,
children, standing with all those who had fallen before them, warriors
of a hundred kingdoms and a thousand lands and a million origins,
looking out over the lands of Men framed by the ancient mountains of the
Rockborn. Old Men, young, heroes, soldiers, mercenaries, knights,
gallants, faithful and godless.
All dead and gone in the dust of ages past, all forever changed
by that view, by standing on the stones of the Wyrmbreak Wall.
The Mick had thought nothing could compare to the experience of
drawing Twice Gold in the Hall of Swords, of standing among great
warriors of times past as an equal, knowing he would accomplish more and
greater things, and leave many of them behind as he went on to bigger
and greater things.

Around him were a million souls, and all were equal, all had
come here to fight and to die, together, against a welling presence that
he could feel at his back and beneath his heels, savage, ancient,
undying, unrelenting. A thousand evils that wanted nothing less then all
that could be seen, and everything beyond it.
Great Men. Simple Men. All manner of Men.
And they had done what needed to be done, with the blood and
sweat and courage that were their greatest tools. Never yielding.
And even now, centuries since those battles were done and gone
in victory, they were still here, shadows and echoes of past glory,
standing watch over free lands with their last view.
The Mick said nothing as he slowly turned around, to stare again
at those great gates. Before his eyes he saw them fall asunder, broken
again, again, and again by the scale of the forces brought to bear
against them.
And the Lands of Men were still free.
The Mick took a step with a million dead warriors, and another.
And another.
Just another soul come to the Wall to win or die fighting.
Behind him the Marines followed silently afterwards, even
Rashalve subdued and quiet. And behind them, the other gloryswords, the
young sons and daughters of Haxan, the poor and the overeager
outlanders, come looking for excitement and glory followed after in
equally solemn reverence.
----------------------From the stones far above and their posts to either side, the
squat forms of the Rockborn stood their endless duty, clad in armor
worthy of kings of Men, and nodded into their beards at the sight. Old
and knowing eyes marked the form of the outlander who had not bowed to
the dead.
That one bore watching. Only those marked for great things were
not overcome by their first steps on the Wall. Gleaming eyes followed
him, curious to see what he would accomplish for his time at the Wall,
then returned to their vigilance with the stolid patience of the
Rockborn, and the hallowed tradition of the Wyrmguard Watch.

/*Daenlander XIII The Joys of the Wyrmbreak Wall*/

Adderman to the left!
The Mick snapped /Lady Dex/ into his hand with a cross-draw as
fluid as it was desperate, knocking aside the flicker-thrust of the long
stabbing spear as he refused to let his own spear waver.
The raptor courser slammed fully onto the point, and two feet of
tempered steel punched fully into its chest, along with a handspan of
ironwood shaft before the boarstops halted forward progress and the haft
his foot had plunged into the soil drove in deeper under five hundred
kilos of scaled fury.
The massive raking claws split hairs on his tartan, the
crocodilian jaws snapped shut just in front of his face as he leaned
way, way backand then brought /Lady Dex/ back across with a whipping of
his torso, sheered through the creatures underjaw, stumbling away and
releasing the spear to make /Lady Sin/ appear in his hand as if by
magic. The curved blade sprang out on the draw and ripped through bone
and eye as he got some room, taking in what he could at a glance and
moving to support.
/Holy @#%$ this is going down fastfastfast/, he thought,
desperately parrying a second stabbing thrust from that long blade,
seeing the slick coating on it. No time to think, only to do.
Abruptly Rashalve was in the Serpens face, the spike-knuckled
long knives she was using a whirling inferno of inescapable flames that
the gangly-limbed, much-too-quick Serpen couldnt escape from despite
its fantastic speed. Seared black scars lept into existence across the
black and gold patterns of its scales and armor, and it gave ground quickly.
She refused to follow, spinning with the infamous agility of the
Fire Dancers and leaping away before it could lure her out of position,
instead driving into the pair of more heavily armored Serpen warriors
trying to flank them.
Hodre roared and cut the head off the raptor hed impaled,
following through the stroke with a spinning step and driving three
fingers of steel across the scale-armored chest of the warrior that had
lept free from the Micks crippled kill, blackish-red blood spurting
free from the force of the swing. It stumbled back into the wounded
beast that was clawing at the spear impaling its heart, and the maddened

thing promptly rounded on it with oversized talons, one massive leg

ripping out the Serpens side and dragging him underfoot to be torn
apart in a maddened frenzy of weakening kicks and hammering, jawless bites.
Theyd gotten all four raptors on the leaping charge, which had
probably saved their lives. The Mick thought of that month of practicing
smashing spear butts into the ground and bracing them against attacks
from every direction, and learning to draw his weapon fast, fast from
any angle. He hadnt thought such skills were going to be as important
as the Halvyr claimedhe was wrong and he knew it and damn happy hed
spent the gold anyways.
A wingdrake swooping in, green patterns on the brown scales,
jaws opening to breathe. Without a second thought he threw /Lady Dex/ up
in a whipping arc of razored steel, and the keen blade tore into a
leathery wing and kept on going. The beast screamed and plummeted past
them to a tumbling landing, and Tocs, engaged in a whirling bout of
spear on sword, spit it smoothly in mid-crash landing to make sure it
didnt get any ideas.
The Mick pulled out his heavy knife as he rolled around Vade,
coming in low and punching the blade into the knee of the Serpen fighter
hewing at his second, leaving the knife there to cause maximum
discomfort while Vade pressed his attack. /Lady Sin/ slashed out to
blind another spear-spitted raptor as it lunged madly at him and he lept
frantically back, taking the opportunity to roll on the ground behind
the legs of the Serpen that Tocs was fighting and take him out cleanly.
Tocs spear butt flung the shield aside as the Serpen clawed for
balance, and as it came down, his spear was driving with it.
The Mick scrambled from under the still kicking legs of the
reptile-man, heading for the gleam of /Lady Dex/ and two Serpen charging
out of the brush in that direction.
Red was pulling and firing with absolute concentration from the
center of their formation, and wingdrakes were pitching from the air in
all directions as he spun and shot. Hed spent his time practicing on
doing just this, taking out things in mid-flight, and it was proving
useful, indeed.
There was the snap of Glaedes crossbow, and the adderman racing
back to the fight was smashed off its feet, the bolt buried deep in its
chest through scaled breastplate and flesh. The Freelander loaded with
cool haste and precision as his crossbows string snapped back of its
own volition, raising it within a breath to center it on the Serpen
coming up the sides with bows and doubtless poisoned arrows of their

own. His first target pitched over at the impact, and then Rashalve was
abruptly in the face of the archers, her long knives trailing soulflame
as she lept three meters vertically and proceeded to seemingly engulf
the nearest one in a torrent of fiery blows at very close quarters.
The Mick found himself with one on two, and took the better part
of valor even as something else hed practiced came in handy,
toe-flipping /Lady Dex/ back to his hand and cutting across in the same
overhand motion to almost take off the hand of the charging Serpen as he
side-stepped, then drove his shoulder into the hissing warrior and sent
him careening into his fellow off-balance. /Lady Sin/ plunged up into
the exposed armpit with precision and haste, and he was backing away
even as the warrior hacked back at him with the cruelly notched
scimitar-like blade he was using. The Mick back-pedalled away from the
second warrior, the markings on the armor drilled into his forebrain by
grim Halvyr trainers, and both of his /Ladies/ spun in a wild defensive
dance as the Claw officer came in on him with brutal power and speed.
A wingdrake came down screaming and almost made it to him before
a buzzing shaft smashed it out of the armor and sent it bouncing off the
Fangs shield, checking his hewing advance for a moment. Red stepped
smoothly away, looking over the Micks head as he calmly drew another
arrow, meeting the eyes of the Fang with cold concentration.
The Micks blades thrust in low for the legs, dropping the
shield down, looping high to catch the riposte, and the first arrow
buzzed out, ripping across the Claws shoulder. The Claw stumbled back
with a hissing snarl as the Mick smirked, and then Red turned away to
focus on the last couple of the wheeling wingdrakes.
Glaed pivoted smoothly around, centered right on the upraised
shield, and released.
The powerful bolt struck the shield squarely, and the Claw
half-screamed in pain as it punched right through the barrier, nailing
scaled arm to shield. Now the Mick moved in, as the weakened shield arm
was slow to respond, forcing the Claw to react to him as his /Ladies/
began their own dance of death.
Vade and Hodre were dealing with the last of the Hound raptors
that had lept at them, leaping in the air to take the charge without
being braced and their backs broken, greatsword and claymore leveled and
impaling the first of these as they were forced back in midair, but came
down on their feet and ready as they forced the charging beasts aside.
The second rank was not prepared for their quick recovery and ran
directly into the hewing blades, and then Tocs had driven in from the

side with his leveled spear and sent the third rank off balance with the
force of his lunging thrust.
The archers were fleeing, but not farRashalve ran the closest
one down, and Glaede and Red sent their shafts whistling out with cool
accuracy to send the other pair stumbling and falling. The Fire Dancer
was on them in seconds, long knives ripping in fiery swathes, and they
didnt survive to run further.
The Mick knelt down in exhaustion, leaving /Lady Sin/ in the
throat of the Claw shed kissed, clawing for the vial of anti-venom that
hed literally been forced to buy. He drank from it hastily and splashed
some on the three cuts hed received that were starting to burn more
then mere little slices should. His blood hissed and bubbled black, and
he drank the rest quickly.
There was a minute of quiet as the rest of them looked to their
own injuries and scanned the area, especially the sky, for more enemies.
And then looked back to the mountains, and the First Wall,
looming out of the Pass only five kliks behind them.
Hey, Mick, Vade asked, catching his breath, his armor stained
with blood that wasnt just that of his enemies.
Aye the Daen asked, looking over the dead and tallying up the
bounties for this lot.
Exactly how much farther out are we intending to go
The Mick looked up at the Wall, the warnings of the Halvyr
echoing inside his skull. They hunted the denizens of these lands, and
they were hunted in return.
Five kliks from the Wall, and theyd been ambushed in force. If
they hadnt stopped the initial charge with the spears, theyd all be dead.
Red he asked calmly.
Mick came the reply, from where the Ahltaran bowman was
salvaging what arrows he could.
Think you can track these bastards back
I think theyll be expecting something like that, but probably.
I didnt get all the wingdrakes. Hardly surprising, there had been over

a dozen in the flock. So theyd be running into a set piece ambush,

rather then the shock attack that had failed only because of the time
spent learning to use spears properly.
Silvers, Golds, a Platinum. Almost dead within sight of the Walls.
Lets not disappoint them with our stubbornness. We can expect
an ambushtell us where its going to be, and what we can do about it.
We wouldnt want the Halvyr to think wed gone all soft after our first
fight now, would we
No, we wouldnt, Hodre spoke up, heaving over a
still-twitching raptor to work the spear out of it, almost embedded in
the creatures breastbone. But Id not like to see us killed, either.
Itd be a place sheltered from the air, else the Dragons would
see them and likely scour them away. Within a league, Id say. The
Ahltaran paused to survey the hills dropping away from them. Given that
such places have probably been used a lot, Id say probably in the
collapsed areas over therepossibly freshly scooped out of the stone or
undergrowth if theyve a mage with them.
Lets rest up, have our first raptor tail steaks, and then see
about bringing the Serpen some appreciation for us soft-skinned
bastards. There was absolutely no way he was going back to the Wall
with I-told-you-so looks coming from the Halvyr and the Rockborn.
And besides, this lot, although impressive not, wasnt going to
cover the cost of their training. Given the sheer amount of things
available at the Wyrmbreak Wall to be taught, at the very least the
equal of Freesword, possibly greater given the sheer number of enemies
that existed outside the Wall, he anticipated spending a lot of gold there.
He looked at Rashalve trotting back, hardly scratched, both of
her nasty knives sheathed. Flames that came from the inside, not the
outside, not the magic of a pair of blades.
Aye, thatd be a useful trick to learn as well. If the Haxans
would let him
=============================
He was all alone in this penetration, and completely understood why.
The Hyn whod seen the sword couldnt be implicated in the
theft. A sneaky trader of some reputation, the Kip dealt in slightly

murkily acquired items, hed been an agent of the Independents for

decades and his cover was too valuable to be risked, even for a lost
Clansword.
Not when there were eager sons of the Clan ready to claim the
blade by whatever means were necessary.
The Hyns partner was a Halvyr by name of Chancer EMitriai, a
master duelist of the Rose and Thorn school and agent-for-hire known
from one end of the Empire to the other. Hed spent no more then the
needed amount for respect on the Wall, vastly preferring the exciting
social scene and intrigue of the High Throne to the relatively dour
doings of Haxan. He was also a sharp-eyed and ruthless spy with enough
charm for any five Men and an agnostic streak that garnered him respect
even from Jytan. The pair dealt only in information to the Elders, and
that carefully leaked with delays and other possible sources. Theyd
even undertaken missions against Haxan short-term objectives to cement
their cover.
The wards of the Stewards manse had been tested many times by
seeking Greybeards, and theyd made sure the Jytans knew it before
moving on. It was an unspoken game of magic and roving eyes, and who was
spying on whom for what. The Elders didnt mention it, and it was very
hard to prove, the origins of the scriers occluded by magic at least as
strong as that preventing their sight.
Which was why assets on the ground were so important.
Hed done his homeworkor actually, his contacts had, briefing
him on the background of Lord Ar-Dauv of Othurstoneincluding the death
of a famous warrior of his line at the Ford of Roses. That defeat had
soured the relations of Jytan and Haxan for generations now. Ar-Dauv was
one of the most strident opponents of the Windhammers effective
rulership of Ahltar, and known to sponsor raiders and place quiet
bounties on the heads of the knights of Mithar who held power there,
seeking to undermine them and prove the ineffectiveness of their rule.
Small wonder how an Ahltaran trade caravan had been ambushed and
all slain with fury and speed enough to overwhelm an Independent like
his father. Chancers quietly discrete mind-probing of guards over
drinks and fencing lessons had revealed a large number of them had been
involved in that raid, unrepentant and proud of their work and their
Lord. Ar-Dauv was a fine sponsor of craftsmen, especially arms and
armor, with an extensive collection from many famous and infamous smiths.
And a Haxan Clansword hed never been able to draw, still the

prize of his collection.

Scentless powder nullified his odor head to toe, denying the
Sibeccai among the guards the advantage of their superior noses. Chancer
had noted that there were no humans among his personal retainers, nor
any race which had close ties with Haxan to any extent. The only reason
the Kip had seen the Clansword was the delivery of a Jotun Champions
sword, a huge blade of great antiquity acquired by murky backchannels,
that was reputed to have drawn the blood of more then a few Dragons
during its existence. The fee for its delivery had been consummate with
its rarity, and only the strongest wards were enough to safeguard such a
treasure. The Kip had been onhand to release his Wards and let the
defenses of the Jytan take seamlessly over, and in doing so seen the
other sword sharing wall space in the Jytan Stewards private collection.
That had been over a year ago. A year to set up circumstances
for the penetration. Renegade human bandits raiding caravans heading
south had drained off several of the manses guards. The matron of Lady
Othurstones family was in ill health, and the Lady had gone to visit
her with the heirs to the House, taking more guards and children and
non-coms off the grounds. A festival was in force down in town, and
Chancer was in full Bard form, telling tales and spinning songs of his
travels.
Security was understandably light. Only the most trusted or
unluckiest guards were left to watch the manse, and the non-coms were
being hosted themselves for a change.
Acid from a Laughing Dragon hissed thru the bars on a second
story window with speed and relatively little odor, dissolving in open
air mere seconds after doing its work. He hooked the grill to the lines
coming down from the sturdy roof, silently smiling at his reliance on
solid Jytan stonework, sliding the grill aside as he used the very sharp
tip of his adamantine dagger to slice through the glasswork beyond like
soft butter, a simple clay line and string pulling forth the glass as it
fell, and carefully feeling for the catch that would lock the blade trap
and prevent the alarm from going off.
There were probably magical alarms, but he wasnt worried about
them. His Source resistance would take care of those, since they almost
universally cast at the lowest level of ability to save coinage, and
most magical trigger devices had a hard time picking up /primos/ in any
case.
There, catch one. Release from the inside, lock it with third
catch. Chancer had done his scouting well, knowing Errant wasnt near

the sneaky bastard he was. The window slid up, and Errant went in
headfirst, night vision goggles on, scanning the room carefully, slowly
and carefully distributing his weight on his hands, ending his entry in
a full handstand before lowering his feet back down carefully.
While a Shadow practitioner was better at weightless footwork,
Errant had plenty of practice at stealthwork, and his lightfoot was
respectable. Window closed, clear glue sealed the glass back into the
hole, but he left the traps untriggered.
Okay, this was a secondary guestroom. He flowed across the floor
to the door, unlocking it with great care as he quickly oiled the hinges
to prevent any noise, freezing into immobility as bored yet heavy
footsteps passed by outside. He noted the direction of travel and
cracked the door quietly, watching an armored Littorian pacing down to
the end of the hallway and down the stairs on rounds.
Paashrar, the Stewards left hand. Anti-social and a feared
warrior, particularly contemptuous of Men. Likely a believer in the Cult
of Beasts.
The Felin was moving down the stairs as Errant moved into the
hall and slid down the rich carpet after him, making sure to lock the
door behind him. The Study was below, and the second entry into the
private vault of the Lord.
Paashrar was not expecting trouble and was not at his most
alert, checking doors methodically yet clearly bored, linking up with
the Jytan guard doing rounds of the lower floor and heading for the
kitchen area for some drinks and eating.
One had to cross the line of view from the kitchen to enter the
study, a feat noteworthy in that the study was also locked and warded
for alarms. It helped, however, to have a key for the door, made from
the Lords own by the thoughtful Hyn whod made an imprint of it. Jytan
and Felin were conversing and grabbing their goods as he slowly turned
the key behind their backs, slid inside, and removed the key, feeling
the magical ward hiss and vanish beneath his Source aura.
Moving the shelves of heavy tomes was a feat that took muscleor
the internal power of a Water School palm, applied with careful
concentration and force, revealing the stairs down as the heavy wood
slid away.
He eyed the sturdy steps, made to take the weight of a
three-meter Jytan, and frowned. Jytan werent thieves by natureany such

were bound to come from the smaller races. Yet the Steward was being
properly paranoid of thieves, since he did indeed have things to hide.
That could mean that a positive reinforcement would be the best approach
here, especially since it looked very much that these stairs actually
moved up and downand were sized for Men, which set off alarm bells.
Something of the Jytans size would take the steps two at a
time, and come down with more weight then any smaller being. Very
carefully, Errant stepped over the first step, and drove his /chi/ down
his foot, forcing the step down as if his weight had suddenly and
abruptly doubled and more.
Silently, it depressed, no more then a fingerspan, but he
definitely felt something release.
Two by two, he went down the steps, hoping the Steward hadnt
bothered to use a strange pattern that hed have to waste time examining
every stair to test relative wearthe trail of dust disturbed seemed
like the best plan. Sweeping inside your own secret doors wasnt
something a lot of people thought of.
As he hit the bottom stair, it sank down heavily and the door to
the vault slid quietly aside, narrow but tall enough for a Jytan. He
walked in slowly and heavily, his caution rewarded with another click on
the tile just inside the door.
Inside the vault.
He saw the Champions Sword firsthard to miss at nearly six
meters long, dominating the wall with its sheer mass and presence.
Probably magically shrunken to allow it to be transported and smuggled.
It exuded strength and power, classic knot-and-cord embroidery wrought
in mithral and cold iron in the ancient Jotun tradition, the hilt longer
then some human blades and the pommel carved with a fanciful dragons
head from blackened draconic ivory, almost like obsidian, a gleaming
fist-sized ruby clasped in the sculpted jaws, while spread wings curled
strongly up to form the guard.
The thing doubtless weighed more then he did.
He could feel the magic bound about the Vault, defying searching
magicthe Lord had probably paid a great deal for such magic, the Giants
and Elders were no slouches in the realm of looking for things with
spellcraft. It pressed on his feet and skin, strong enough to withstand
his Source aura.

Above the Champions sword, hung another blade. And from that
blade swung a long-brimmed Haxan hat, cut cleanly in twain save for the
chin-string, the edges still stained with the gore of the owners skull.
He knew that hat. Knew the Valor wyrmling-scale band, the
Adanche eagle-feather, the beadwork etched carefully about band and
brim, a history of those whose lives the wearer had touched.
Three white stones along the band, given to him by each of his
three children and painstakingly melded into place on the scales.
Just a trophy for a Jytan now. And only one reason why a Jytan
would keep something like this. Victory hard-won, or contemptuously claimed.
His eyes rose higher, to the Dwarfwork blade, High Mastercraft,
three millennia of history in perfection in classic Haxan longhilt
style. Sealed in a scabbard so fine one could not see where it left off
and the blade began.
And it would be three meters off the floor. Looked clamped and
counter-levered.
Adamantine-tipped nails pressed in under the force of his thumb,
punching through the paneling and into metal behind while he stood on
the scabbard of the Champion Jotunsword. Then he drew his long knife and
struck off the clasps smoothly, the nails jerking and stopping as he
caught the blade as it felland did not let his fathers cloven longbrim
hit the floor, catching the chinstring.
He hopped to the floor, feeling the perfection singing in the
blade, the readiness to be unleashed.
Another power he knew, a power that had hummed in the veins of
his father, in his touch and grip.
It was like holding his fathers hand. He fought down the lump in his
throat that threatened to erode his professional calm.
A blade sealed with /chi/ by a Water swordsman, impossible to
draw by mere brute force. You could not pull the sword outyou had to
push it out.
He laid hand to hilt and sent his /chi/ washing down the length
of the blade, feeling the perfection and harmony worked into it by
generations of Haxans and the soulsmithing of a Rockborn Master, meshing
with the power of his father, and pushing the blade free of the scabbard

in a silent, smooth flow of motion.

/Duty/ gleamed a quiet blue-gray, free of its home and ready for
use for the first time in fifteen years.
Errant looked down at the cloven hat in his other hand. Both
hands filled with the touch of his father.
He had entered the house with only a long knife. Now he had a
blade, and knew the killer of his father.
/Time to show a Jytan Lord what one Man could do/.
--------------------------It took one breath for his three bodyguards to die.
Ar-Vaus spun around and lept away in the same motion as he heard
the gurgling cries cut short. Kaws, Morr and Sergeant O-Tresk were
falling, blood spurting from opened throats, his Jytan second stumbling
as a long blade was withdrawn from her neck and nearly a foot of
blood-washed metal came with it.
A Haxan! he blurted out in shock and alarm, just after the
door slammed shut and stopped his cry from spreading. He stepped away
from the Man as he pulled out his dagger, looking right and leftand
seeing only Pashrar, opened like a fish, and Lieutenant Nu-Korj missing
his head down the side hall.
Your axe is behind you and to the left, leaning against the
wall. The Jytan stared at the young Man, covered in the blood of the
Lords bodyguards, eyes seeming almost to shine as he raised the blade,
the blade that all his strength and power had been unable to draw. Blood
flowed up the sword, pushed by a power that was more then strength, and
runes long dormant were smoking, searing his eyes with anathema to the
blood of Jytans. Without looking away, he reached around the corner,
found his greataxe, and smoothly brought it to guard position, spinning
it as lightly as a childs toy.
Strangely, his confidence wasnt returning. When last hed faced
a Haxan wielding that blade, the Man had been half-dead from hewing down
ambushers, and certainly not the equal of facing an uninjured and
skilled warrior in full armor. He knew running was out of the
questionhed seen the flowing movements of this young Man before, and
knew how fast a Wave Master could run.

I will take back my trophy, little ape, he promised, spinning

his axe in a figure-eight pattern, edging forwards towards the limit of
his reach.
The shining eyes didnt dim. Feed the Land! the Haxan stated
with such icy, cold hate the Steward felt his blood chill. And he was
moving, and the Clansword called /Duty/ seemed to be singing a song in
the note of the blood of Jytans as it cut through the air.
-----------------------The Verrik Magister died abruptly. Teleporting ahead of the
crowd predictably, intent on using magic to put down the magic. Errant
buried /Duty/ in the wine-skinned spellcasters spine, twisted it free,
and spun in a decapitating stroke as the Verrik fell, making sure to
relieve the unhuman of his head. With a strong wristflick, he hurled the
blood from the swords blade, and headed for the wall, sheathing /Duty/
even as the first of the Stewards personal guards came surging through
the gates.
One sharp-eyed Sibeccai saw him and gave chase, but could only watch as
Errant seemed to run up the five-meter wall, grab a rope hanging there
and smoothly descend the far side. By the time the guards ran back out
the wall and around to the wall, he was already gone in the night, the
grass and leaves giving no sign of his trail as he slid away into the night.
Behind him, the manse of Stewart Ar-Vaus of Othurstone burned in the
night air, giving the festival below a somber ending as the people of
the town streamed upwards to help put out the flames. Hed already
removed several of the pricier weapons and belongings hed found to help
mislead everyonethe Kip would find a place for them, or he could simply
bury them.
His fathers hat and blade, he kept with him. An Armsister was supposed
to be waiting for him to the north, as the routes to the west would
rapidly be cut offhed have to cross the Flow at a different location,
avoiding bounty hunters sure to be unleashed on his trail.
He didnt care. His father was avenged, his Clansword was in his hands,
and it was still hours until morning. A Haxan could run a long way in a
few hours.
The Wyrmbreak Wall.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------/*Taking Place between the Events of Errantry I (the first and second
meetings with Mi-Kraum), after Daenlander and before the Wereyn.*/

/*The Wyrmbreak Wall*/

He did not come home often. Always, there were things to be
donethings best done by ruthless men with few ties, who few tears would
be shed over.
He was one of those men, and he knew it. The honor of Mithar had
never sunk into his bones the way it had with his kinfolk, only the
appreciation for battleskill, for cunning and power, and the ambition of
one on the road of being a Source. To show the world what one man could
do, to change it and make his mark, spitting in the face of Jytan and
Beastman and Serpen and the horrors from beyondthose had been his
dreams and his ambitions. Raising a family, seeing children grow,
establishing a trade and a craft to be proud of and earn honest coin for
labor donethose had never been his style or desires.
The house was larger now. Theyd added a wing, probably for
Jonas family. Andrals home and Mendals were as well kept up as ever,
the garden larger that all three shared, the women and the children out
there even now. The wheat was fine and gold, a good year, the barn now
had a twin, and there was a tower for the grain raised with care and
skill to store the bounty of the land. Old Man Kawsers steading was
still visible on the hill a klik away, with another house added since
last hed come home.
It was a good thing to see, to be suremore kids around, the
bigger henhouse, looked like at least four more cows, and that Hound
wasnt familiar as it played with four of the younger children with
energy and care.
He didnt see the one he was looking for, which meant she was in
the house preparing the meal. Well enough.
There was a Hawk about the tower that screamed a greeting at his
approachwell now, a waynest for the Avians. That would be like his
stepfather. Likely another in the barn for the owls, too. Heads looked
up as he turned his mount into the courtyard. Lone horsemen were
anything but uncommon in Haxan, but a visitor was something else. The
menfolk were the first to come out and survey him, and thus to recognize
him as he reined in at the hitch before the main house.
Errant! his step-brother Mendal called out with a whoop. They
didnt share any blood, but that had never mattered. Mendal had always
been a terminally nice fellow, prone to getting picked on by those with
an edge to them when they were kids, until Errant had quite literally

gone wild one day on a group of youths picking on the soft-hearted fool.
By the time he was done, there were a few broken bones, black eyes, a
lot of bruises, and he was bound for the north where such energies could
be put to better use. Mendal had never forgotten it, and was always glad
to see him when he found the time to visit.
Mendals shout triggered recognition from the others, but they
picked up their pace only a little. Wouldnt do to show too much lack of
discipline, and his step-father Connurs was big on discipline.
His older brother Andral was first to reach him as he swung down
and offered his hand in greetingErrant took it firmly, noting the
calluses and strength of a farmers life and grip as his brother did
that of a man who lived with a sword in his hand. Handshakes were soon
being extended all around as the children and younger ones of the family
came up to investigate.
Mari wouldnt happen to be here, would she he asked his
brother softly, the look in his eye stopping Andrals welcoming diatribe
before it began. He was the youngest of them, Andral the oldest, Mari
between them, and despite the fact that he loved and respected his
half-siblings and step-siblings, there was the bound of true blood that
couldnt be broken.
Errant looked up at his mother as she came out of the house,
still in her working apron, shawl thrown both hastily and perfectly
about her shoulders to greet her wandering son, back from another bloody
adventure. She smiled to see him, with the dark eyes and hair shed
inherited from her Adanche father, but the look in his eyes stopped her
as surely as it had Andral.
Shes up with the Kawsers nowthats her house on the hill,
Mendal said slowly, waving at the new building at the nearest farmstead.
Got herself a handful of young ones and -
Go get her. Ill wait. Andral blinked at him, and then without
another word headed for the stable where at least one horse would be
waiting with saddle and bridle near and ready. He was riding away in
less then a minute, and the assembled family watched him go, eyes
darting back between him and the returned son of the blood making a name
for himself as a member of the Clan of Ruin.
Errant, is something wrong his mother asked, coming down the
stairs, expecting at least an embrace from him after an absence of
years. He held up his hand quietly for her to wait, and the expression
on his face quieted her. Alertly, she examined his horse for signs of

what might be happening.

It took her a bit to realize he had a second sword bound up and
covered on his horse. He saw her lips thin and go ever-so-pale, and
glanced at Pappy Connurs, whose face was as expressionless as hed ever
seen it.
Andral was back in minutes, trotting easily alongside the horse
Mari was riding, a concerned expression on her face and another young
one a bit along the way in her belly. Errant smiled despite himself to
see her, his terrible older sister all grown up and playing mother to a
herd of brats no doubt worse then herself, and that smile chased away
enough concern to relieve her and make her curious.
She swung down easilybeing pregnant hardly meant she couldnt
ride a horse, smoothed her blouse and waited for a hug or embrace that
was not forthcoming as he reached up to his horse, threw the blanket off
the box it was covering behind his saddle, and silently presented it to
his mother.
Her knuckles were white as she took it and he stepped away. It
was light, of course, only pressed paper and contents, which she could
tell by weight. He turned his back as he worked out the covered sword
from its place, meeting the grim eyes of Pappy Connurs once again. His
step-father was the first to see the hilt as he unbound the cloth, and
behind him heard a sobbing cry in unison from his mother and sister as
his mother shakingly lifted off the lid of the box to see his fathers
hat resting within, still split in twain, but unmistakably his.
Pappy Connurs looked at that perfect hilt for a long moment, and
then a spark lit his eye and a grim smile crossed his face for a moment.
Well, now, its time to welcome your father home one last time, lad.
Errant turned to his gaping brother, and calmly presented to the
eldest son the Clansword of their fathers bloodline.
---------------------------------------I am the finest swordsman of the blood of this generation. My life and
my blade have been at the service of the Elders since I first raised it
in the defense of my home. I was entrusted as the best member of the
blood to reclaim my familys sword and exact vengeance upon those who
stole it.
And now you tell me that I am not worthy to wield it, and
/Duty/ is to sit upon a mantle as it has for the last fifteen years,

again!
Theyd come from a long distance, some of these Elders. The
recovery of the Clansword was an event of some celebration, and a full
dozen stood in council now, /Duty/ upon the table between them, to judge
who was to wield the blade.
The list was damn short. His family and cousins werent
particularly known for martial endeavors. Generally, no more then one or
two people a generation made a habit out of the lifestyle of killing
other sentient beings. While certainly there were competent swordsmen
among his relatives, he was more then a step above them and he knew it.
He wasnt a master yetFreesword had shown him thatbut he was very
good, and he knew hed get better.
Boy has a point. Elder Willurds smiled encouragingly. That
doesnt mean it has to sit on a shelf, lad, the white-haired old farmer
went on further, seeing Errants massive irritation with the whole
business. Our reservations about you wielding it arent because of your
skill. None of us here are living the life of bloody hands that you are.
Errant winced at the description despite himself. While his family might
respect the more martial clans and lifestyles, they were largely of Clan
Sheaf, growing food to support the nation and children to make it grow
more, not cutting all that down. There was a great difference in
perspectives.
We are more concerned with your reputation then with your
skill, Errant of Ruin. Matron Lezlis pointed reference was a barb to
his heartRuin was known by and large as the most ruthless and secretive
of all the Clans, dealing the most with outsiders and doing what it had
to in order to protect Haxan as a whole. While honorable enough in its
own way, the reputation for roguery and knives in darkness stained a
great deal of Ruins reputation in Haxan proper. The farmers would
follow Ruin to war if need be, but they didnt have to like it.
Which, he reflected, is why Ruin didnt do much inside Haxan
proper. They were tools of the other clans, perhaps more then any other.
As he himself was a tool.
Im not a devoted Mitharn, he admitted, perhaps with
disturbing ease, meeting each of their gazes without difficulty. These
were civilians, wise and experienced in life, but civilians nonetheless.
They had no concept of the life he led outside of the stories of bards
and spun tales of adventure. But I have never dishonored my family, my
people, or the Silver Son in what I have done. Are you more concerned

with the fact that I am on the road of the Source then that I sing the
praises of the Silver Son
Neither. We are concerned with the fact that the sword of our
blood has always been wielded by a hero of Haxan, not merely a soldier
of Haxan. Elder Chrysto rapped the table firmly with old knuckles. I
knew your father personally, young Errant. He was many things you are
not, and among them was a man of great principles who could occasionally
lecture Purehearts on morals. He was a hero who fought for what was
right because it was rightnot just a sword in the night taking orders
from the Elders of Ruin against the enemies of Haxan.
That was both painful and true. He winced again. So long hed
wanted to avenge his father and earn the right to carry the family
sword, hed not considered the nature of the men whod worn it in the
family histories. Suddenly he found himself in his fathers shadow, a
place hed long ago stepped away from. He found he did not like it a
whit, either.
Portly Elder Morvin, the Elder he recognized the most, cleared
his throat loudly and smoothed his handlebar mustaches. Be all that as
it may, we are all agreed that you are indeed the most skilled of all
those who would hope to wield Duty, and not see it lost again.
Therefore, the blade is indeed yours to carry. He heard the conditions
coming and didnt get excited despite himself. There are two conditions
to this. He held up chubby fingers calmly, wagged them. One is ours to
deliver. We will be speaking with the Elders of Ruin and stating in no
uncertain terms that we will not permit our familys sword to be used as
they have used you in the past. One does not play games of shadows with
/Duty/one stands forth and shows the sword for the honor of Haxan, and
lets the enemy know what they deal with. Your time in the games of
intrigue is done.
He could see the reasoning behind this. To them, /Duty/ was far
more then a tool, it was a symbol of the best and brightest of the
family, an extension of the reason that Haxan existed, and only to be
wielded as the men of Haxan and followers of Mithar might do, as it had
been for over three thousand years.
And the second he asked calmly.
Carry the sword you may, but you may not draw it until is
needed for the task of a hero, not merely a soldier. We will know the
sword is yours when the bards sing of it in your hands, and not before.
Elder Morvins eyes gleamed and his back was straight as he pronounced
those words, and his gaze was upon the revered blade laying upon the

table before the Elders.

Errant blinked. He could carry it, but not draw ituntil he did
something worthy of a bards song If ever there was a challenge to
avoid a death sentence, hed not heard less of one afore. Heroes did
some preposterously stupid things in pursuit of glory.
Accepted. Challenges hed met and overcome all his life. This
one would be no different, save in that someone would actually have to
know about it.
Then go with our blessings, and make the family proud of your
name. He rose to his feet, bowed deeply to the Elders of his family,
laid his hand upon the table, and pulled /Duty/ to him with his /chi/.
The blade lept to his hand, drawing glances of surprise from some of the
Elders, few of whom had any experience with profound swordsmanship.
It will not leave the sheath until a heros task is before me,
he stated calmly, bowing again before their approving eyes, and departed
the chamber silently.
------------------Frustrating.
He roared through the katas on a tidal wave of internal energy,
feeling his chi roil and flow, begging for releasea release he could
not give it. Like a whirlpool in his soul, it spun and fountained, ready
and willingand then was sucked down a hole and lost.
Errant sighed and finished his kata, the whipping air stilling
as his hands came down and his concentration subsided.
He had the technical forms of the style down cold. Between his
instruction in Freesword and lessons at the actual Flowing Waters
Academy hed been pursuing the last three months, the movements of the
style were coming into play and he was integrating them seamlessly into
his own fighting style.
The higher forms were still eluding him. And the higher forms
were the true power of the stylehis foundation was good, but he was
having problems climbing the heights. As one of the Masters had put it,
his foundation was so broad and solid, he had one hell of a long way to
go to reach the middle and start climbing and building.
Which, of course, is why a Dancing Fires twit with half his

knowledge and a third of his experience had beaten the crap out of him.
There was something to be said for being focused.
And, of course, not being able to draw /Duty/, even to practice
with it.
He eyed the sword, leaning against a rock nearby, undrawn and
untouched. Hed been tempted many times to draw the blade, if only to
practice with it and attune himself to the feel and power, and contented
himself with doing so while it was still in scabbard. Unwieldy,
possibly, but the blade channeled/ chi/ so purely it felt scarcely
different in his hands then a normal blade might.
He was a Source and things happened to Sources. There was a
heroic task waiting for him somewhere because he was the kind of person
the Land elected to take care of problems. He only had to wait for it to
come to him.
And in the meantime he practiced extensively. There was
something to be said for learning pure, unadulterated killing techniques
in a friendly setting, as opposed to the this-better-work-or-Im-dead
atmosphere of a battlefield. Hed had a wonderful time the last few
months, learning things hed once wondered if hed ever be able to
accomplish, feeling levels of greatness coming into his reach, just
needing a little more practice and demand and levels of spiritual growth
to attain.
Or, as the tales said, he should get out there and be fighting
his ass off again.
The House was a few hours awayhe was out in the wilderness,
looking for something to pit himself against, a test of elements and
discipline not used by the Housethose he had done, and done repeatedly.
Wild and elemental surroundings helped him focustruly serene settings
made him uncomfortable and want to be about something, anything. The
Source in his soul, never truly at peace, never truly calm.
Perhaps, that was indeed his weakness.
He sank to the leaf-covered floor of the clearing, wondering
again at why hed chosen the Water School to learn. The Storm School was
of greater prestige, but few qualified for iteven now, he might not be
good enough. The Crystal Splitters were more focused on strength and
heavy armornot his style. The Fire Dancers used two weapons and
preferred no armor whatsoever, and were about as sneaky as a thief
waving around two torches while trying to hide in the shadows.

No, the Water School fit best with classic Mitharn, and the
classic styles endured because they worked, and they worked damn well.
It was flexible, it had great strengths and no real weaknesses, and it
was based totally around the will and desire of those who sought to
learn its secrets, master the style and master themselves. One didnt
have to be marvelously agile, of great strength, or serene understanding
to be a Water Masterone needed to have the will to go on.
Serenity.
He studied that concept, turning it over in his head. He had a
lot of rage inside himfor all of his self-control, he loved to fight,
and he loved to kill, to prove his dominance and his worth by sheer
skill and discipline. His spirit was more suitable for a Fire Dancer
even if his attitude was not.
But serenity had always been denied him. As a Source, always
grasping, always reaching, always driven here and there and onwards,
enough to exhaust the wills and drives of even the most ambitious people
he knew. Only great physical injury had ever slowed him down, and he had
always seethed during those times.
Was serenity the true key Surely the Masters of Flowing Waters
didnt scream like banshees as they sliced the waves in twain, or rang
the great bells from a dozen paces away, or drove their hands into solid
stone like soft clay. Not merely discipline, but something that
transcended discipline.
Serenity.
It was time for him to learn how to becalm. Not a hunters
calm, not a focused dueling calm. A serene and timeless calm, a
mirror-smooth lake in the morning.
A sea.
An ocean.
He sat amidst the forest, /Duty/ upon his knees and palms, and
began to breathe deeply as he sought to discard all his distractions,
all his needs, all his drives, aware of everything but moved by nothing.
Grasping at serenity.
-----------------

The whine of the Hound brought him from his meditation.

It was lateno, more then that, a day and more had passed, he
realized, turning and breaking from his trance and struggles within to
see the dog crawling towards him, a great wound in its side and a trail
of blood behind it. Despite himself, his heart lept into his
throatwhile hed never had a Hound of his own, the demands of his
profession denying it, the one thing his father had left behind for him
had been the Hound of their family, and he had loved Choco more then
anything else save his mother. To see a Hound in this state was like a
physical blow, and he was off and moving before he could think.
A glance told him the wound was mortalpure willpower had sent
the Hound crawling towards someone, somewhere there might be aid, and
kept it alive long enough to do so. He laid his hand upon its head and
a ripping wound that had nearly split its skull open, and the
tawny-furred Hound managed to lick his hand before it went finally and
completely still beneath his fingers.
A terrible rage welled up in his heart. Weapons had done this,
and no beast. Sentient creatures had attacked a Hound, and it had lived
long enough to let someone know it. Harness, collarHalvyr make, the
elegance and simplicity singular and familiar. Companion to a
Bordergaurd, no doubt.
He had no horn, and he did not know if he had time. Hounds did
not hunt nor fight alone. With a grim expression, he closed the eyes of
the faithful beast one last time, and started along the trail it had
left behind.
Old habits died hard. He still wore his mail mesh under his
tunic, and he slid out his goggles so that the night lit up as bright as
day. / Duty/ seemed to hum in expectation in his hands, or perhaps it
was responding to his emotional state. The trail was a straight and true
path, as obvious as a road through the old forest that ran down off the
Jotunbones, and he was moving along it with the skill of a hunter and
killer of men and beasts.
Four kliks it had managed to drag itself with those injuries. He
found the site of battle, spattered with blood and tracks and the sign
of clawed feet and hands. A shattered horn here, given no time to be
sounded
Ah, no. Tracks smaller then his hands, and not those of Hynfolk
nor the fey, who did not dwell near here.

The children of Children, come out into the woods for a day or
three, with one escort, a heavy-footed and iron-booted Urkhar by the
weight of the tread. Safe here, in the borderlands of Haxanexcept for
something that had found them.
Found them, and taken themthat way.
To call a horn would announce he was coming, and panic the
attackers. To light a fire, alert the whole of the hills and precipitate
tragedy.
Something had come in past the Hillguard and the Westguard
Watchers and taken them. He grit his teeth, weighed his
responsibilities, and narrowed his eyes.
They wanted heroics, they were going to get heroics.
-----------------------Scalefolk, and big ones. The smallest of them was the size of an
Ogryn. They were not a species he was familiar with, taller, stronger,
and straighter then he was used to seeing, at least according to the
instructional holography hed witnessed. Two castes, one of warriors,
and a smaller and deceptively more compact one with leaner and more
elegant scalework, possibly spellcasters. Fine quality armor and weaponry.
They died like anyone else when you cut off their heads.
Both sentries called out in their turns, hissing voices that did
not carry far, died as /Duty/ came out of the night and relieved one of
his head and drove into the skull of the next like an iron pike. Errant
made sure the bulky bodies did not make much noise as he eased them
down, ignoring the spray of dark, cold blood, and moving towards the
cave entry that yawned abruptly and wrongly open, punched and dissolved
thru the stone as if eaten away by acida great worm-beast of the utter
deeps, a tactic used by races of the Deep Below to excavate new caverns
and tunnels, no doubt.
They looked jumpy, the remaining four guards at the entry,
disturbed by the sights and the sounds of the surface and the forest at
night. Paranoia was a key survival trait in the depths, he knew, but the
amount of distracting noise of wind in the trees, stars in the sky,
branches and leaves aswirl, night calls of unfamiliar creatures, had the
things jumpy and dancing at the shadows of their nightvision.

And one of them was looking over a new acquisition with

admiration and pride. A great curved blade of serration wave-patterns
called a rakeblade, the signature weapons of Urkhar warriors.
Like many Scalefolk and Deep races, these suffered from the same
sort of arrogance that they were far stronger, faster, tougher, and
smarter then puny weak surface races who had all gone soft under the sun
and didnt have to fight and claw every day for their survival. They
also carried themselves with the aloofness and discipline of military
personnel.
Time to make his move.
There are very different techniques for moving quietly over loam
and grass then there is to stone. These creatures were sharp-eyed and
eared, but out of their element, and their commander was staying near to
the cave indeed as he looked about in discomfort.
The second called out to the sentries routinelyand of course
got silence in return. A second call, more nervously and louder, was met
with equal silence. A hiss of consternation as they tried to see their
comrades and could not, and greatswords were gripped nervously as two of
the four strode quickly out towards where the sentries were supposed to
be posted.
The commander almost backed into Errant as he stepped back into
the cave entry for cover, plainly fearing the worse. It was a momentary
feeling only, as his sudden awareness of something behind him ended with
/Duty/s point exploding out his mouth via the spinal cortex and killing
him instantly.
The other guard whirled, hissing an alarm, but not calling out
as he instinctively lashed outonly to find his commander falling into
his grasp and fouling his stroke and his strike. He pushed the corpse
away and aside with frantic haste, only to see the killer moving up the
body and almost looking him in the eye as he swung once, twice and three
times as he executed a flawless somersault over the creatures head,
ending with /Duty/ driving deep into the creatures upper spine, cleanly
through the plate upon its back.
The other two came pounding back, blades raised, and paused as
they saw the small, soft surface-dweller standing over the slain bodies
of their comrades, blade slick with the blood of their people. Errant
calmly lifted his sword, pointed at the first of them, and motioned him
forwards, spitting on the commanders corpse as he did so.

The creature took his challenge with a hissing roar, surging

forward with a two-meter blade in his hands, clearly looking to
overwhelm him and split him in twain.
Errant, however, knew how to fight Scalefolk, and he knew how to
fight things bigger then himhed been fighting the latter much of his
life. He was inside the creatures reach before it fully realized hed
moved, lower then a being his size should normally have been able to go,
and coming up with a blurring counterstroke and thrust from inside the
creatures grasp. It spun past him, gurgling at the cut in its scaled
throat and the long cut down its arm, and he was right with it, driving
it back with smooth cuts and thrusts as it parried with skill and
powerto find its guard too high as he dropped to his knees between
blows and Duty came in behind its leg and nearly took it off at the knee.
It began to fall, trying to cut down at him, and he was already
moving aside from the plummeting sword, his long knife in hand and
coming up to meet the descending body and ram full force up into its
skull with its own mass. He levered the body aside with a surge of will
more then strength, and let it slam to the ground as he spun to face the
last one, /Duty/ snapping out to point and challenge.
Well fought, the creature hissed in deeply accented Draconic,
slitted eyes studying him, its own sword raising. Perhaps the dwellers
of the surface are not so soft as we expected them to be. You will make
finer slaves for our people then we thought!
Errant considered some flip remark, but a hero of the bardic
tales he was not. I was not aware that slaves served those about to
become extinct, he replied in very bad Draconic as well, and now he
advanced on the creature, /Duty/ beginning to flow through opening
patterns of an attack routine in an increasingly fast blue-gray blur
under the moonlight. The creature hissed and lept to the attack, exactly
as it was expected to, great blade sweeping out before it with the
strength of a giant and real skill behind it, light as a willow wand and
deadly as a descending guillotine.
Five seconds later, he whipped /Duty/ through a figure eight to
relieve it of blood, stepped over the headless corpse of the creature,
and headed silently down the tunnel.
--------------------It was a hundred paces to where the acid-seared stone widened
outlightless and dark, he saw the world in black and greys, and studied
the way the stone had melted and run, anticipating the widening of the

cave by the change in the patterns, and looking forwards to find the
guards at their posts as the tunnel swelled and became an older chamber
of worked stone, the acid marks passing through and beyond, to descend
slowly beyond sight into the depths of the earth.
Dwarf-mines, he realized, noting the triangular basis and solid
construction. This branch had survived the Crashing of the Crowns, and
these creatures must have intercepted it on accident as they tunneled up
from below. Doubtless they were exploring and mapping the interlocking
network, trying to discern what lay beyond, and cursing over having to
stoop often as they moved through the stone. This was a long way from
the mountains, and although he could smell the reptilian tang in the
air, he could also smell the weight and dust of agesthis branch had
been closed a very long time, possibly even intended as a possible
escape route into the hills were something to strike the center of the
fallen Dwarfhold beyond.
It stood to reason that the creatures would be more concerned
with exploring inwards then outwards, as a subterranean race. Too, they
probably knew next to nothing of the surface world, and their one
encounter had been with a single warrior and a number of children. The
fate of mammalian sentients among cold-blooded Scalefolk was generally
not ever goodeven honorable Scalefolk saw them more as food then
potential slaves. Still, he was near the major entry point to the Deep
Realms, and likely the base of operations would be near here, perhaps at
a central mine corridor.
First, to get past these guards.
A stone, launched behind ones head, tinking loudly and then
ricocheting off into the deep passageway beyond, skipping and clattering
and drawing an immediate and forceful reaction from the two guards. Even
as they were moving to investigate, he was sliding past them and beyond,
lightfoot quiet as water flowing over stone, into the disturbed dust of
the Dwarf-mine beyond.
Yes, blood that wasnt pungent. He was on the right track. He
moved onwards carefully, alert to the flow of air and the weight of the
stone around himhed never liked tunnel-fighting, but one made do.
Here thenthe mines widened into a wider area, perhaps to change
around ore carts if the grooves on the floor meant anything. He idly
wondered what had been mined to bring out a tunnel this far from the
Crowns, decided it mattered little. What mattered was the Serpen
standing outside what looked to be a functional door of stone, and the
dark smears on the floor that meant something living had been dragged

inside. Opposite that door, a large number of oddly packaged bundles

were stackedsupplies brought from down Below. Beyond, he could hear
more voices echoing in Draconic down the tunnel.
Okay, he would have to do this quickly and quietly or hed be
caught from both sides. Happily, guard duty was boring, and guard duty
over children was likely worse. He couldnt hear them through the door
the creature was guarding, but no doubt they were chattering and
whispering in a language it didnt understand, and soon an irascible
hiss sounded a curse in Draconic. It rounded on the door, lifted up the
bar, and tore it open with sword in hand, roaring out a command to keep
quiet within.
It was probably really, really surprised when it saw the blade
coming out of its mouth, and found itself dropping to the ground slowly,
uncontrollablyand then it couldnt see at all.
There was a hushed quiet within as Errant quietly rode the body
down, grounded /Duty/s point an inch into the stone, and looked about
at the silent faces of nearly a score of children of the Children who,
despite the very wide discrepancy in their heights, couldnt be more
then the equivalent of human ten year olds.
Haxan, he stated, and saw the lights come on in their
eyesthose that could see, anyways. Magical lights danced up into being
from the hands of one of the young Halvyri, letting them all see him and
the dead Serpen upon the floorand his finger upon his lips.
Teacher he asked, and they moved away in the cramped confines
to show an Urkhar, scarred and beaten and skin-carved to within an inch
of his life, propped up against the far wall, head lolling and
unconscious. No armor, of course, and no weaponat least, not yet.
He undid the pommel stone of /Duty/ and gestured the closest
Dhatuni closer. Hold out your hands, he stated to the stout little
lass, who somberly did so as he inverted the pommel, and a single
glittering vial of gleaming crystal fell out and into her grasp.
Pour it down his throatmake sure he does not spill a drop. You
and you, hold his mouth open. Pragmatic and obedience thru fear won
out, and the Ogryn and Urkhar boys quickly worked open the jaws of their
instructor so the Dhatuni could move thru the press, nervously open the
vial, stick it in his yellow-toothed jaws, and invert it.
The reaction was immediate. Steam hissed into the air from the
massive torture marks and battle wounds, his eyes flew open, lit up from

within by a burning white light. Flesh twisted and sealed and bones
worked back into place, new teeth rising into gaps theyd been torn
from, bruises fading away into green-gray skin as almost painfully alert
eyes fixed on the crouching form of the night-painted human crouching
before in the doorway, lit by the light of a minor cantrip.
Errant of Haxan, Errant introduced himself quietly. Where is
your armor, Warborn He had noted the Urkhars hands, ridges of solid
callus dominating them in the manner of a Crystal Breaker stylist.
They are examining and admiring its workmanship, the Urkhar
rumbled with deceptive quiet, flexing his hands and looking about at the
children. It will come when I call for it. My blade
Errant slid the weighty rakeblade off his back and held it out.
Slowly and carefully the Urkhar got to his feet, the freshly healed
wounds seeming to hiss softly on his skin as the light within finally
died away. He was a massive member of the species, a head taller then
Errant, much broader, and thick as a Dwarf at least. Errant took the
crystal vial, now empty, handed over the rakeblade in its sheath in
return. Even in a loincloth, the Urkhar looked to be a supremely
dangerous individual with his blade in hand.
Alone the Urkhar asked, and Errant nodded. How long
Twenty hours, by my guess. His eyes roved over the children,
and young and shining eyes full of hope and fear looked back. Is anyone
missing
They havent gotten around to eating any of them yetbut soon.
The Urkhar worked his wrist. How many between us and the entry
Errant smiled coldly. At least two. Can the children run
All the Children of Tiirith can run, he ground out fondly,
resting a hand on the head of the Halvyri providing the light fondly.
Then we can stop them from being followed. Errant looked over
the young faces and felt a savage joy rising in his heartthis was
indeed a good way to die. They will see the light coming, but that does
not mean they will see me.
The Urkhars smile was merciless. Very true. A fine
distraction. Children, when we say to run, you must be ready to run, run
for home and get your parents. His deep voice dropped to devastating
softness. You are born to be heroes, and now is your time. Will you be

heroes for us
Silent eyes looked up at him, and young heads nodded quietly.
Born to the tales of a hundred generations of heroes, they knew what was
expected of them.
Go, Haxanwe will follow in one hundred beats. The Urkhar
unsheathed his rakeblade. Errant did not waste time.
-------------------------The Serpen hissed a loud challenge when the Urkhar stepped into
the widened cavern, with the children lined up behind him save for a
delicate one at his side, whose hands cupped a whirling sphere of gently
glowing lights that spun jerkily and happily in the air. The first one
stepped forwards from his post, and then was dead, as a single
sword-blow came across from a blur leaping across him and past,
bisecting its thick neck in passing.
The other Serpen whirled around to face the intruder, roaring
the alarm, barely avoiding the slashing blade reaching for its throat
that came in with shocking speed, dipping down to plunge into his thigh
and pull out with fluid grace in time to meet the blade sweeping for his
head, steel whining and sparking and shards of the larger blade spinning
away as they were carved off by the smaller weapons edge.
It had not the slightest clue the Urkhar could cross the
distance spanning them anywhere nearly as quickly as he did, the first
indication of his presence the rakeblade that drove into its side, up
under its ribs, sheared through breastplate, bone, muscle and scales
with equal impunity, and came out the far side with a surge and
crystalline snap of power that broke on Errants soul like a fine high
note. Spraying blood and innards, the Serpen fell to the side loudly,
dead before it hit the ground.
Run, children! barked the Urkhar, waving at them, and they
hurried forwards and past him, led by the Halvyri, who paused only once
to look up at him before leading them onwards as fast as she could, up
the tunnel and towards the light and home.
They both heard the shouts in Draconic echoing down the tunnel,
the sounds of heavy feet coming to investigate. The Urkhar grinned and
made a flexing come-hither motion.
Scant seconds later, accompanied by distant exclamations, sheets
of black metal came flying out of the mine tunnel towards him, slamming

into him and locking into place. With a crash and slam of metal on
metal, his armor assembled itself on top of him, burying his skin behind
a wall of beautifully and savagely ornamented adamantine.
I really hope one of these assholes has a shield I can use,
Errant commented, taking a place next to the towering Urkhar that would
completely bar the path to the tunnel outside, and the tunnel belowjust
inside the mine entry.
The warrior took that moment to examine Errants sword, able to
see just fine in the total darkness. A Clansword! he murmured
approvingly, and in not a little wonder. And here I thought you were a
particularly suicidal Westguard! My apologies, Haxan!
None taken. Its name is /Duty/.
A fine name, and a dark place for such a treasure. He raised
his rakeblade as the sound of heavy armored bodies came pounding closer.
It will not be lost beneath the earth today. The Mountain and
the Sea stand together today, and Water flows fastest in the tightest
valleys.
And the Mountain forms a wall you cannot climb, with teeth you
cannot blunt! The Urkhar shifted his stance more broadly, and Errant
slid around behind him as the first of the Serpen burst into sight on
the far side of the room. They will sing of us this day, Haxan!
The Serpen came charging across the room, and his blade drove
onto the rakeblade of the Urkhar with tremendous forceand was stopped
cold.
It was quite surprised when Errant slid around from behind the
Urkhar and disemboweled it with one smooth swing.
Water flows down the Mountain, hissed the Urkhar with real
pleasure, kicking the creature back as its insides came billowing
forth, grinning nastily at those behind as Errant crouched down before
him, and two blades waited across the tunnel, barring the way. He roared
out a loud, perverse, and very specific curse in Draconic, his accent
much better then Errants, and infuriated Serpen lost their sense of
reservation and charged them in the tightness of the mine tunnel.
Steel rang on steel and across the stone, and Urkhar and Human
barred the way.

--------------------------------How many wheezed Rorg Faustusk, coughing up blood from a

punctured lung, his fine armor crushed, cut, bent, smashed and otherwise
maltreated. He was covered in head to toe gore, a fine tribute to his
prowess, his grip on his blade still firm and sure. Ribs were smashed,
joints twisted, skin broken by the impact of powerful blades, but he was
alive and ready to keep fighting, and the corpses heaped nearly shoulder
high before them were mute testament to the prowess of him and the Haxan.
Thirty-nine, the Haxan rasped, also down on one knee, an
adhesive bandage sealing a cut above his eyes that could have taken his
head, bleeding stanched by hasty application of particularly
foul-smelling goo across his chest, his arms, legs, kidneys. His mail
shirt had held up remarkably well, rent in only a couple places, but
doing little to stop the crushing force of the blows that had driven
into his chest despite best efforts to the contrary. Every movement of
his arms was agonyRorg was fairly sure his collarbone was fractured
after one blow had come down on him and not been fully parried in time.
I dont think they like us very much.
Rorg hissed his amusement at the thought. Good, I dont like
them either. I wouldnt want them to think we are going all soft or
anything. The Haxan managed to groan aloud and force a half-chuckle.
Do you think they want to try again They just might make it
this time, Errant whispered, fighting to keep his arms from trembling,
letting his concentration focus into passivity and his arms to relax
with power, not fatigue nor pain.
They got little choice but to try. Cant go home without us.
Except , he cocked an ear at the tunnel behind them, I think I hear
something coming up the way behind us.
Ah, that isnt good. Still, they have a lot of dead to claw
over to reach usmaybe theyll get hungry in the meantime. Rorg wheezed
his amusement again as he looked at the pile of dead behind them,
half-choking the tunnel, even higher then the stack in front of them.
Well, dying beside a Clansword Wielder is a decent way to go,
according to the Bards. What do they say about dying alongside Urkhar
Heavies
That its much better to die alongside beautiful young Halvyri
who can drip silver tears on you as you pass away. Urkhar are much too
ugly. Rorg spit out another wad of blood in his mirth and agreement

with the image the Haxan conjured up.

Still think we should have stayed so long he asked, wanting
to know the Man agreed with the decision, and the why of it.
We dont know what they could bring up from belowan army, a
legion, an invasion force. We prevent word, reinforcement, and gain time
for the children to get away and bring the Hillguard. The Haxan paused
reflectively. I almost feel sorry for the stupid bastards. We did some
nice butchery here, but Im thinking the Hillguard is going to get
catastrophically artistic on their scaled asses.
Oh, thats truth. They are going to bring the rhythm and the
music, and these lizards dont have a bloody prayer in Hell. Gagrik
smiled at the thought of it. Still, real fine work we did here. Make
the lads envious back home, I will.
We arent dead yet. The Haxans head lifted slowly, eyes
turning to focus on something above and behind them, and slowly a smile
crept up from his lips and into his eyes. You feel that
Rorg turned, trying to clear his mind and feel what the Haxan
did, but such efforts had never been his strong suit. No he said quietly.
The Masters of Flowing Waters. We dont have to hold out too
much longer. He eyed the shadows creeping in slowly in front of them,
the echoes pounding hastily up the descending tunnel behind them, drawn
no doubt by the flow of blood streaming down it from all the stacked and
hacked corpses.
Well then, we build the wall one more time. Rorg thrust
himself to his feet one more time, and the Haxan moved back to back with
him. More of the great Serpen began to move into sight before them, and
fresh and untested ones came tromping up the tunnel from below, eyes
turning on the pile of dead choking the pathway, and the two non-Serpen
beyond them. The perfect lines of a Haxan Clansword rose opposite the
gore-strewn edge of the rakeblade, and the Serpen came at them.
-----------------------Boy, you keep up your tradition of getting soundly thrashed in
fights and someday there isnt going to be anyone around to heal you.
Errant blinked and looked up and around, recognizing the
interior of the House. His hand went to his belly, where a blade wider
then his hand had finally driven through his guard and ended his

defense, falling over the sprawled body of the Urkhar hed made his
stand with, the great brutes skull almost caved in by a terrific blow.
Master Temrin Whitefroth smiled down at him. At least your
injuries were all physical this timethe Healer got you mostly patched
up, and that Source vigor of yours has been doing the rest. And before
you ask, the Warborns first question is which of you got taken out
first. Something about a bet- He arched an eyebrow and Errant fell
back into the very soft bed, smiling with satisfaction.
He owes me a thousand gold coins. Is there anything to eat
around here he managed to say, and then he was drifting off again,
relaxed and relieved and weirdly content with life, unconscious again
before he got an answer.
The Master of the House eyed the gleaming Clansword at rest on
the rack at the foot of Errants bed as the younger man drifted back off
to sleep.
Fourteen hours theyd held the tunnels, time enough for
exhausted children to run leagues back to their homes, for alarms to be
raised, and for the Hillguard to whelm with the kind of savage
retribution that only threatening their young could do. They had come
into that tunnel with magic and blades and bows and a deadly song that
even now raised the hackles on his neck to recall. The stone of the
mountain had been beating in time to the power they were calling on, his
mastery of his Houses greatest arts just another small component in the
raging tempo which had smashed into the invaders with the kind of fervor
not seen in a generation. He had never witnessed the kind of power that
the Children could pull off when gathered to do battle, had not expected
it of them, and had relearned an awe of them that reminded him
remarkably of his youth, and forcefully recalled the tales of the
Borderguard who stood upon the Wyrmbreak Wall and faced down the Wyrm.
Theyd taken the fight right down to the force whelming in the
depths, ripping the earth apart and burying probably a thousand of the
great Scalefolk alive under uncounted tons of beating stone, hunting
them down remorselessly through the abandoned mines above until none
lived to tell of their failure. Perhaps in the depths some would crawl
away to speak of the might that they had stirred in the lands
aboveperhaps not.
Fifty-two dead the pair had claimed between them. The Mountain
and the Waters, barring the path together with a wall of living steel.
It was a great deed and the Halvyr were already singing about it, rather
ignoring their own deeds together in light of the heroism of the pair

that had made it all possible. The children the two had saved would be
singing of it for centuries.
Aye, that Clansword was in the right hands, no doubt there. If
he had to stuff the truth down the throats of the family Elders he
would, but a quiet word to the Halvyr Minstrels and already
silver-tongued songsmiths were spreading words that could not be denied
in a flowing stream across Haxan. The name of /Duty/ would be again
listed among the Clanswords proudly and heroically wielded in the name
and traditions of Haxan, and that would be enough.

New Post Re: The Wyrmbreak Wall.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------/*Wyrmbreak II*/

Now, the ground going out under you suddenly is not something
they generally prepare you for, especially in an area remarkably free of
signs of danger.
Of course, not many people have the continuous paranoia of an
Independent, and can maintain that level of paranoia without going
rather bonkers. It took a feral sort of mindset that was not natural to
most sentientsbut Sources werent most sentients.
Thus, when his footing simply evaporated under him, his reflexes
were responding before he was aware. He was turning and clawing for the
edge of the pit or sinkhole or whatever this was, one hand coming out
with the whip folded at the back of his belt even as his head dropped
below ground level.
And then, quite simply, he was gone.
The rest of the company blinked and shouted. To them, it seemed
as if he had dropped right thru the soil. Blades hissed out, arrows were
fit, staves beat to magical life. Careful steps hurried forwards as
those following him tensed for combatand found nothing.
Rorg lifted the brutal heavy crossbow he carried to study the
ground around where Errant had vanished. The Haxans footprints simply
ended in the soil and dirt, with no sign of him falling or being sucked
underneath.
No sign of an enemy. No stench of magic at work.

Warder Rockborn he growled in confusion, eying the local

plant life, seeing nothing dangerous. Beasts
There was a pair of rumbling negative growls, barded Lion and
Hound tensed and not coming too close to the point of disappearance as
they listened and sniffed for sign of a foe.
And then the whip came snapping up right through the ground and
soil and wrapped around Rorgs thick left ankle. The Urkhar blinked,
staring at the cord coming right up through the ground while barely
disturbing the soil, and then very slowly and carefully stepped back,
pulling it along with him heavily until it struck some sort of unseen
protrusion and pulled out at a greater angleand drew something up along
behind it.
Errants hand came through the dirt first, scattering a thin
patina of it as it broke through the ground, his arm following forthwith
as Rorg smoothly uncocked his crossbow and reached down to grab the whip
with massive hands.
When Errants head came through the surface, the Urkhar poised
to haul him completely up, except he was interrupted by the sudden
return of Errants voice.
-pull me all the way up! Stop! the Haxan ordered in a too-loud
voice, freezing the big warrior in place. One hand stretched out on his
whip, the Haxan looked quite odd, sticking up through the ground, the
dirt not even bulging around him. His other arm came up through the
ground as if it were water, scattering some minor dirt, and straightened
his hat calmly. Cheri, a rope, tie it off securely. Warren, come climb
down me and see what I fell into
The Warder lifted a curious eyebrow and moved forwards as Rorg
stayed as planted as an oak, and the Armsister dug quickly in the packs
of her Horse for a coil of fine rope. Trencher took the moment to plant
his new Athame /Forge/ and his eyebrows rose for his steel-hued
hairline, but no one was looking at him just then.
-----------------------------------Rorg whistled long and low. It was a dreadfully impressive
soundthe Urkhar had stories and tales of things going back millennia,
and werent awed by much of anything. Trenchers silence was even moreso.
A kliks-wide depression in what had seemed to be an innocuous

section of plains, rising up in the center to a hulking, castle-like

structure built in the old, old style of the Serpen servants of the
Wyrmkings, a squat hillside carved into an edifice worthy of the favored
servants of dragons. Above them, shadowy light filtered down through a
cragged and rolling ceiling formed of massive interlocking planes of
force, warded by illusion spells so strong and impressive that even
centuries of the overland flights of the Dragons coming off the
Wyrmbreak Wall had not pierced the disguise aboveand blowing sand and
dirt had gathered to provide real life mixing in with the false to
further muddy the picture.
I havent got the slightest idea what this place might be,
Errant, Warren said warily. But the magic used here is High
ArchmageryEternals or their like erected this. He was squintingthe
powers used here hurt his eyes to fully behold.
None of them needed to voice the idea that this was entirely off
their scale. Exploration of such a home would be best left to Senior
Passguard, Auroran Masters, and some of the most devoted and skilled
gloryswords out of the Pass.
Circle the place. If we are going to report this, I want
something to report, Errant stated calmly, eyes gleaming hungrily.
Always good to have your name associated with something new.
-----------------------------------------Russet and Butter agreed that there was evidence of some manner
of undead activity, and there were Beastfolk trafficking down the single
causeway from above. The combination did not bode well, especially with
the definite sign of old and entrenched Serpen habitationbut precious
little of current Serpen power.
Wings had circled the entire castle once, hidden by Warrens
magic, and seen no exterior guards. Overconfident in the ancient wards
and illusions, perhaps At the same time, the Warder had taken one look
at the magical defenses of the place and indicated that there was no way
at all they wanted to be entering by way of the fortress ahead.
But then, neither had any of the tracks. The band quickly
backtracked them, finding a single hole in the vast covering of force
screens, hidden by the simple matter of an actual stream flowing above
the entry to prevent any accumulation of soil or dust. Cheris Horse
Canter met them on the surface, clearly unsuited to the fighting sure to
follow below and agreeably took their extra packweight as Wings headed
skywards to find a fallback point.

=====================
Secondary access point, or a different place entirely Errant
asked Warren, who was studying the tunnel before them on at least four
levels of Sight.
The magic is not the samenowhere as strong. I see no
similarity between it and the Archweavers who constructed the illusion
above usbut I can feel undead, Evil from the pits, and that woven by
mortal beings.
Serpen stonework, not slave labor, grunted Trencher, studying
the archway, cocking an ear at Butter as the Lion growled. Ghoul-scent,
and tainted. Serpen arent big on undead as a wholethey prefer
constructs as more reliable. Dramojh, on the other hand
Everyone knew what dramojh and undead liked to do. So, we have
an edifice at least a thousand years, from before the dramojhsome sort
of research facility for the Wyrmkings or their greatest servants
Errant asked, crouching easily, /Duty/ out and waiting to sing, sparking
occasionally and misting coolly.
Any concentration of such magic would draw the Brotherhood like
moths to a flame. The Brotherhood has a decent history of sharing
Wyrmland activities with the most senior Passguard, and a place like
this would receive immediate attention as a fortifiable strongpoint.
The Rockborn scratched his beard thoughtfully. This isnt being used as
the basis of a settlement, which doesnt fitstrongpoints were rare and
precious after the Crash of Crowns tore apart the Wyrmlands. Either this
place was quite secret, or the Serpen here all departedor got seriously
dead. He looked back at the squat and glowering menace of that old, old
transformed hilltop. Unlike a Source, a Void could go right into that
place, kill everything, and leave all the defenses intact and in place
Or maybe they got smart. Didnt you notice the main gates
looked a littlesmall Errant turned his eyes that way also. Id be
thinking theyd build at least the main doors to admit Dragons stature
at least
Trencher blinked, and slapped his head with a ringing smack.
Thats right! It was standard practice, insulting to the Dragons if
they couldnt enter their own strongholds in their natural forms, at least
There is no sign of Wyrms touch upon the magic here, Warren
said thoughtfully, looking all about, his eyes dark and full of stars as

he beheld the warp and weft of the magic. Mighty, indeed, the equal of
any Wyrmcraft Ive ever beheld, but none of their elemental might. This
was worked completely by Scalefolk.
Rorg hissed. Renegade Scalefolk Freed of the Wyrm, they could
doubtless accomplish much, even arrogant as they were.
And Void Brothers would be drawn to an independent school of
Scalefolk magi, not beholden to and possibly secretly rivals of the
Wyrms Errant asked, not widely informed on Void philosophy. Id think
theyd leave them intact as long as their efforts didnt turn on the
Eastor their hubris didnt grow too large.
A more traditional form of magus Warren wondered aloud,
considering the implications. The Wyrm almost never let their servants
attain the Road of the Eternalfar too much chance of creating rivals
instead of servants.
Id say, at least here, they failedand even the dramojh
probably never knew of this place, Trencher stated with some certainty.
I doubt even the dramojh would have wanted to test out the
fortifications of a strongpoint that could remain hidden from the
Wyrmkings. Mutual ignorance probably suited them just fineif even they
were around then. Warren turned his eyes back on the tunnel leading
into the Deep Below. What is our course of action
Undead. Pitspawn. Beastfolk. Necromancy. Deep Evil. I think we
are going in. Errants expression was grimly expectant. Soft probe for
intelligence, clean out the ghoul trash, pull back and hide our
presence, report back to the Wall. Well go in deeper if its within our
capabilitiesfirst sign of anything resembling Eternals, we run like
proper gloryswords.
A fine plan, agreed Trencher solemnly, running over the array
of spells in his memory, a smile working its way forth as he happily
considered fighting beneath the land, where the Forgemages of the
Rockborn were strongest. Let me call up a wee elemental who can draw us
a map of the way while the Hound fetches the lass. The Warder can send
out a scouting eye for the foes before us, and let us see what we can see
------------------------------The runes hurt to look at. Massive, interlocking sigils of
power, sublime expressions of ancient power that made Trenchers mouth
go dry and Warrens eyes bleed. The door was sealed, and sealed tightly,

and they simply werent going to be going thru them means they had
accessible at the time.
Errant toed the horrid features of the last of the undead
creatures, massive and twisted beyond even descent into ghouldom, a
befouled once-beastman of indeterminate race, so savagely devolved and
empowered as to be unrecognizable.
Pit Ghoul. A toy of the Corruptor, Warren confirmed again. His
scouting Eye had caught a glimpse of the beasts; else the power and
ferocity of the creatures would have taken them by great surprise.
Infused with the powers of the Planes Below, the undead ravagers were
terrible foesand not something to be idly wasting time in forgotten ruins.
Or another Dark God. Errant made no snap judgments, studying
the rippling barrier of the door. Trench, how far does the seal on this
thing extend Can you make us a tunnel around it
Trencher just smiled. A small figure of misshapen clay, no
bigger then a human child, stepped out of the stone of the wall as if it
were naught more then air, and after a few grating words from the
Rockborn melted back within. The elemental scout was back in mere
moments, stating what it had seen in a grumbling, coarse language, and
the Rockborns smile grew wider.
The door is more deterrent then sense. The seal extends but
three paces into the stone, yet the tunnel resumes ten paces in that
direction. He pointed firmly with Forge, at an angle to the right.
Shall I make us a proper entry
Conceal itand evidence of the True Death. Errant gestured at
the tainted stone, seared to white purity by the hunger of the vivic
flame that had brought down the last of the ghouls. Soft probewe can
bring the mountain and the tide with more intel.
Warren stepped forwards to confer with the Rockborn as the
Beasts trotted to flanking positions automatically, on guard duty, and
Rorg, Errant, and Cheri waited patiently.
--------------------------Trenchers eyes snapped open suddenly. Someone is coming.
No one doubted his ability to feel the approach of folk through
the earth. With smooth precision, Warren lifted a simple illusion across
the entry of their narrow access tunnel, where Rorg crouched with his

rakeblade out, Cheri behind himand Errant and the Beasts melted into
the shadows.
But a minute later, the runes pulsed in utter silence, and
cracked around a dozen angular edges as stone unsealed in an intricate
and unpredictable pattern. The doors swung inwards in total silence,
save the distant, phantasmal sound of tail rattles and a quiet serpents
hiss.
Beastfolk, Lupins. Hyen and Flind, an even half-score of them,
in armor well-maintained and disciplined formation. Leading them was a
figure not in the shield of the warrior, but with an odd symbol about
his neck and bearing a triple-balled flail of unusual style.
They looked alertly about for sign of the guardian ghouls,
finding none, and stepped forth cautiously, yipping softly in their
native speech for the quick trek up the tunnels and cave pathway to the
surface.
Errant came down from the ceiling silently, right in the middle
of the pack and behind the leading spellcaster. /Duty/ exploded in all
directions in a blur of flowing metal, and Lupin screams echoed wildly
as furred bodies stumbled in all directions, two of them dropping
instantlyone of them the priest, Errants knife inserted primly in the
base of its skull.
Rorg came smashing out of nowhere as Cheri led him with a single
arrow, and a Huul spun away with a shaft in its feral yellow eye. With
shocking silence, Butter and Russet were out of cover, leaping and with
fangs buried in the throats of their chosen targets. Rorg cut right and
left, armor gave way with the sheering whine of tortured metal, and
slammed through the formation of furred bodies as tall as he was with
brutal power and the confidence of a Crystal Splitter.
Half of their number dead in less then two breaths, and given no
chance to withdraw, the remainder tried to flee back into the depths of
the tunnel gaping behind themand instead saw a flint-bearded Rockborn
step out of the wall, tapping a cudgel-like staff that was glowing with
sullen heat to the groundand ramming solidly and unexpectedly into an
invisible wall that vibrated with the force of their flight.
They snarled and howled, but no sound pierced the unseen
barrier. Spinning, they faced the Man with the misting blade and the
Urkhar with the massive rakeblade, the sight of which had spelled doom
for their kind for centuries, and attempted to sell themselves as dearly
as they might.

Warren stepped out of the narrow passageway Trencher had

finished molding through the stone, letting the barrier drop and the
hacked corpses of the Lupin slump to the ground. With a gesture, he sent
an Eye winging down the hallway up near the ceiling.
Put them out past the Door, Errant grunted, grabbing a pair of
clawed boots and suiting actions to words. Lion, Urkhar, Man, Hound and
Rockborn calmly dragged the bodies back to join those fallen in the
first attack, Cheri providing calm cover and Warren stepping smoothly
back into the wall as a simple cantrip cleaned up the traces of blood
and gore streaking the stone behind them. In less then a minute the
tunnel was bare and no sign of the fight remained behind.
------------------------------Not a symbol Im familiar with, Warren stated warily, eying
the iron amulet he touched only with great reluctance. Theres a great
variance in cults of demonic origin, and I admit Im unfamiliar with any
that may be particular to Lupins. The Corruptor alone has at least sixty
documented symbols. I also am not familiar with a patron who endorses
the triple flail He toed the weapon suspiciously, wicked spiked balls
of cold iron swinging at the end of strong chain and a black metal
handle, dark with the blood of some other unfortunate, unlike the rest
of the well-cleaned weapons of the escorts.
The letter Errant asked, from where he was busy searching and
stripping the dead, after plunging his knife firmly into their hearts
with a spark of vivic fire, making sure some opportunistic deadhead
didnt find them a ready source of troops. Trencher guided the process
with indicative taps of /Forge/even Scalemade magical gear was worth
gold to the right people.
The stoic Warder hissed a quiet cantrip and looked over the
strange, crawling script with distaste. Lupins using the script of the
Pits. Ugh. His scarred nose wrinkled in distaste. Ah, its a demand
for some chieftain named Chiffmane to provide troops for the writer,
threatening him with the wrath of the wielder of the great flail of the
pits. Looks to be written in blood and on hide he sniffed, and his
eyes narrowed, presenting it to the Hound next to him, who obligingly
also took a sniff, and snarled instantly. Demons blood and skin.
Theres definitely pitspawn about. You dont summon up fiends just to
make a letter.
Were dealing with clerical talent then. Errant seized the
body of the Hyen priest and tossed it unceremoniously into a pit that

had opened up at Trenchers bidding to the side of the corridor in which

they stood. That would explain the Pit Ghoulsa demonic patron Even if
not the Corruptor
The cold iron tends to be a sign of the Abyssal Lords, agreed
Warren, watching with satisfaction as Trencher tapped the flail with his
cudgel and deep red fires raced over the thing, leaving behind a thick
and flaking patina of rust. In less then a minute, the weapon was a
mound of dark fragments that got swept into the pit of dead Lupin just
before the stone flowed back over the mass and hid them from view
forever. Their salvageable gear was being expertly bundled and stacked
by Cheri and Errant and set off to the shadows behind them, out of the
wayno need to be burdened down with it.
Weve saved Chiffmane from having to refuse the order of a
powerful priest of a Dark Cult. We are being of some servicehes the
tribe of a fairly strong band of Lupin raiders about a weeks ride
north. Rorg seemed amused.
If the priest thinks they can cow a strong chief into
submission, thats a fairly confident priest, Cheri spoke up carefully,
coming back to kneel by Warren, leaning on her recurve quietly.
Priestess, actually. Warren studied the letter again
distastefully, before adroitly reaching out and depositing it atop of
Trenchers athame. There was a pulse of distant hammer on steel, a flare
of inner heat, and the hide letter flared into ash with some protest.
The letter denoted a female of lineage and importance. No nameI guess
the symbol of her god was enough identification.
We shall worry about her later. Now, lets see what you saw
down the tunnel Everyone gathered in a circle as quiet words evoked
the holographic illusion that replayed what his Eye had seenand the
three-dimensional map that rapidly trailed behind it.
With great speed, the Eye sped down the hallway, focusing for a
moment on an inverted nine-star pentacle of some sort at the very end of
the hallway, then spun right and rose into a great and open hall, carved
out of the living stone, and lit only by a single glimmering fountain
set into a descending set of circles at the center.
Warren had ignored the obvious lure and instead circumvented the
chamber, catching sight of shadowy figures lurking about the edges,
multiple doors leading off them, and some sort of massive hanging
tapestry dividing the mammoth hall in twoobviously some sort of parade
grandee underground court.

Swooping around the edge of the tapesty, Warren focused on

winding, serpentine pillars that gleamed with fell magic, forming a
causeway up to a grand throne platform where a huge, malformed statue of
a multi-headed serpentine creature sat in state, an honor guard of more
stonework at either hand. The whole array radiated fell magic, indeed.
Constructs, Trencher identified instantly. And tall. That
looks like some form of an advanced Abominationperhaps the image of an
Anathema itself. The serpents about the pillars probably come alive, and
ye can guess what the honor guards do
The image spun hastily away, searching for open doorways and
finding few that were not sealed behind closed iron-shod doors that had
endured remarkably well. Even as the image faded, the map left behind
showed them the basic layout of the place.
Focus on those pillars. Were there nine Errant asked calmly.
The scene shifted instantly and slowed to a slow motion scan of the
pillars. Trencher leaned forwards.
Ah, sharp eyes, lad. Those are carved into images of
Scalefolk Details sharpened as Warren consciously manipulated the
illusion to bring out contrasts, and pulled out the images so they could
study them side-by-side. Yuan-ti, Lizard Folk, Serpen, that looks like
a Firenewt of all thingsnary a Dragonblood among them.
Go back to the pentacle at the entry. The scene shifted again,
while the images of the pillars stayed constant, and the ghostly image
sharpened before them.
Thats a Covenant Rune, Trencher stated slowly after a minute
of study. This were indeed a school or somesort, to make them swear
such loyalty to one another. The sharp butt of his cudgel carefully
pointed out the symbols inside the pentacle. Personal runemarks, here.
However, this circling of runes is unfamiliar to me, and that central
Rune is beyond my power or lore. Theres a linking pattern thus and so
the athame traced fiery lines in the air, following faint signs in the
stone. It may not look it, but theres some very potent magic bound up
in that seal, even if it be slumbering. Wed have to get a Loremaster in
here to decipher itIm not about to play about with High Runework.
Those sigla look empty. Waiting for something to be put in
them. Warren studied them thoughtfully. If we can get a closer look at
them, I can include them in my sending to the masters back at the Wall.
We may get our glory stolen if the Masters decide to come toting

firepower, but if I were in this for glory, Id not be a Warder.

Agreed. And I want to find out what those lurkers actually were
- the fewer barriers to entry the better. Nightvision on, and lets keep
the noise down. We do this one quietly.
---------------------------------Errant studied the creature carefully. It had been a scaled
humanoid of some sort, possibly a Serpen or a lesser Yuan-Ti, but now it
was a hairless thing with bulging, lidless eyes that radiated death even
at twenty paces. It hadnt seen him and obviously wasnt expecting
trouble as it stole across the mouth of the tunnel with a disturbing
grace and silence, followed quickly by another pair.
There had been a closed door in that direction. He stole
forwards quickly, Butter at his heels, and kept his ears cocked. He
heard the creak of the door opening, and then closing again.
Five minutes he waited patiently, and heard that creak again.
Calmly he retreated back down the hallway, and watched a group of four,
subtly different from the others, cross in the other direction, back
towards that massive underground hall.
Some sort of irregular guard patrol, he wondered, standing up
in the middle of the hall and drawing /Duty/. The occasional spark and
cool mist falling from the Clansword were easily visible, and the rest
of the band moved up quietly, a gray radiance from the crystal on
Warrens staff radiating a field which dampened ambient noise so the
clank of armor and footsteps didnt carry beyond the light.
Some form of undead, I think, Errant opined as he re-sheathed
his blade, glancing at Butter and Russet, who were sniffing cautiously,
and silent ear-flickers indicated agreement. Hairless, graceful,
silent, with large white orbs, looked like former Serpen.
Bodaks. Humanoids over-infused with demonic energies, Warren
whispered back. Keep a watch while Trencher and I go over this seal.
The party quietly crouched and waited as the two magi went over every
detail of the Seal painstakingly, breathing spells to commit the entire
pattern to faultless memory for later perusal. Long minutes passed, and
when the mages indicated they were done, the party pulled back, and left
the fighting for the next day.

/*Wyrmbreak III*/
The old granite, molded from the primal rock, and in places
disintegrated, was saturated with old evil, the fallout of a great deal
of dark magic. Trencher could feel the scaled hands that had lovingly
gone over it and scraped it into the patterns found everywhere in these
hallsthe faintly scaled texture of every stone, the seeming rasp when
you rubbed against them, the reptilian coldness and form leeching into
the rock and permeating the place with emotionless arrogance and
predatory intellect.
He wanted to send it all to fire, melt it down and reforge it
properly in homage to the Forge-Father. Perhaps someday. In the
meantime, he could only glare at the undeniable mastery and skill
involved in the carving and crafting all aboutslave or artisan doing
the shaping, their skill was undeniable, but the source of inspiration
made him grit silent teeth.
The Great Serpent, Warren mused, studying the wall-carvings of
the room where theyd slain the last of the bodaks. The explosions of
white stone hadnt marred the bright mural on the wall, a rainbow-scaled
beast encircling the world, swallowing its own tail, colors and figures
subtly hued for darkness. Serpents and feathers are one of the
Corruptors most beloved alternate sigils. If a true Great Serpent
exists, it has no connection to the powers of magic. If the masters here
were worshipping a racial ideal bereft of Dragon overlordship, they
picked a very unfortunate symbol
It is an old faith among the Yuan-Ti, exemplified best by the
Anathema who occasionally arise, Trencher agreed somberly. But those
very beasts are aspects of the Corruptor, mutation bred into them as
they deviate further and further from the human and Serpen they evolve
from. Whatever went on here, these Scalefolk were pawns, probably
unknowing despite themselves. I dont sense Taint or the Dark as
suchthey must have been rigorous about maintaining their purity, and so
not drawn the eye of the Brotherhood, but as to the ultimate ends of
their research
What was the Lupin god called, Yeenoghu Errant crouched by
the stout door, watching the quiet corridor that led to this room. An
Abyssal Prince, messing around with a racial deity at best, or a Dark
God at worst
Tempted by powerthe Beastfolk have long been slaves of the
Scalefolk. Perhaps they had possession of some article of the faith that
allowed them to hold sway, or was merely taken as treasure, and their

faith seeks its return. Warren managed a scarred smile at the chortles
that arose spontaneously all around at the typical words of a bard or
rogue when describing adventure. More likely, just looking for power
and loot, and got lucky stumbling in herenot unlike Master Errant. The
Warder sketched a bow the Haxans way, who replied with a dry salute to
his hat brim.
This place was a center of powerpolitical power, perhaps, a
place where they organized their cult in rebellion to the Wyrms, while
their real research and magical deeds went on elsewhere. Cheri didnt
speak much, but when she did, her observations were careful and paid
strict attention. I would guess that the Beastfolk found this place,
and believe it hides an entry somewhere to the castle proper where true
power lies.
There is more then Beastfolk here. Errant stated the words in
no uncertain terms.
True, Warren agreed quickly. The bodaks and the ghouls arose
by different powersand sources. Serpen and Beastfolk, sacrificed or
simply made tools of. We have to believe there is at least one Scalefolk
spellcaster present, and of some strength
His head spun around sharply at an unheard noise, and the partys
weapons lifted in instant response, while sources of light, however
faint, vanished. The only sound heard was the distant rattling of the
wind over scale-carved walls and crevices.
A familiar Warren breathed quietly, hand flicking a soft
illusion into view. A sleek, scaled, winged creature, with the dark
barbs and scales showing fiendish origin, came into view, looking over
the white stones in the main hall where a half-dozen Scaled Bodaks had
died, hissing quietly while dancing around the whiteness, refusing to
touch it. The size of the tiles gave indication of its height, not much
taller then a Mans knee, but it wore a finely made harness that bore at
least one wand, and several other tools, and flapped dragonlike wings
with a nervous twitch.
That harness lock has a scrying focus in it, Trencher
whispered into the quiet, studying the tiny thing. That means either
the master is a good deal distant to need to see thru it, or another
uses the creature as eyes.
Diabolic origins, devilshine yellow eyes, Warren stated
firmly, maintaining his focus. The master is affiliated with the Hells,
or at best the Dooms. Must make for interesting work with the followers

of an Abyssal Prince aroundhrm. Fiends treat the night as day, darkness

is no impediment to themif we kill the thing its master will know
there is trouble about
Any creature that uses necromancy or summons pawns will know
instantly there is trouble about upon seeing the remnants of vivic fire.
I am surprised it hasnt fled yet, hissed Errant in reproof. The Warder
frowned, then nodded in agreement, tightening his grip upon his stave.
See, it looks this way. It probably confuses the existence of your
spell with the afterstain of the vivic fire, else it would have fled. It
doesnt know how long since the bodaks fell There was a flicker of
magic, and the creature faded from sight.
Invisibility, Warren stated instantly.
Butter, Errant stated, and was quickly and silently out the
door, the Lion moving in behind him like a ghost.
--------------------------------

/The Day before/

Wings came plummeting in from above from nearly a thousand feet
in the air, well beyond the sight of just about anything that could be
watching, breaking abruptly over the camp and settling into what looked
like a low rise of stone. The casual outcropping had been quickly
hollowed out and expanded upon into a serviceable and defendable camp by
the combined efforts of Warder and Rockmage, and would be artfully
concealed when they left, with word left at the Wyrmbreak of its
usefulness as a concealed camp for the Passguard.
Errant only glanced back as the Hawk settled into its familiar
spot on the armored shoulder of Rorg, who casually reached out, snagged
a bit of jerky, and began chewing on it for the benefit of the bird.
Satisfied, the brown and golden-feathered raptor hopped down to the
ground, and began to dance as it chirped and warbled in a manner very
much unlike a bird of prey, wings posing and adjusting with proud
flourishes and sweeps to enunciate what he spoke.
Bipeds and quadrupeds watched attentively. When he was done
reporting, Wings flapped once in a hop back up to Rorgs shoulder, and
took his first mouthful of pre-chewed meat.
That looked very much like an all-clear, go ahead, chummers
to me, Rorg mused aloud, somewhat surprised. Eternal level camouflage,

and there arent a dozen archmagi frothing to hop out here and do some
research
Well, not until a few gloryswords have died making sure theres
no more lethal surprises in store. Warren coughed delicately, and
earned some noises of acknowledgement and understanding from all about.
Still, nobody is coming Amazing. Wings just chirped and ruffled a
shrug at the strangeness of bipeds, then spread his wings wide once and
whipped his head back and forth. Ah, therell be a Dragon overflying
us Well, that should at least keep the outside clear and quiet. The
mage of Mithar sat back, stroking the old, white scars upon his chin. I
know the code for the gloryswords is to always stand back and give them
first chance at loot and glory, but I would have thought the level of
power here and our reporting it promptly would generate more response.
Lad, there used to be Dragons and Wyrms all over out here.
Gloryswords stumble on powerful magic all the time, Trencher told the
human gruffly. Im sure the Loreguards and Bookers are eager to lay
their hands on whatever we bring back, but the latter at least will be
plenty happy to pore over our reports and do independent research thru
the old records. Most gloryswords dont waste time on reports, maps,
cross sectional magical analysis, and the like, aye
The scarred Warder grinned abashedly, and got an answering wink
from the Rockmage. Sorry. Old habits die hard. We can probably send
anything we find back with the Dragon, to keep them busy. He watched as
Wings opened up the message tube tied to his leg, delicately lifted out
a single gem with his razor-sharp beak, and held it out towards Trencher
with a chirrup. The Dwarf rose calmly, walked over, and let the Hawk
place it carefully in the middle of his hand.
Well, someone got interested in something. The Dwarf stepped
back to where all could see, and activated the flat piece of quartz.
The illusion flickered to life, a half-size image of an older
Man, in the gray and brown leathers bearing the crossed Scroll and Sword
badge of the Loreguard.
Well met. The firm voice carried well, commanding and
forceful. The Hawk said he delivered your findings for purposes of
security, rather then using the ethera wise move. The Passguard and
Senior Watchers are extremely interested in what youve found, and the
Dragons moreso, as it has the escaped the attention of all of them for
quite some time. At the same time, many eyes watch movements by the
powerful very carefully, and drawing attention to such a finding that
has remained hidden so long is not something we want to see.

Quiet research is being done on that Covenant Rune. You were

wise not to tamper with itwe are calling in a Runelord from the
Weirhold to decipher some of the meanings of the carvings, and we feel
that you may well have missed multiple layers obscured under those on
top. Trencher and Warren glanced at one another uneasily. We are even
more concerned with the identities of the Scalefolk reflected in the
carved pillars, as we cannot access even passing remnants of their
images from divinatory magic or accessing the Overmind. That is a very
bad situationit is entirely possible they are still alive.
None of them were particularly delighted with that observation.
Be that as it may, the Loreguard went on, we could confirm
that whoever they are, they are not on this plane anymore. There is a
subtle difference between obscurement or blocking a Seeking, and simply
not being there to be found. So the Masters of the place should be long
goneto where, we dont know, perhaps you will be able to tell us.
There will be some Masters coming in to follow up on what you
have foundbut slowly and very carefully. The powers in the Wyrmlands
watch the Wyrmbreak, and the Dark Gods moreso. Their arrival will be
unannounced, and they are not there to draw attention to themselves by
doing the work of gloryswords.
If all goes well, you are going to be hailed as the discoverers
of a nameless ruin whose location will never really be made clear, you
will all get a heap of treasure and slaughter your way thru a legion of
enemies in the greater name of the Wyrmbreak and gloryswords everywhere,
and the Seniors will secure the place, obscure the place, and bury any
real mention of it.
If all doesnt go well, I suggest you run like Hell is on your
heels. Your Hawk provided the way in for us, you do not have to go down
and see what is to be seenalthough you would not be in the Wyrmlands if
you didnt want to poke the swords around the insides of various unholy
creatures, Im thinking. His knowing smile was reflected by the bipeds
about, and Hound, Lion and Horse all bared their teeth in approximation
of the bipedal expression.
I can inform you that the Lupinal Patron you are unfamiliar
with is named Yeenoghu, a Demon Prince of minor standing who has been
attempting to raise his power by recruiting followers on the Prime, in
the manner of many of his ilk. His weapon is a triple flail, and among
his vassals is a creature called the Lord of Ghouls, giving him some
measure of power over the gluttonous undead. His cult is small and

centered among wild Lupinals, although there are sects of it in

civilized lands of the Throne, particularly among those who like to hunt
Men, or feed upon sentients.
Best of luck to you. Glorysword rights are yours. Know that if
you fall, we know where you are, and by Shield and Sword, you will be
brought home. He saluted fist to badge, and the image faded away, the
quartz shattering into sparkling, dusty sand.
Now thats more like the Passguard I know, Trencher stated
with a smile, looking at all of them in turn, and the new air of
expectation. Eyes turned on Errant, still at his watchpost.
Lay it out and lets make plans. Well start on the morrow. The
illusionary map of the first level of the delving below sprang to
perfectly miniaturized life before them, and they began to talk.
--------------Errant did not want or need to question the familiar.
Furthermore, just killing it was going to alert someone powerful that
something was here, and bring about some investigation, and discover the
remnants of vivic fire.
Ergo, he saw no reason not to really, really punish any mage
stupid enough to bind his soul to a creature of the lower planes,
however minor.
The familiars wingbeats were quite audible, and it had to move
near the center of the corridor to provide room. Errant had gotten a lot
of practice recently fighting without seeing, as much in preparation for
subterranean work as building off prior skills needed for proper
throat-slitting of recalcitrant enemies of Haxan. He waited only for
Butter to lift his foot, and he was moving.
/Duty/ was out and striking there, in the empty air, and he felt
the small amount of resistance of a tiny torso, bones, and scales being
sheered in two by the edge of the Clansword. The True Death rune on the
blade flared up at the slightest contact with the Dead, and vivic fire
blasted up with unnatural, pale white hunger, soulfire reaching up to
consume the shrieking, hissing thing as it fell in two pieces. The
familiar literally exploded before hitting the ground in a rush of
screaming final doom.
Whatever energies had empowered its gear were similarly
derived, as the vivic flames feasted happily on them and reduced them to

base components of gleaming, powerless purity. Errant imagined he heard

a distant, hissing scream with some satisfaction as he smoothly
resheathed /Duty/, and the rest of the party slipped out of the room and
came quickly trotting up the hall.
We are agreed that the golems can wait for another time he
asked, reconfirming their plans. Everyone about nodded. Good. Russet,
you said you had a trail for the Hyens Lead us. Warrenprepare a
surprise for the mage who comes looking for where his most cherished
familiar died.
How about two or three Warren deadpanned calmly, dark eyes
gleaming.
Mithar loves busy hands. The Warder grinned appreciation and
set quickly to work, conferring with Trencher, who contributed a nasty
smile.
---------------------------------------I really hate cute Delving designers. Make their servants go
down a hole, thru a tunnel, and up a hole, just so they can build traps
into the place and hide stairways going down Errant watched the holes
in the stonework seal up under Trenchers eye, and flagrantly tripped
the pressure sensor at the top of the shaft. He heard the crack and
jamming sound of the mechanism clearly, and came up quicklyno guards,
doubtless relying on the traps for alarms. Off to the side, an anteroom
with winding serpentine stairs, leading downwith the characteristic
half-ramps to the inside, where legless Scalefolk could sidle up and
down more easily.
With an easy balancing act that few would expect of a canine,
Russet climbed the vertical ladder after Trencher had deftly pulled
himself over the edge, loll-tongue-grinning the while, with Butter right
behind him. Warren followed slowly and carefully, and then Rorg and Cheri.
The animals sniffed and signaled agreement that there was a
decent amount of traffic from this pointand that something was down
below, the concentrated odor of a guardbeast wafting up from below.
Warren calmly sat down, conjured his Eye, and sent the nearly
invisible orb sidling downstairs as everyone crouched around, and his
second spell recorded all that was seen, interpretive lines even
indicating distance traveled.
Rorg managed not to whistle as they saw the beast below at the

foot of the stairs, cocking a suspicious ear upwards. The Scalehound was
huge, a good two meters at the shoulder, with viper fangs a good
handspan long dripping acidic venom and a scaled hide that looked more
like armor plate. It was chained to the wall, obviously not permitted to
wander, but given the power of the creature it was plain that training
more then the chain kept it in place.
Errant just grunted and indicated that Warren should move on.
Although Warren routinely used Warders arts to extend the range and
duration of his Eye, it was not unlimited in either capacity, and they
were here to get intel before engaging in combat.
So the Eye went streaking down this corridor and that seeing
what was to be seen, and the image was faithfully recorded by the floor
holo between everyone. Magical auras, lingering areas of evil, and
especially the creatures moving around or on guard duty were all of
prime interest, although the fact that many doors were closed and thus
hiding their contents did not help matters. Still, they were quickly
able to discern the basic layout of the place, long halls lit well by
magical torches at key places, and a haphazard array of room designs and
strangely contrasting architecture. Numerous Serpen guards were seen,
one pair led by a Scalehound of merely lion-size on leash, and a sector
of the place seemed to be dominated by Lupins, who regarded the Serpen
on patrol aloofly and alertly. There was a practice room, and another
chamber of some size crawling with negative energies.
When at last the Eye winked out, hundreds of feet of hallways
and chambers had been mapped out, doors indicated, guardpoints and posts
noted, and items of interest noted and marked for later pondering.
Im guessing at least two dozen Serpen, some Scalehounds, and
whatever surprises they have behind closed doors, Errant mused after
Warren raised his null-sound bubble. I also think that the Serpen have
been in here a lot longer then the Lupinsor the Lupin have a deeper
base. Mark that Great Serpent symbol they all have
Racial purism seems to be rising in the wake of the dramojh,
Rorg mused. No more bowing to dragons or dragonspawnnow its our time
Exactly. And look at that tapestry near the entrycorrect me if
Im wrong, but I think thats been spun, not woven Eyes wandered over
the magnificent tapestry, with its imagery of a vast city, gates
bracketed by Tyrant Kings cast in bronze, huge bones forming archways
and jutting up from the walls, the architecture having an edgy, scaled
look and fanged feel to it unlike anything human. Over this view rose a
greenish sun, and around it a crimson-hued jungle of massive size and

scale. Appearing to either side of that bizarre sun, two heads in

intricate detail, one obviously Serpen, facial scales tricked out with
golden runework and delicate edging, while the other was a strange
masterpiece of optical illusions, shifting view between two demonic,
leering faces that looked both reptilian and apish, adorned with rival
frilled crest-patterns and scale hues.
Either a nightmare realm of dreams, or a view of another
plane, Warren pronounced. A land with its patron beasts being Tyrant
Kings Such would be a paradise to the Scaled Folk. No Dragon would
tolerate a stupid beasts image being raised in such glory over its own
I confess to not being a traveler of worlds. Errants dry
remark got laughter from everyonethey all had enough problems at home,
to worry about Treading Infinity. Such was the tasks of Eternals. Do we
go on, with what we know, or pull back and plan and come forth again
The fighting was light above, but I have my doubts we will be able to
take them alland if that mage is not coming to look for his familiars
slayer, then I dont know mages. True Death taking a diabolic
familiarthat had to hurt. He smiled most unsympathetically.
Theyll scour the top levelhell be a true fool to come up and
investigate alone. Then theyll come up and start scouring the outsides.
Like as not, hell be bringing allies to help him, Warren stated in no
uncertain terms. I suggest we go about making their searches very
painful to themand find a way to hide inside, instead of out. Theyll
be much less happy when we appear behind them, instead of setting off
all the traps and alarms and ambushes they are going to try and create.
Errant inclined his head. Notify Wings and Canter thenand we
need a recovery point. He turned his head back the way theyd come.
Now, exactly how much effort would it take you two to empty that
boiling fountain of the water and replace it with a crafty illusion or two
Trencher and Warren looked at one another with grim appreciation
for the cunning of the Haxan. Were on it, and our scent trail too.
Dont forget the stupid trap herewe dont want them knowing we
found the way down. Make a hole in the wall for easier access for usI
dont want to have to crawl up a ladder into someones sword when they
leave a guard, and probably that huge Scalehound, in here.

/*Wyrmbreak IV*/

So, how annoyed do you think the bastard is with us now

Errant mused aloud, looking around at the carnage.
There were slashed, hacked, burned, blasted, blistered, crushed,
pummeled, frozen and shattered Serpen, Hyen, Huul, and several
scalehound bodies scattered everywhere about, along with half a dozen
new circles of blasted white stone where undead and summoned monsters
had died in True Death and vivic fire had fed happily upon them. The
damage from spells, rupturing earth and fire, backfiring offensive
magic, warding magic, and runecraft activated most explosively had
littered the area with ash, rubble, melting ice, pulverized stone and
dust, and more then a little slag and fused remnants.
The Mojh had indeed been powerful, because Trencher and Warren
had cooked up a lethal cocktail of surprises for one in the image of the
face plastered across that the tapestry below. While the genderless
once-human had enough defenses in place to survive the assault of
elemental energies, and enough allies to fend off the elementals that
had popped in to help dispose of the creature, it had run and run fast,
pop and gone on the wings of magic in a blur of wind-shaping magic.
Smart, not to rely on dimensional shifting aroundit had never seen any
attackers, and they had only barely seen it.
Therein had followed the ambush set-up, the secondary ambush,
and the defenses, wards, traps, additional summoned creatures, and the
like, intended to root them out, lure them down if need be, and massacre
them efficiently.
Convenient to watch most of these get set up, to count and know
your foes, and then let go on them. They hadnt known what hit them as
the counterspells and counterwards flashed, flared, and turned their
tactics on their headsthe scouts theyd sent outside had found nothing
and they had assumed that any invaders had already departed. Seeing a
Wyrmbreak glorysword team come out of nowhere in their midst had been a
horrendous shock.
There was a hearty rumble from Butter, crouched by the corpse of
the huge scalehound sentry-beast and energetically ripping it open for a
gratuitous meal of reptilian beast. The Viperman trainer lay close by,
twin short spears sheared in two, and throat torn out by the fangs of
Russet.
What he said. Trencher was moving with quick purpose as he
claimed valuables from the dead. If its not pissed, its either
totally disjointed from reality or obsessed with something else. If they
are smart, theyll fortify the lower levels as much as possible against

an assaultwe dont know whats underneath the next level down, and they
will have the advantage of familiar ground again.
True. Well have to make an alternate entry route in order to
have any chance at penetrationdid anyone get away who witnessed just
exactly they were fighting Errant directed his attention at Russet,
who trotted over to the stairs down, abruptly opened to the main room by
dint of Rorg shattering the thin layer of stone that had obscured the
passageway Trencher had driven through the rock to it. Four Serpen
bodies lay in various states of intactness within as the Hound trotted
past them and sniffed at the stairs.
Two made it downinjured, he can smell the blood. I doubt they
saw more then me making chow out of their friends. Rorg was helping
Trencher with the loot collecting, while Errant and Cheri stood on watch.
Good enough. Well have to occlude against divinations, just to
make them really worried about what went downwouldnt want them to not
think a bunch of real Passguard are in the area and looking for blood or
something. Warren guffawed at Errants dry words from where he was
sweeping the area for stray spells, runes, and wards with the power of
his silvery stave, humming with the full sacred might of a Warder.
They will be fortifying the mundane approaches as much as
possible. They may well have reserve spellcasters down below, and
Trencher and I are gravely depleted in our raw power. Even as resistant
as you and the beasts are to magic, it would not be wise to test themyet.
Errants smile was grim. Ah, but testing them is exactly what I
planned on doing. After all, we do hold the top of the stair, with a
completely idiotic approach/escape that will be hell itself for them to
retake conventionally, especially with a Crystal Shield practitioner
around. We just wiped out their ambush force, at least four
subcommanders by what I can discern, and set the thing in charge running
like a puppy. How badly do you think they want a rematch right at this
moment
Not badly, Warren admitted. But, they have a deeper level,
and we know the Hyen, at the least, have not contributed anywhere near
their full strength. If they threw their reserves at us now, we would
best be served by fleeing.
And if they were attacked again
Cheri spoke up. They would have to view such bravado and
confidence as a sign of great strength or great foolhardinessand the

Passguard are not known for being foolhardy.

And they dont know we are mere gloryswords yet. Warrens
self-effacing laugh was thoughtful as he met Errants eyes. Its a good
idea, if you think you can run fast enough when things go wrongwhich
they will.
I can outrun Hyen and Huul for surethe rest we will have to
see. Butter, clean upyoure with me. The Lion looked up as he tore
another large mouthful of meat free, growled once at his meal being
interrupted, but not too strongly. Russet padded over to help lick the
extra blood off the Lions mane and jaws, and in a minute or two the
Lion headed down those stairs after the silent Haxan, padded feet moving
him as soundlessly as the Man he was trailing.
===============================
Errant ducked around the corner as arrows splintered off the
rock behind him, two ringing off the shield slung on his back, literally
walking along the wall to take the momentum of the sharp turn and give
Butter time to slide/claw his way around the doorway. Bloodthirsty howls
echoed up the scale-steps, Man and Lion covered with new blood and gore
and bearing a few new additions of their own to brag about.
Behind them, angry feet pounded the stones. The first Hyen came
around the cornerand inserted himself smoothly across the blade that
instantly disemboweled him while a large paw came down on his face, and
deadly claws sank deep to literally yank the beast-man into the room.
Unforewarned, the second Hyens throat was opened in a spray of dark
blood, the second claw efficiently dragging him inside the room also,
and just to make the ones behind think, Butter let out a cheerful roar
in tight quarters, making the very stones shake with the timbre of the
Lions delight, and the following horde of foes slowed down precipitously.
Errant retreated quietly up the stair, Butter trotting ahead of
him as the enemies from below stewed just outside the door, seeing
comrades sprawled within, still kicking, and hesitating to add their own
guts to the adornments.
Then the fireball grenade stuck to the ceiling went off on its
delayed timer, and more Hyen departed the world in fiery fashion, adding
to their continued misgivings.
Errant and Butter came to the top, Rorg moving smoothly aside so
they could pass, noting the additional battlescars with approval. From
below, screams and curses and shouts and howls of blood-curdling intent

echoed up the hissing stonesbut no furred feet came beating up the

stairs in pursuit to back up that sound.
Killed another eightincluding, I think, the Serpen commanders
for this level, Errant told them calmly, kneeling down to catch his
breath. They had a sentry posted, but he was expendable and expended.
They werent expecting a follow-up so quickhopefully weve made them
nervous.
I would be. They know something has stirred a powerful interest
up here. We havent faced that Mojh straight up yet and Ive no real
wish to try. Of course, since he doesnt know what hes dealing with, he
probably doesnt want to mess with us, either Warren trailed off
thoughtfully.
Hopefully not. Trencher get that alternate saferoom dug out
Errant asked calmly.
Elemental is finishing it up now. Just need a separate room for
the lady. He winked and nodded in Cheris direction, who just raised an
artful eyebrow and said nothing.
Excellent. I found the access point for the third levelIll
point it out when we have time. Get the loot run up top and a report
filed quick as can, while Butter and I stand spot duty. Even though the
two were injured, they were still the fastest members of the band, and
the most resistant to any magic that might be called in on them. Also,
they were the only ones that had been seen and could be identified,
which meant they would keep the rest of the team a mystery.
=======================
The jade and marble golem creaked with a stirring of dust and a
crackling of animated stone coming to writhing life, a weird rasp of
carved scales sliding over one another and a pre-recorded hiss seeming
to cut the very air as it half-turned to follow the progress of the blur
that had lept past and awakened it. Its simple mind then focused on the
horde of creatures that were coming to a sudden halt at the base of the
dais it was seated ondark things summoned from the depths of the pits,
hugely gaunt and slavering hyena-ghouls, massive undead scavengers of
great and fell power that nevertheless looked suddenly unsure of
themselves as the scaled guardians of alabaster and obsidian to either
side of the serpent-king rippled to life themselves, moving with
startling speed and fluidity from their sleep to head for the pack of
massive Pit-servants that found their hunt for a Man not working out
quite as intended.

Errant fell over the back of the dais, gathering his feet under
Rising Waters and continuing his retreat along the wall, out of line of
sight and moving very quickly to put some distance between himself and
the fighting starting to erupt behind him. The jade-hewed monarch
serpent golem had been identified as the primary defense of this area,
endowed with nearly Eternal strength magicthe undead things didnt have
much of a prayer, and he wasnt sticking around to deal with things as
the homage-pillars crackled to life with dire energies, entrapping the
howling beasts while the very air seemed to thicken with hissing voices
and predatory anticipation.
O, yes, the original possessors of these halls hadnt totally
left the place.
The massive things had been a rude surpriseErrant knew a lot of
different undead types, but this place had already showed him three he
hadnt seen before, and he really didnt want to find out any morebut
was sure he would. Happily, he was very good at fighting the undead,
especially with a Clansword humming with True Death, but these things
had been big, fast, strong, smart, and fairly sizzling with a cold,
Pit-spawned power he didnt care to have to deal with himself. Butter
had taken off to tell the othershe had come out of cover to take the
head of one of them, and promptly began to lead the rest of them on a
merry chase around this upper level until the idea of using the golems
left behind occurred to him.
He slid behind the hissing, clattering curtain of artful
stonework, like hanging serpent skins that rustled as if alive in the
slightest wind, seeing the silhouette of ancient energies of containment
at work as the golems smashed the beasts down one by one by one.
These things made a fine distraction, of course. He could be
reasonably sure someone or something had taken the opportunity to slip
into the upper level unobserved and was now sneaking around, spying,
scoutingit didnt matter all that much. Someone else to kill, he
thought, as he found the shadows and started looking.
He was reasonably sure the creature wouldnt make for the ghoul
tunnels and head outside, where a threat could come from any direction,
and certainly a larger amount of attacks would be capable of being
unleashed. In here, familiar ground, looking for cover and signs of the
attackers.
Of course, the noise being made by the undead giant hyena things
was going to stir interest. Likely it would seek to come over and see

what was being done.

Errant sank into a niche in the wall, wrapping his cloak about
himself, and sat down to watch.
Therea scattering of stone dust on the floor, drifting aside
from silent, careful passagesomething invisible. He had kept the best
egress point from the golems fighting point in range of his nightvision
for a reason, and he watched and waited as he saw the hanging
scale-curtain parted ever-so-slightly to allow something to view what
was going on behind.
His approach was more a glide then even a stalking, sliding
across the stone with focus, poise, and increasing power. The invisible
creature must have sensed him coming, for he heard a hiss of sudden
breath just as /Duty/ was leaving the scabbard and cutting at the center
of mass.
He felt scales and meat give way, but it was not a lethal blow,
scalestone curtain hangings rattling hard as the creature lept away with
a shocked hiss at his approach. Still, a line of dark blood spurted in
midair, /Duty/s blade hissed with contact, and he knew by the pressure
hed scored a dangerous first blow in a duel of stealth.
Without preamble, he retreated back and away, flicking the blood
off his blade and letting the creature find out that the golems, once
awakened, had a decent range on their detection and pursuit of
intruders, and Serpen or no, he was an intruder. Thered be only two
places to go, and Errant had to pick only one.
----------------------------------------Theyve got Horns with them Rorg made a face as he turned
over the head of the Serpen, multi-hued scales and vestigial horns on
the mutated head of a Serpen making the identification of the fanatical
monastic followers of the Wyrm Kings unmistakable. Thats a bad sign.
That means this is either an established center of power or a sponsored
force. Either way could bring things down badly.
The Mojh is an archmage. Warren was firm on that point, and
exceedingly adept at judging the power of rival spellcasters. Until we
know his identity, we wont know his affiliations. If hes a Bone Mage,
he could be a member of a cabal or an independentthe Mojh tend to have
a rivalry with the undead there. Passing odd to have a Horn hereId
think their philosophy would be at odds with a Bone Mage.

You are assuming he is a Bone Mage, Cheri interrupted softly,

looking over her extra arrows and examining those recovered from the
dead. The Mojh is also a path to embrace the power of dragons and
repudiate that of humankind, a reflection of Serpen philosophy. He could
well be seen by Serpen as the purest sort of true believer, could he not
Warren hesitated, and then nodded at the dove-eyed Armsisters
words. That is true. The Serpen are a true culture of personal power,
and little would exemplify that better then a powerful Mojh.
And giving up the ability to have offspring is significant.
Rorg grinned hugely, but his tone was serious. His offspring wont be
dominating any egg nests
Did anyone get a closer look at him before he got away Errant
asked calmly. Ive seen a lot of Mojh in the Thronelands, and he struck
me asdifferent.
Warren and Trencher looked at one another. He has
anti-divinatory mantles up, Warren said thoughtfully, staff across his
knees, looking up to the gray sky overhead, lightly obstructed by
concealing illusion. I didnt get a good look at him. The only one who
did is probably the elemental Trencher summoned.
I can bring that one back tomorrow, the Rockborn stated, big
hands firm on Forge. A bit of sculpting and we can look at a life-size
facsimile of him, see what is to be seen.
Good. Ive a feeling that any Mojh messing with the Pits has a
few surprises under his fangs for us. Errant wondered how the Mojh was
going to take the loss of the powerful undead hyenas, and the fact it
wouldnt be able to animate any of the large numbers of dead creatures
scattered about. Ill head back down. Russet, you are on relay. The
Hound obligingly hopped to his feet and followed the Haxan quietly over
the edge of the camp and towards the hole in the force-screen landscape
leading down.
Rorg shook his head and looked after the Haxan. I dont think
that bastard gets tired. I should hang with Sources more oftenthey make
me feel out of shape.
That evoked some laughter, even from Butter, who was gnawing at
a huge haunch cut off the dead scalehound pack leader with some gusto.
Tomorrow we get more intel and punch a new hole down to the
third level of the place, if we can, Trencher mused. We can bet the

main way down has all sorts of nasty tricks on it by nowhave to make
our own entry, and we dont even know how far down it is. He hummed
under his breath, looking forwards to the work and the slaughter sure to
follow.
Going toe to toe with an Archmage is probably not the wisest
idea, Warren noted carefully.
An Archmage going toe to toe with Errant is not a wise
Archmage, rebutted Trencher amiably. And you just know how Sources
like Mojh Warren thought about that, inclined his head in
understanding, and the two spellcasters began to confer on how to
combine their powers as of the morrow. Cheri and Rorg listened
patiently, gaining a further understanding of what their comrades were
capable of and interjecting their own views from time to time on
approaches. Nothing definite, of courseall of this hinged on the
ability to not go in blind, which was a sure way for things to get
bloody on their end.

/*Wyrmbreak V*/
So, exactly how much do you think the bastards had to give up
in sacrifice to bring that much muscle into play Errant spit out a
mouthful of blood leisurely, his breath rattling in his lungs as
fractured ribs tickled him unpleasantly on his insides.
Summoning demons is tricky at the best. Warren held onto his
staff with both hands, leaning on it for support as he bowed his head
and felt for reserves of power. It depends on the interest of Abyssal
nativesand there is a priestess of an Abyssal power below. What brought
her here might well be motivated to send aid.
Ah. Errant leisurely stroked Russets head, the Hounds armor
torn to shreds, blood and fur matting wetly. The alchemical healing
salve had sealed the worst of the injuries in smelly green goo, but the
Hound and Lion were at least as badly off as the humans. Cant say Ive
seen that particularly variety of demon kind afore, either. Well,
varieties.
Nabassudeath-stealers. Cochlin, diggers, earth demons,
slavessuited for digging out Rockborn from the stone. Aspari, serpent
demons allied to the dramojh. Warren sighed deeply. I did say it was
unwise to tempt the wrath of an Archmage.

We are alive, are we not Errants gaze held a deep and

satisfied spark. And now they will think we have fled. After they had
Fed the Land well.
The others looked askew at him, soaked with loss of blood, pale
skinned, seared white in places by vivic fire and the deaths of demons.
His Clansword was out, gently snapping in the darkness with trailing
mists that sparked minute crackles of electricity, and the rune of True
Death humming with visible, eager life with the unnatural white fires of
hungry vivic vengeance. His long knife, buried a knuckle deep in the
granite of the floor, had its Blooding rune flaring black fire from the
blood of fiends. Double rows of scars lashed across his face, twisting
his lips into a wicked smilea smile matched by the deep fire in his eyes.
Yes, we hurt them badly. Rorg lifted his head from where he
was meditating, his armor as battered and torn as it had ever been,
overlaid patterns of vivic burns and demonfire searings, acidic spatter
patterns, and blued electrical charges. Even the amount of vivic fire
hadnt been able to keep the amount of gore from cleft pitspawn off of him.
Of course, what is the value of the life of a fiend It would serve
only to lever up the price of aid in future negotiations. Warren shook
his head, his eyes roving to Trencher, sprawled in the corner with Forge
in his hands, unconscious from the last effort of sealing the way behind
them, hands blackened with the effort of keeping a grip on his focus.
That was a really good illusion, convincing them we stonewalked out. I
cant feel them digging at all. Errants grim amusement hadnt faded at
all. His gaze roved over to Cheri, dozing lightly against the wall, the
least injured of them all, and likely the reason they were all alive,
putting multiple arrows into just the right spots to open up a lot of
lethal monsters from the lower realms to devastating and lethal attacks
from Rorg and Errant, while the Beasts warded the flanks and Warren and
Trencher had woven multiple protective and offensive spells with flair
and surprising power when the enemy had managed to pass by the two
warriors. Of course, two Beasts ripping demons off their feet tended to
suddenly result in their abrupt demise, and Water and Mountain swordplay
interacted with surpassing deadliness. The variety and numbers of demons
had been simply too much to face, however.
They must have thought we were Passguard, chuckled Errant. They truly
were ready for just about anything.
And found out we were just overly ambitious gloryswords. Rorg rumbled
with a sigh. His armor creaked as he moved, a great departure from its
normal oiled smoothness. How fortuitous.

And so they will believe weve run off with our tails between our
legs. Errant rolled his good eye at Warren. So, think theyll have
much problem finding that fake teleport entry point now that they dont
have to worry about being ambushed outside
The Mitharn smiled thinly. Oh, Trencher did a fine job on that. A demon
should sense the disruption and recognize it almost instantly.
And so they think weve run and dont know where we really were. And
hopefully the heavy hitters will return to normal or a semblance
thereof, with a little dimensional tinkering to make sure we cant
return to this place. Errant leaned his head back against the stone
wall of the room carved out of the stone, sealed tight behind many
meters of stone, silenced from vibration and air provided by preplaced
magic. He lolled his head over at Warren, looking over all of them,
horrendously beat up by their retreat action. I do so love a good
feint. Two days enough to recover
The place is gonna smell, but as soon as Trencher can rouse himself and
I can recover my strength, we can get started, Warren affirmed.
"Good, enough time for them to calm down and for the dangerous ones to
get back to business as normal. Errant closed his eyes. Dont wake me.
Warren watched the Haxan relax so abruptly he felt a pang of envy. The
paladine mage watched the Beasts rest deep in a healing sleep,
instinctively gathering around the Man who was a Beast of his race as
much as they were of theirs.
He met Rorgs eyes, and the Urkhar just nodded as he slowly began to
remove his armor, the better for Trencher to repair it when he awoke. A
few minutes later, the Urkhar was sinking deep into the crystalline
meditation forms of his School, and Warren was sinking deep into the
silver light that was the heart and soul of the faithful of Mithar.
---------------------------------------------/Two days later/
Cheris arrow drove home into the first an eyeblink before the slamming
bolt from Rorgs Dwarven bow punched through armor, scales, bone and
flesh with terrific force, slamming the second back and impaling it
against the stone wall. The first one hissed and fell, clutching at its
eyeball, and the follow-up arrow drove through the exposed neck into the
cortex and ended any semblance of a struggle.

Errant and Butter glided down in silence, fresh scars in evidence but
otherwise feeling and looking fine. True Death caressed each mutant,
insuring neither would be animated, and the pair looked down the
corridors festooned with swathes and stretches of blindingly white stone
where an impressive number of creatures of the Pits had perished utterly
and terribly.
The rest of the party moved up quietly behind the pair, moving into
proper places with the oiled precision of longtime practice, purpose,
and experience.
Got overconfident right quick, didnt they Trencher breathed out with
a quiet grimness.
Errants smile was not in the slightest bit friendly. Now lets show
them how much we appreciated the efforts of their summonings and the
like. /Duty/ rose, and his shield gleamed dark gray on his arm. That
way, he pointed, voice little more then a whisper, and led the way with
the silent, sliding pace of Flowing Waters.
-----------------------These were an elite templar guard, Errant recognized, looking over the
assorted Sibeccai, Hyen and Huul howling wildly as they clutched their
flails and tried their best to use the weapons to entrap the swords of
the Man and Urkhar, or wrap around his shield to crush his skull or
stave in his ribs.
Unfortunately, keeping a flail in motion took a lot of attention, and
these weird double-ended things were deadly but awkward, and took a lot
of room to use effectively. Mitharn swordplay was designed specifically
to address the many fallacies inherent in overly complex and fancy
weapons, and more to the point, Lone had an Armsister at his backside,
putting pile arrows into arms, shoulders and throatsa distraction if
ever there was one. The lupinal Beastmen were finding out that they
could be tough and fanatic and savage and powerful and die anyways.
/Duty/ was a blur of stop-thrust and touch-slash, unerring in precision
and deadliness. Rorgs rakesword /Shrek/ was a cleaving arc of death,
splitting skulls thru helms, chests through armor, backed by the might
of a Child of War and the sheer power of a Crystal Splitter. The Urkhar
was singing a dire melody over three thousand years old, one that had
accompanied the Children into battle since before the fall of Yle Tyorm,
driving all of them on with the grim determination of uncounted
generations of the Urkhar.

A squad of six templar-lupinals came racing around the corner behind

them, and Trencher tapped the butt of Forge upon the stone floor. Said
overeager flankers felt their feet lift off the floor as the stone
erupted under them into a thousand tearing, pummeling shards, and
screamed their pain and fury.
Then Butter and Russet were on them, Hound and Lion as skilled as any
bipeds born in working together. Silvered claws tore two Hyen apart
before they could rise, and silvered fangs ripped out a Sibeccai throat
in a spray of bright blood.
Then a silver staff lashed over the head of the Hound, and a flash of
holy power sent a burly Huul crashing off the side of the corridor,
breastplate stove in and ribs crushed. Russets jaws finished that one
off as Warren stepped up with the Beasts of Haxan, the enemy now
numbering only two would-be ambushers. The Lupinals had no shortage of
bravery, charging in willingly to the attack, massive flails spinning
with skill and power.
Both went crashing to the ground as staff and jaws found knees and feet,
and Butter ravaged the latter in a savage rending of all four claws, a
follow-up blow from the blessed stave of the Mitharn mage coming down
smartly on the skull of the former.
Errant and Urkhar started forwards into the teeth of the templars,
Errant deflecting and redirecting, and the Urkhar smartly cutting into
every opening presented with terrible power and mechanical precision.
The Water and the Mountain, cutting and pounding, tore through the elite
force of Lupinals as precise arrow after arrow opened holes where there
was none, and Clansword and rakeblade took deadly toll.
The wild despair in the eyes of the Lupinals reflected the deaths their
kind had found heaped upon their kind by the wielders of blades like
those for centuries. No mercy, no hurry, only death, coming on wings of
song and steel.
Errant calmly levered his shield up under the flailing ball of a
desperate last attack, ripping the flail out of the angle of deflection,
and/ Shrek/ sheared open the last templars belly in a spray of gore and
shearing metal. Errant plunged /Duty/ down into the Sibeccails long ear
as it fell, stepping over the body into the chamber beyond they were
intent on defending, calmly recovering his wind as the runes on his
blade slowly sparked.
Shrine to their dog-demon-god. Russet ruffed his objection to the

term. Okay, canine-demon-thing. His eyes roved over the statue of a

massive hyena-faced, skeletal creature bearing a great triple flail in
oversized claws. Ugly bastard, too. Situation
Incidental injuries. They didnt know what they were getting into,
Rorg growled, quickly taking inventory of himself.
Cocksure, agreed Trencher, dark, stony eyes surveying the abomination
of a place of worship, the stone screaming at him of the unclean things
done here, even in passing. This is not a major place of evil, almost
incidentalthere is a far deadlier center of evil power close by.
Cleanse now Warren asked grimly, lifting his blessed staff, prepared
to smite the simple altar of bloodstained stone.
No. Deities tend to take such things too personally, and might warn
their worshippers. Lets take out the worshippers first. Errant slowly
took his eyes off the statue to survey the rest of the room. Russet,
how many
The Hound carefully sniffed the air, conferred with Butter, carefully
indicated a response. At least eighty different scents, Rorg
translated. Some of them oldweve taken a chunk out of those, I would
be thinking.
Over halfpossibly two-thirds. And havent seen this priestess yetshe
would have to be close. He looked down at Russet, who obligingly
trotted up to the altar area, sniffing at it with careful disgust, and
lifted his tail in silent acknowledgement, carefully turning his head
and pointing at the door to the right of them. He growled softly and
pointed in the other direction, tapping his right foot several times.
The leader is right, the majority of the tribe to the left. Rorg
didnt hesitate, turning right. Leave them a surpise, Warder.
With pleasure. Quickly, the Warder began to etch a series of
silver-fired runes across the dark stone of the floor with the butt end
of his stave. The others carefully got out of his way as he bound power
into a short line across the central waypoint of the chapel, certain to
be crossed by any who headed for the door to the right. When he was
finished, the runes vanished save for the briefest flickering across the
dark stone, a waiting surprise for those who would come to rescue their
priestess.
Done. Lets get her. With no more incentive, Errant opened the door he
was waiting out, glanced at Russet, and followed the pointing nose with

/Duty/ leading the way.

-------------------------------Her jaws snapped closed a finger from his face, a last lunging assault
brought up short by the shield that came up and broke her jaw in the
same motion. Errant reflected he probably didnt smell much better then
she did as he levered the priestess past him with her own momentum, and
/Shrek/ came down with the precision of purity in a clean backhanded
blow. Her head lept free of her neck in the passing of the blade, and
Warrens clothes ignited with silvery white flames, burning away the
blackened blood of her neck stump pumping out lifes blood.
The Warder resisted the urge to spit on the body of the plate-armored
sibeccai, festooned with the skulls, blood-rust and other memorabilia of
one who consorted with dark powers. His magic had been there to thwart
her attempts to escape and to ply her own magic, leaving her only a
desperate martial defense doomed from the outset against the formidable
combination of the Urkhar and the Haxan.
Errant shoved /Duty/ into the still-twitching body thru her back
breastplate, causing a spurt of vivic flame to lash along the path of
blood and home in unerringly on the fallen skull from the neckstump.
Body and skull began to burn with the hunger of the Land, as did most of
her belongings, festooned with dark energies, probably self-made.
/Shrek/ tapped the Clansword with a ting! of pure metals a-ring, and
happily vivic fire lept up the rakeblade and cleansed it of blood.
Loot and scoot. Errants hard eyes roved over the area, and he stepped
back as Warren came forward, eyes deepened to celeste and silver staff
sweeping the area. The Haxan didnt ask what the Warder sensed as his
brow furrowed and the silver staff in his hand pulsed in opposition to
hidden energies several times. There were popping sounds behind several
tapestries, two distinctly different fizzles, and nine backlit flashes
of light.
Warren just grinned at the Haxans uplifted eyebrow, and went about his
task.
-------------------------Are they really that stupid, or just that big of rivals
Errants rhetorical question hung over the party as they picked
over the last of the lupinalsnone lived within the impressive range of
Warrens divinatory ability. Trenchers fire and earth assault had

thrown these last members of the priestess elite followers off their
game enough that cutting them down had not been nearly as difficult as
that of her templars. The Dark Champion leading this pack had been
particularly shocked at the speed of its demise, wading forwards in the
hugely ornate and fantastic armor typical of a powerful member of its
kind, kindling the rage of its followers with a scream of bloodlust and
hatred of life of truly impressive power.
The shockwave had smashed the lupinals from their feet with
terrific force and a spray of shrapnel, and Errant had run right through
the heart of it with split-second timing in the moment of reflexive
reaction to the violence of the magic. Without stopping, he had slid
around, under and past the foaming-mouthed Hyen, and /Duty/ inserted
itself smartly between the plates of the Champions armor with a twist
and jerk. Cheris arrow had been a bright gleam of light, ignoring that
armor completely as it punched into the beastmans shoulder and spun it
smartly around, just as Rorg had come in with two hands on his rakeblade
and cut down with transcendent precision deep into the Hyens side. The
Champion howled in agony, jaws parting wide just in time to accept the
point of /Duty/ in a spinning long thrust into its skull and out the
back in a spit and spray of red blood igniting with white fires.
That had taken the steam out of many of the shocked beastmen,
moreso as the floor opened up and the fires of the deep core roared up
in a vengeful inferno of screaming earthfire.
At the heart of the blast, Lone had watched them charring and
burning, raised /Duty/, and completely untouched by the fires, went to work.
Free of the Serpen for three hundred years is time enough to
breed arrogance and hate, especially if you have your own divine patron
to fan racial hatreds. Trencher spoke with the wisdom of a longer-lived
race. How they got to work with Horns with anything resembling equality
boggles the mind.
Power trumps just about anything, Cheri murmured knowingly.
Trencher grunted agreementit had made villains of far more virtuous
folk then these sentient-eating creatures.
And theres definitely a very strong daemonic presence further
on this level, Warren hissed, looking thru his Eye, scouting ahead and
making the layout for the next stage of the attack. The Serpen have
found some sort of patron, alsoor, at the least, their master deals
with them.
Fools. It was all Errant said, and it said enough. One didnt

deal with powers of the Pits and expect to profit without excessive
arrogance and overconfidence. Immortal evil always got its way in the end.
Major chapel up aheadsize of a decent church. I dont think
the complex is big enough to support enough people to fill itbut
theres enough raw Taint seeped into the stones Trencher can probably
feel it from here
Demons and daemon Errant rolled his eyes. Utterly insane.
The daemonic power might be a guardian beast, not a patron. We
did not see any summoned creatures from the Dooms Trencher mused,
watching the map unfolding quickly as Warren concentrated. The silence
walls have done their jobnone come to investigate the sounds of combat,
and there seems to be no regular traffic between sides of the complex.
Even after a glorysword assault I love these neighbors.
Errant tossed another money pouch onto a confiscated cloak. Keeping on
the good side of their allies. Why, its just like normal folks.
Rest up and stab at the Serpen Rorg asked calmly, helping
with the casual looting.
I see no reason not to. Might want to place an illusion or two
of occasional movement in connecting corridors, and make sure of our
lines of retreat. And lets hope our dead jackal of a priestess isnt
wanted anywhere soon. Errant looked over the dead with approval, then
at the map Warren was making, committing it to memory in a glance. Im
going to do a soft probe of the areas that we havent gone through, to
see what is to be seen. Russet, with me. Hound and Man ghosted away
into the dark tunnels, leaving the others to loot, tally, and prepare
and rest.
=================================
Im not sure I want to know what that is. Errant squinted at
the two-serpent head idol, huge arms more like serpents coils then
limbs, ending in massive, sawtooth pincers.feet hinted at like a great
raptor, massive and hugely claweda tail with lovingly rendered detail
of what looked to be a razored spinal crest and of copious length.
Its a unique guardian daemon of great age and power. It can
only be bound to artifacts, relics of greatest evil, tomes of darkest
lore, and the like. I believe the name is HsShsaras. And from what I
know of it, it could step on most balors.

Mmmm. Errant glanced at Warren, who just glared at the statue

of the creature dominating the temple area. A little beyond us, aye
It is bound, and so cannot be released without releasing that
which it guards. I sense it has been confined for a great many years
beyond the temple, and will be for a great many for. Whatever it guards
must be hugely valuable, and the magic to keep it here quite potent.
Trencher nodded agreement. Aye, although I dont think its
presence has been constant since the time of the original builders. I
think we both know the thing was encountered down south only a couple
centuries ago, where some fruitcake apocalypse cult had happened on some
fiery oblivion magic item and this thing was the guardian of it. The
gloryswords who took out that temple destroyed its focus and the thing
went mad, killing all the locals before fleeing the Land. I wager the
Mojh brought it inor some contingency went into effect when inhabitants
came into these tunnels again. He pointed slowly in a direction past
the temple. Theres something out there so dark the stone is weeping
just concealing it, the Taint is dripping off the concealing magic with
terrible force and subtlety.
You can sense it, then Warren glanced at the Rockborn, eyes
full of stars meeting those of flint.
Something was started here, ayetheres Green and Dark mucking
all around with things, pulling the earth in opposite directions, but
the White seems to be diluting them into each other. And its focused on
whatever is being guarded. Trencher looked again in the direction of
the thing, then away, towards Errant. Thats not something even you
want to touch, Haxan.
Errant nodded slowly, turning his gaze back to the temple, then
the area around itand the virtual swarms of opponents that Warren had
found out within them, a great number not mortal in the slightest.
So the Mojh is a demon summoner, not a daemon servant. Well,
how wonderful. Or maybe just an equal opportunist. He looked at the
hulking shadow of a megagoblin sprawled out of sight in the corner of
the temple, then the array of demons scattered here and there in
apparent disarray that would yet bring them in as reinforcements very
quicklyand that was not counting at least three dozen Serpen, including
at least two more Horns and what looked to be a Fang-Dancer. I want to
know whats over there. Errant tilted his head to indicate a block of
passageways barred by access thru the temple and the guardians therein.
Private quarters of the Serpen commanders, probably including the
Mojhand who knows what else

Likely. But weve a few obstructions between us and them, Rorg

pointed out thoughtfully. Unless we kill them quick and quiet, this
could get messy fast.
I thought that was what Interdiction fields, True Death, and
bubbles of sound were for, Errant smiled grimly, looking over the
layout of the place. We come to loot your temple! He cocked an eye at
Trencher, who allowed a chuckle to escape before he could look away at
the private joke.
One day I will find out exactly what that joke means, Warren
admonished, wagging a finger. Man and Rockborn just smiled.

/*Wyrmbreak 6*/
/Sound Bubble was such a wonderful spell for dungeon delving/,
mused Warren, reaching out with his staff to bat a cochlin demons
massive claws into the stone of the chamber wall. The supernaturally
strong talons tore into the stone like cheese, but that didnt matter
much, as Warren promptly broke the extended arm with an upwards sweep of
his Warders staff and a blast of the holy power it contained. The demon
howled from its almost expressionless, stone-like face and stumbled
backbut the opening was all Errant needed to slip /Duty/ under an arm
two full hand-lengths and poke the fiends black heart. Vivic fire
spurted out the death wound, and cries of pain and disbelief became
immortal horror as True Death raged up to take it.
/Armsbrother training never goes to waste/, thought Warren,
slamming his staff into the rocky knee of another cochlin trying to get
around the Haxan and Urkhar, whereupon Butter ripped it off of its stony
feet and laid it heavily on the ground at Rorgs feet. /Shrek/ came down
promptly, and continued thru neck to stone below, slid out like it was
greased as another demon thought to leap on him, and instead managed
only to impale itself on his blade as his shield came up and stopped the
rush of the stony body with a brutal, crashing impact.
He marveled at the flowing swordwork of the Haxan, exploiting
every single opening in the stony hides of the creatures, turning the
solidity of their hides against them to drive his blows in deeper.
/Duty/ was leaving trails of harsh white not-fire around it with fluid,
short strokes and thrusts, ripping openings for Rorg to step in and just
pound thru the creatures with devastating force. Claws reached for the
Haxan and paid for it as they ran into the edge of his blade, talons
harder then steel sheared away as if they were made of clay. Cochlin

screamed as vivic fire consumed their appendages with vengeful hunger,

lending a macabre, dancing light of unnatural, pure starkness to the
fury of the pitched combat.
The cochlin were setting up quite a ruckus, shrill yet booming
voices echoing madly in the chamber as they called for help and wailed
madly as they perished utterly. Obviously, they hadnt taken the events
of the days before to heart. Calling for kin, reinforcements in their
dim way, not realizing that you didnt have to have silence to stop such
things, just a wall of null sound around the whole combat. They could
make all the noise they wanted, and nobody was going to hear anything.
Trencher and Butter anchored the line, Russet and Cheri at the
doorway making sure nothing came up behind, eyes open for surprises.
With his staff, Warren pitched in where he was most needed at any given
moment, ready to heal or cast spells as needed, attempting to minimize
the need for either in this increasingly unstable area of magic. Within
the field of his stave, the demons fairly pitiful spellcasting attempts
didnt work much at all, and he was energetically plying it against them
personally.
The last one dropped, /Duty/ embedded in the side of its head
where normal creatures would have an ear, and the things skull half
blew off as the vivic fire started to feast. Rorg and Errant spun
together to survey the whole of the room in opposed visual sweeps,
perfectly timed, and Warren backed them up, slowly and carefully looking
for signs of any stragglers or spies.
Clear, he announced, and both warriors looked past him to
Cheri, who glanced down at Russet. The Hound yipped onceclear. She
nodded agreement.
Sweeping. Trenchers athame sparked a carefully controlled
fire that crept out from it, gathering up the filth and ordure and
putting it quickly and cleanly to the blessing of ashnot incidentally
revealing any valuables hidden thereby.
Warren resisted an urge to whistle as he went about his job,
looking for concealed things hidden by magic or construction. With
Trencher there to analyze stonework, this was the most relaxing part of
his duties, even given the potentially lethal nature of what he often
found. His staves power could wear away the integrity of even the most
potent defenses, given any amount of time, and had proven useful over
and over given the plethora of magical defenses built into these
subterranean chambers. Given the way this chamber had been ripped up by
the claws of the burrowing demons, he doubted anything was here, but one

could never be sure.

Absently, he rubbed the old scars on his cheekscars from an
undead creature, the servant of a Dark-loving necromancer. Pale white
remnants, jagged rows across his face, ineffable reminders of the
unclean power of unlife and those who dealt in black arts.
How long ago had that been Almost twenty years now His family,
unlucky enough to inhabit a house built over the secretive lab of a
dramojhs agents, hiding some secret a necromancer had no qualms about
killing for. The gaunt-faced, sunken-eyed fanatic, hungry for power and
life at any cost, still haunted his dreams sometimes with his deathmask
of a face, along with the echoing screams of his family as the
deadheads magic and minions tore the life and souls from them, making
them into slaves and servants as the madman searched for the entry to
the chambers below.
He had fled from that house screaming, barely able to think, his
soul shriveling in his chest and heart seeming as dead and cold as his
blood, and the first thing he had run into had been a band of Haxan
cattle drovers, heading back to their camp after delivering a herd to a
buyer in his hometown of Wyrrth.
He still remembered those old blue eyes and the weathered face
as strong hands had stopped and grasped him, although he did not know
what he had said. The old man, turning his eyes up to Sylune in her
court one last time, wrinkles and gray hairs gleaming silver up under
the light of the moon, and then drawing a silvered sword in silence and
striding off to do what needed to be done.
Smiling, for he had taken his Last Ride, and would die fighting.
That necromancer had never made it out of the chambers belowthe
Haxans had raced back to their camp, and grim men with ready swords had
come sweeping in on the heels of their Elder. They had borne his body
out of the house before silver fires had come slamming down from on
high, courtesy of the Pureheart who had led them and a kneeling circle
of faithful, turning his home into a pyre and edifice of cleansing
flame, and opening his eyes to the fact that somewhere, despite all the
dismissive words of the Jytan, that there were gods and purity and
something greater to be believed in, and he could do no less then an old
man he had never known.
Some Purehearts were called to be men of battle, shining
examples of valor and leadership, lifelong servants of Mithar
sacrificing their lives for the good of their fellows. Others would

retire to civic duties, administrators of the law and government who all
could trust to have their best interests at heart.
And some would come to more specific duties, wielders of the
stave instead of the sword, servants of more then one god, and the bane
and nemesis of those who engaged in the arts of darkness.
Warders, like him. The sacred mages of Mithar, servants to the
needs of Sylune and Harse, using magic to defend against the workers of
dark magic and bring them low as living symbols of the fact that the
Gods themselves believed in harmony and cooperation between one another.
He still wasnt sure what exactly had led him to the Wyrmbreak
Wall. While Warders had value here with their mastery of defensive
magic, Warders were meant to set themselves against workers of dark
arts, seek them out, and send them and their servants and creations to
True Death. The Rockborn clergy, Runewardens, and Rockmages had plenty
of experience fortifying the Wyrmbreak against outsiders and certainly
didnt need his help with their guardianship. Some of them had been
performing their duties for centuries.
Gloryswording He had winced at the very idea of adventuring for
cash and loot and fame. Of course, the Rockborn had a more pragmatic
view of the matter, attracting skilled warriors to go out and butcher
the foe with assurance of good compensation for the task. Warders were
actually ideally suited for the task, being eminently trustworthy,
suited to finding traps, and both good healers and dire foes of dark
magi, undead, summoned horrors and the like.
Still, hunting foul things in dark places where they didnt
threaten anyone yet was not exactly what he thought his life would be as
a Wardereven if it was much more exciting then the inquisitorial tasks
that Warders often ended up pursuing. And, he had to admit, hed
stumbled across more unclean beasts in the last few days then many
Warders did in a year.
And strange companions on this quest with no goals, too...
Rorg was Passguard, of the Northguard, a younger Urkhar looking to make
his namewhich meant he was already more skilled a warrior then most Men
would ever be despite his shorter life. Trencher was almost as old as
the rest of them put together, a Rockmage, seasoned warrior, traveler,
explorer, and craftsman. Usually Rockborn of his ability retired to
pursue a career of crafting and making sure the gifts of their magic
endured to benefit their people for centuries to come.

Cheri was an Armsister and a Haxan, a companion to a more

skilled warrior, there to see to his safety and watch over him with
nocked arrow and silent eyes. She was also Errants cousin on his
fathers side, insuring that the Haxan looked after her at least as well
as she did himand also meant that Warren had no competition whatsoever
for her attention, a thought that caused him to smile to himself.
Errant, now, Errant made Warren uneasy. The Haxan wasnt a
MitharnSources werent particularly faithful to anything, gods or
mortal, and the feral calm of the mans eyes was disturbing too see. Not
as wild and uncontrolled as a true barbarian, but a primal discipline
and attunement with the most dangerous parts of being a Man.
/Homo Primos/. The old race of Men. Sources were the antithesis
of the magic-wielding power available to /Homo Magos/, Men like Warren
himself, who could channel and control the mana, the Blood of the Land,
and work great things with it. /Primos/ had no magical ability to speak
of, yet were integral to the maintenance of the White, and Sources more
important then a hundred, perhaps a thousand of their fellows in this
regard. Warren had watched Errant ignore hellstorms of magic, wade
through demonfire and mindbending assaults and go toe to toe screaming
at fiends and undead and foul beasts with a deeper fury then any
barbarian savage would ever feel, and more controla primal wrath that
was extremely impressive to someone who relied a great deal on the power
that Errant could overcome so easily.
Errant wasnt out here to glorysword. He was out here to kill,
to wade through the blood of things that should never have been born and
feed them to the Land. He was doing it as efficiently as possible,
cunning and ruthless, using everyone else to further the task. He was
anything but ignorant of the advantages of wealth and battle-loot, but
it was not what drove him. /Duty/ lived in his hand as greatly as it had
for hundreds of generations of his Clan before him, crafting new tales
and legends to add to its legacy. Warren had heard tales of some of
Errants careera throatslitter and troubleshooter of some ability for
the Elders, Source ruthlessness making him an ideal tool and Source
determination a survivor of the worst that got thrown at him.
Butter, the Lion, was actually his own boon companionRusset had
come along with Rorg. The Lion was there to help him in battle,
resistant to magic, stealthy if need be, possessed of animals senses
and intuition, and not a little common sense. While his role was
redefined with the larger group, especially with a Hound around,
Butters first responsibility was to Warren, while Russet was more a
member of the overall pack, a friend to the Urkhar instead of a
bodyguard. Such was the role of Beasts among the Children.

Warren wondered how much of the belief among the /Primos/

regarding /Magos/ was truethat the /Magos/ were either mutants, or the
offspring of the /Primos/ and creatures of magicdragons, celestials,
fiends, fey, or other creatures. The existence of sorcerous bloodlines
certainly supported the latter theory, while the Tainted and Accursed
supported the former. Probably both true, in their own way, leaving an
indelible stamp on Men that had spread thru the millennia.
And yet somehow, the Old Race continued on, enduring despite it
all, thanks in no small part to born killers like Errant, and the
dreadful women who were their counterparts. Hed never run into a female
Sourcethey werent anywhere near as common as the malesbut hed heard
stories of their abilities to manipulate and command the social
structure anywhere they lived. As Sources were Kings among Men, they
were also Queens among Women, and woe to someone who got in such a
womans way.
Happily, not likely to happen while gloryswording. He had no
doubt there were some among the Elders of Haxan, foiling plots right and
left by those who threatened their blood and people, and instituting
plots of their own. The males had much simpler and more violent lives,
but both could be equally deadly
Training in Haxan had given him a deep appreciation of the
culture, but he was still an outsider in many ways, raised with the
beliefs taken from the Jytan coloring his perceptions. He was still a
native of Wyrrth, and always would be, but he was also a servant of
Mithar and Sylune and Harse, and a Pureheart, and so now a
representative of much of what the Jytan found contentious in the race
of Men.
He had no regrets. His eyes were open and hed made his choices.
Nothing, he finally said, completing the inspection while the
others waited patiently. Trencher nodded agreement as he wrapped up what
pitiful loot the demons had managed to acquire and not totally destroy,
and dropped it into his magical pack.
Next post, Errant said softly, and led the way out carefully,
watching for any patrols with cocked ear and keen eyes. Like the
well-oiled and trained unit they were, everyone else rolled out after
him, equally alert and ready for a fight.
-----------------------------------------

/Funny to be fighting along Men way out here/, Rorg thought,

bringing /Shrek/ around under a Serpens shield and feeling the
satisfying crunch of armor giving way and the rakeblade sinking in deep.
Normally he wouldnt trust the fighting ability of Men doing glorysword
work, even most Haxans. He knew a hundred stories and tales of
glorysword adventures; many of them ending badly, and more often then
not, the ones that ended badly had Men in the ignominious roles.
Not usually Haxans, of course. Haxans didnt tend to die badly,
at least, but dying heroically (as was often the case) wasnt the job.
Getting the other guy to die was. And while Haxans were good and
reliable and tough, they were still Men, and really not suited for
diving into dark places and doing battle like this. Non-Haxans, they
tended to get motivated by stupid things like greed and jealousy and
ambition and hunger for power and secrets, and then all sorts of bad
things happened.
The first job was to kill the enemy and get out alive.
Everything else was optional. Money The Rockborn would provide. Loot
Treasure Power Plenty of that from trustworthy sources, not robbing
the slain. Intelligence, now, that was worth something. Had to be
careful thocursed tomes and knowledge and secrets were in too many stories.
But this Haxan standing beside him was a Water Master and a
Clansword Wielder, and theyd stood side by side and hacked through the
lead elements of a Deep Serpen scouting party together.
This Man was a Source. Damn if they werent everything the
stories said, even the junior ones
Classic Haxan swordwork, all teamwork and practicality. Like as
not, Errant could kill as fast or faster then he couldbut he was bowing
to the Urkhars size and strength by making openings the other could
exploit readily, fluid swordwork adjusting as if theyd been fighting
along side one another for years. Heady stuff, being the one to take
most of the kills, while a Water Master wove a web of steel about you
and insured nothing came through to either of you too easily. The Serpen
were well trained and fanatics, but hardly a match for the pair of them.
A Dwarf watching your back, now, that was a good thing. Stolid,
reliable, long years giving experience you could count on. Rorg liked
having Trencher there. Sure, battlemages and warcasters were replete in
the ranks of the Passguard, and there were Aurorans running around, full
Battlemads and Theurges and whatnot, and Sylunes Own, and hed even
heard the funny little fey who could fly made good castersbut nothing
beat the reliability of a Rockborn with his Focus and a full beard of

steam ready to rumble and make the ground shake.

A Warder was an odd one to have around. Purehearts, as reliable
as Rockborn, and even more heroiclots of valiant deaths there. Paladine
mages, who couldnt use magic to harm living foes, extolling the best of
magic, standing in the Light against the Dark, showing that magic, too,
was not a goal of itself. A very weird choice for a gloryswordthey
tended to occupy themselves with defensive roles at strongpoints or with
large forces, or be about hunting down users of foul arts. Still, he
knew what he was doing, and he had an almost Halvyrish knack for use of
illusions and divinations, and was as true a boon companion as the
stories indicated the Paladine to be. And really quite good with that
Warders staff of his, too.
Armsisters had their own sets of stories, and very rarely did
that involve gloryswording down in dungeons. They were all horsewomen
and archers, and tight spaces were not their thing. He was used to
fantastic archery Cheri would be about the skill level of a young
Halvyr but he was used to seeing Halvyr Hawks competing for kills with
cool speed and lethal accuracy, not plying a bow to help out mere sword
swingers. Of course, Cheri could tie down a spellcaster with little
problem if she desired to, but she shone in the proper placement of an
arrow in a Serpens eye, opening up a big hole for him to insert /Shrek/
into a scaled throat a moment ago, or putting an arrow through a
shoulder there now to turn a possibly blooding thrust into a wild and
pained swing, and so forth.
The Hound and Lion were like old friends. Hed lived among the
like all his life, and it gave him a lot of comfort knowing intelligent
animals and their keen senses were near. He knew how they fought and
liked to fight, and as he literally dis-armed the wounded Serpen, Russet
tore the mansnakes feet from under it for Butter to fall upon with
ripping claws and teeth in a highly trained and well-orchestrated
combination move that spread Serpen bits in all directions. Not having a
Beast around actually tended to make him nervousthose noses of theirs
were far too handy to have around not to enjoy them.
Men. They couldnt see in the dark, they werent all that
strong, they just didnt have the brute fighting instincts or the
longevity of the other races, they seemed to fight among themselves as
much as they did other races, and never seemed to be able to focus their
efforts on the long term. And here he was fighting alongside three of
them, the tower of strength amidst them, wreaking bloody havoc on Serpen
guards.
It was a good feeling, and he looked forwards to sharing the

stories with his kin and fellow Guard, when they got out of here.
Especially the part about him getting most of the kills. Laughing
heartily, he clove the helm of the last of the mansnakes in two with a
cracking sheer of metal and bone, and kicked the corpse off his
rakeblade as he scanned the place further for more victims.
Clear, the Warder said, and Rockmage Trencher agreed. The
Armsister also nodded, and Rorg relaxedbut only a little.
Loot and scoot, Errant said, in that calm voice that held
angry, feral undertones a Child of War could well appreciate. Whistling,
Rorg went about the task of gathering valuables for eventual
compensation, certain that none of it would be allowed to endanger their
lives, and that the Men would leave it all here in an instant if
necessary, just like him.
------------------------------/Men, or is it all males, love to plan things and then make them
blow up./
Cheri fixed that thought firmly in her mind as she drove an
arrow into the belly of the Serpen priest standing at the opposite edge
of the chapel, rather making it difficult for him to complete his spell.
A second later a wave of force rippled thru the ground, upsetting
benches as it raced towards them, and then exploded under the hapless
priests in an eruption of lava and rock, sending them flying.
Errant and Rorg had the front of the party, with Warren and
Trencher parked behind the Beasts for a clear view of any spellcasters.
She stood behind Trencher, her job to interfere with any spells that
Warren didnt manage to counter, and she was very intent on that task.
Wards and protective auras mingled over the group, and the
towering Urkhar was singing with great vigor that old killing tune of
the Children that made her blood race and heart pound with excitement,
time seeming to slow and every arrow to be placed perfectly.
The Serpen had been taken by some surpriseespecially since the
demons supposedly guarding the temple had been banished by Warren so
that he and Trencher could seed the whole area with explosive traps and
defenses, and shatter the spells woven about the unholy place to remove
the advantage the natives possessed.
Errant was there now, killing like a fiend, his blade a fluid
blur of gray death. The demons were already dead or gone, the oversized

aspari that had led them beheaded by the unremitting edge of /Duty/, and
these fanatic defenders were not getting the support they should have
from their spellcasters. The clerics seemed to be intent on trying to
use distance attacks instead of supporting their warriors, and Errant
and the Urkhar were tearing into them with deadly force. Trencher had
sealed off the exits with a barrier of stone as the Serpen filed in to
attend services, and then his opening salvo had gotten their attention
very quickly by dint of scattering bits and pieces of the unfortunate
over their fellows.
Cheri looked around for the Fang-Dancer shed spotted among the
Serpen, definitely female. Doubtless turned invisible and looking to get
closer to them, perhaps along the ceiling. She had no doubt that Warren
knew where the dagger-wielding warrior-mage was, and was rewarded a
moment later by a silvery aura coalescing around a silhouette in the
empty air, outlining an unseen foe flattened against the ceiling and
creeping rapidly closer to them, like a snake or foul spider.
Cheri put an arrow into it for the sake of brevity, then another
as the Serpen writhed and fell from the ceiling. Trencher noticed the
activity, but his eyes were on the priests as he detonated two pairs of
preset runes, and fireballs engulfed the far side of the nave in molten
agony.
Nope, they didnt like that much at all. Males and their explosions
Hissing wildly, the Dancer tried to escape, only to discover the
Interdiction field firmly in place preventing such nasty maneuveringa
necessary defense against the teleportation powers of demon kind. Cheri
drove another arrow into her, the runes on her bow humming with quiet
energies to drive the arrows deep and true. A whipping gesture from the
she-Serpen, but her spell failed as the missiles of energy diverted
themselves harmlessly into Warrens out held staff, and the Dancer faded
into visibility, surprise evident on her face at the unusual method of
defeating a standard attack spell. Cheri sent her twisting away
desperately with a fourth arrow, this one a chest shot that punched
through magical defenses and into a lung, she was certain.
The Dancer stumbled across another set of runes, and Cheri
squinted as the hot silver light went off, drawing screaming hisses of
pain and dismay from other Serpen caught in the blast, and a shrill
death-shriek from the Dancer. The boys and the Beasts shoved forwards in
the confusion, cutting down two Serpen and dragging down two others, and
Cheri followed carefully, arrow poised.
Slow and stolid, Trencher was her wall, keeping in front of her

as she covered the room with nocked arrow, driving one shaft into one
fallen priest she didnt trust not to move again.
The Horn came seemingly out of nowhere, detaching himself from
the shadows and coming across the floor with boneless, inhuman grace and
speed. Three colors to the razorscales standing up on his skin, eyes
fixed directly on her, taloned hands poised, snakes eyes filled with a
lethal calm as he decided on her as the weakest combatant, the most
easily slain, and made for her.
/Males/, she thought with a shrug.
He came right over Trencher, the Rockborns hasty swing with/
Forge/ deftly eluded with serpentine grace, clawed feet reaching for her
face and throat in a devastatingly powerful kick.
His surprise was evident when she dropped her bow, grabbed his
extended foot, and threw him.
/Three thousand years of fighting Haxans and still the bastards
are surprised normal-sized human women can fight/, she thought, spinning
fluidly and gracefully and letting go, completing three-quarters of a
circle with minimal effort and sending the shocked Horn, almost twice
her size, flying out and away in very much the wrong direction. An
experienced toe tap flipped her bow back up to her hand before he hit
the ground, and she drew another arrow as she watched the monastic
Serpen correct his spin and land with perfect poise and controlexcept
for Errants leg stuck between his, which levered forwards and slammed
the Horn backwards to the ground with a loud crack of skull meeting
stone. The Serpen blinked at the Clansword suddenly pinning it to the
ground about the area of its liver, Errants cold and feral eyes away
and on the crazed Serpen warrior before him, and then the Horn saw
/Shrek/ come down and remove his head with one brutal, precise blow.
Rorg hadnt bothered to look down at him, either.
/Duty/ was tugged free as if greased from the trap of meat and
stone, ripping out in an underblow that sheared off the corner of the
Serpens shield and smashed it out of position. /Shrek/ casually came
over and tore open the warriors torso in a spray of blood and severed
mail links, while /Duty/ inverted in Errants grasp to stab backhanded
into the side of the throat of the last one left standing, who had
thought to swing around Rorg for a telling hit.
Feeling a bit of pique, Cheri put an arrow into that ones right
eyeball as it grabbed at the throat wound, intently scanning the entire

room for sign of another foe, hostile movement. She had to concentrate
to ignore the seemingly shifting, leering eyes of the idol behind the
bloodstained altar, surveying all with twinkling gemstone eyes and a
very real, unholy presenceand calmly let off a last shot as she saw a
footstep appear in ash where no one was, driving it into the middle of
nothingness three paces away.
The Fang-Dancer collapsed writhing, a shocked expression on her
reptilian face, curved blades falling from her hands with a clatter, and
Trencher calmly took a step forwards to bring his athame down on her
skull and make very sure she wouldnt be getting back up.
Cheri surveyed the sprawled bodies, the char and ash of fire and
lightning and deepfires called from below, the spray of blood and body
parts all about with some distaste and resignation, longing for the
opening sky and Cantors thundering hooves beneath her, to carry her
away from this dark hole of a dungeon and back under Arus sun and
Aethras winds.
But no, she was here to watch Errants back and rescue him from
all the stupid glorysword things he was going to do, feeding his ego by
helping him in combat and making him think he was invincible, and by
extension the rest of them too.
Warren met her eye and then looked away with a quiet smile,
seemingly reading her mind. She didnt help out him in combat, because
his job was too much like hers, and he understood exactly her role and
how she was going about it, and approved the quiet way she took to her
task, without complaint or boast.
/An Armsisters work is never done/, she thought with her own
quiet smile, wondering just how she was going to go about reeling in a
Mage Paladine for her very own, and get him to settle down and raise a
brood of roustabout Haxans to bedevil them both. Armbrother and
Armsister, at work helping out Haxan with a new generation
---------------------------------------/Not bad, not bad/, mused Trencher silently, watching as
carefully and patiently as ever how well the team worked together.
Of course, they didnt have the decades of training that
Rockborn warriors got, and so had to speak and make sure to be about
tasks, instead of simply knowing by position and skill and the slightest
of gestures what to do. Still, worked together nicely for a mixed bunch,
especially for what was essentially a glorysword team.

Why Errant had chosen this route wasnt hard to understandthe

Elders wanted him out of the Thronelands after the incident regarding
the recovery of his Clansword, and a Source sitting around doing nothing
was a monumental waste of someone with a high and lethal level of energy
and drive. Why he himself had agreed to come along was a bit more
problematic, as hed been fully ready to give up the traipsing around
dark holes with non-Rockborn, getting hacked at by the gods knew what,
and start his real training in Crafting great and useful tools for the
benefit of his people, and by extension their allies.
He still longed for the halls of Blackstone. Cool and straight,
delved from stone by Rockborn skill or Rockmage geomancy, lovingly
adorned and carved by generations of his people seeking to reclaim at
least some of the ancient glories of their fallen homes in the
Jotunbones. The Crashing of the Crowns had taken away the great and
ancient glories of the Rockborn peoplebut the actions of one Source had
made certain that it did not take away the Rockborn themselves.
He had never set foot inside the ancient Halls of his ancestors,
save for those few chambers excavated out of the Wyrmbreak, reinforced
time and again by powerful magic to hold off the collapse of the
fractured stone above. Beneath those weighty and mantled peaks rested
the legacy of art and history of the Rockborn kingdoms Under the
Mountains, over ten thousand years old, fallen in one fell night to the
Wyrm.
A hammerblow that had taken the Lands of the Wyrm with them, a
thought that brought savage pride to any Rockborn alive. His heart
swelled just thinking of it, and how the deeds of his ancestors had
dwarfed the puny accomplishments of subterranean dwellings like this
snake-cursed pit.
The stone writhed to his touch and feel. Writhed! Not in pain,
but in conflict. Too many energies pulling it in different directions,
as if the very foundation of what it was supposed to be was in conflict.
Green and Dark, the warring energies of the Runic Foundation, at odds
with the White and the flow of life energies that the White represented
and encompassed without the inherent contradictions and oppositions that
drove the competing reality.
He could almost feel the stone sigh every time a demon exploded
in True Death, the released energy purest life energy and so a part of
the White, settling down the stone and reclaiming a far broader area
then mere swathes of whiteness might encompass. As they were making
their way through this place and butchering stuff imbued with demonic

Taint and the like, the White was spreading through the stone behind
them like the point of a waveeverywhere except behind that statue,
where it fetched up against something Really Bad that Trencher really,
really didnt want to mess with.
Theyd cracked down the door to the Serpen priest-controlled
areas of the stronghold on this level, mopping up the few stragglers and
guard-beasts and demons and traps with aplomb and the kind of violent
expertise that Serpen really didnt like to see in glorysword teams.
/Why, this crew might even qualify as lesser Passguard/, he mused
fondly, eyes roving to where Errant was crouching before a long, long
tunnel extending out and away into the rock, /Duty/ in hand and flaring
the wrong way, feeding, in an ill wind.
Theres a binding worked into the stone here, Trencher said
softly, reaching out to touch the shuddering earth. Something else to
butcher to help reclaim this land from the Twain, he thought, and saw
the hungry, territorial light in Errants rune-masked eyes. The Haxan
had a joy for killing pit spawn the most devoted of paladins might envy,
springing from deep, deep levels of anathema for extraplanar
interference that Sources felt, and ahead was one more of them.
This was not mined, the Haxan noted instead, sniffing at the
air, and a scent the Beasts confirmed was not of the Land. His hand
touched the unnaturally smooth sides of the tunnel.
Disintegrated. I can sense the distant screams of the dust
Trencher cautiously tapped the stone with /Forge/. This tunnel is
longa thousand paces, perhaps
Which would put it directly underneath the main citadel, would
it not Trencher made a note to himself that Errant had an excellent
sense of direction, and glanced over at Warren, who looked suddenly uneasy.
So it would. As we saw no real sign of the Archmage, except for
what might have been its personal quarters, we can probably assume that
that is where it is. Trenchers choice of words was carefulit was time
to pull back and call in some strength to secure the place against
outside interference, particularly in the matter of the guardian Daemon
and whatever it concealed. On the other hand, doing so gave the Archmage
time to rebuild whatever forces it could as hastily as possible, and
slow them down, perhaps even collapse this tunnel.
We take the beast that guards this way, follow it to the end,
and establish a teleport lock, just in case. Trencher turned that order
over in his mindit made good sense, although only he and Warren would

be able to use the link out of those present.

Agreed, the Rockborn accededthe Haxan was pushing them, but
this guardian, while feeling formidable, was not the equal of all of
them, and securing passage to the sealed citadel something of immense value.
The Haxan stood, and started down the hallway, unafraid, /Duty/
leading the way with ready True Death burning, and his long knife
seething black bloodfire as the Blooding runes gleamed with death to
demonkind.

/*Wyrmbreak 7*/
From what we were able to determine, sir, the Mojh has at least
3 associates with him
What he means is from what he was able to determine, Warren
interjected calmly into Errants report. The place is replete with
anti-divinatory wards and awash with continual Twain/White conflict.
Even residual scents are getting continually washed away by the
subliminal conflict of energies. Errant was the only one able to
penetrate the barriers at key locations to do some scouting.
The veteran Halvyr Battlemad, a lean and dark-haired fellow with
the distressingly handsome features of his people, dark blue-black hair,
and not looking any more aged then a human thirty-year old, lifted an
eyebrow at the far more weathered young Haxan with the expressionless,
pale-scarred face and killers eyes. He had enough experience with
Sources, and could feel the Source field about this one, to know how
very possible this was. He lifted a hand calmly.
We have information. Do you have a name he asked patiently.
Heshel, styles himself the Darkfire. We recovered some of his
personal notes and papers from his quarters and the writings of his
associates. Trencher indicated an open book covered with crisp,
Rockborn-precise script and translations on the showing pages. We
didnt get much of his true history, but we know that much.
Heshel, he nodded slowly. He was on the short list. He hasnt
been seen in nearly a generation of Menwe thought someone had
successfully put him to True Death. Obviously, they botched the job. He
spun his Madwand slowly between long, steady fingers, the shimmering
akastar in the tip gleaming in ever changing colors and patterns,
responding to the ambient energies about.

Most Halvyr took their training at the school of the Aurorans,

and the Family of Starfyre was no different. Fyre Irinlight was a
Veteran of the Passguard, with over a hundred years of active service on
the slopes of the Jotunbones battling all sorts of incredibly dangerous
monstersand cutting them down by forceblade or spell. Despite his
seeming youth, he had more combat knowledge and experience then the rest
of them put togetherand he still wasnt Senior Passguard, which was why
hed been sent, as his absence was less likely to be noticed.
Tell me what you have seen, and Ill confirm what I can. He
didnt talk loudlyhe didnt have to.
Errant nodded shortly. From what I noticed of the Mojh in
passing, hes been infused with Unholy bloodlines and/or power. Darkened
scales, demonfire eyes, his build is far stronger and more solid then a
typical Mojh. His claws especially were of great size yet dextrous, and
occasionally whorls of demonflame escaped his mouth or nose as he breathed.
The associates I saw were with him in a great chamber, which
looked to be some sort of carved library both painted and sculpted out
of multiple layers of stone, like eggs nested within one another. I
presumed some manner of dimensional tampering at work, as each egg was
fully as large as the one outside it, and they opened outwards from the
entry point in a broad hemisphere, yet did not interdict the chamber by
which I entered.
They are engaged in intensive research of the findings there. I
saw evidence of long-term supplies, sleeping arrangements, privy, and
stacks of notes and observations, which must have taken a great deal of
time to gather.
I observed a Jytani advanced to secondary height, clad in full
Harness and bearing markings of a Champion of Death or Darkness, dark of
skin, long braids, using a Jotun-sized Dire greatsword. There was a
Verrik there, male, bearing markings of a Master of Memories, seemingly
entranced with much of what was around him, yet very aware of
everything, perhaps drinking in psychic impressions of all about for
greater insight into the records. He bore no identifying marks
whatsoever, but preferred sand-hued robes, and leathers beneath them,
with many discrete pockets, straps, and hidden tools.
The last individual was a Serpen Horn advanced to full colors,
male, primary hue Red, bearing a full Horn array tipped with a dark
obsidian. His eyes had a noticeable serpentine iris of verdant purple.

I made my observations and retreated before engaging. It was my

judgment that I might have been able to take on any of the associates
singly, but without backup available, I would quickly have been
overwhelmed by their allies.
The darkly brilliant eyes of the Halvyr closed for a moment, the
gleaming spin of the Madwand slowed and stopped for a contemplative moment.
A-Verskil is still alive too Most interesting. I believe the
Elders of Ruin want her dead in a very prompt way. Shes a Man-slayer
with a very long reputation behind her, very active in the South of the
Throne in sudden strikes and butcherynever building an organization,
but quick to strike terror. She likes to hit Haxan merchant trains and
cattle drives, and shes killed a handful of Ahltaran knights too.
Errants brow furrowed even as his eyes narrowed. Then shes
going to die, and die right. I enjoy killing things bigger then I am.
And shes quite good at killing things smaller then she is,
Irinlight stated in no uncertain terms. Master Kifaru is an old
associate of Heshel, and might even be the one responsible for his
resurrection. He is a very cold, very analytical Verrik with a proven
interest in the history of the Serpen and the Wyrm-Kingsespecially the
unhealthiest kinds of lore. He has absolutely no reverence for Life or
the Land, and values knowledge more then his own souland hes
brilliant, deadly, emotionless, and prepared. Be ready for multiple
contingencies from him, and realize you probably wont be able to stop
him from getting away. Hes good and he has no pride.
The faces of everyone around twisted. Dont be in a bards tale
and have your foes coming back to fight you again, were words of wisdom
true warriors lived by.
An Obsidian Red Horn Array would make the Horn Master Ebonscour
of the Order of Flame. Hes one of the most adept Serpen Horns in all
the South, and might be the one who enticed Heshel into Mojhdom over a
century ago. Hes been seen over much of the Throne using magic to pass
himself off as Mojh, and hes a very good recruiter for the Serpen
causes there. Hes survived battles with Dragon House Warriors before,
usually by taking advantage of his immunity to flame. Hes used to
fighting Mitharns and has killed a number when he could get away with
it. He also ran at least three cults recruiting new fools for induction
into the Serpen.
Congratulations, youve found some impressive foes. Im rather
surprised to find you alive at this time. Irinlight opened his

brilliantly dark eyes and lifted an artful eyebrow in wry appreciation.

What they found must be very, very important to them, if they
relied on their lessers to deal with us, Cheri said softly. A Master
of Memories might be able to ascertain we were not truly the threat we
seemed to be by access to the Overmind, yes
Undoubtedlyand yet, far more dangerous then you appeared,
because Sources are very hard to locate in the Overmind without direct
proximity. Irinlight nodded at her, the Beasts listening attentively,
and Errant. Master Kifaru is arrogant and very sure of his own
judgmentshe has likely heard of how unpredictable a Source is, but
might have no experience with a True Source, only /primos/ in general.
They dont get out into the Throne much, and when they do, they cause a
lot of trouble and often wind up dead in dramatic, heroic order. White
teeth flashed a knowing smile at Errant, who simply shrugged. He likely
deduced everyones true nature except for Errant, which threw off his
analysis, ascribing his deeds to Cheri or Butter. Thus, you have a
measure of surprise.
What exactly are you intending to do at this point
The team looked at one another, and Warren spoke up first,
warily. Sir, we arent a glorysword teamwith you here, we figured that
wed be serving as adjutants for an assault on the leaders in
preparation for a full occupation of the dungeons. Are you telling us
thats not going to happen
No. I am going to tell you that its going to happen very
slowly. The Passguard looked them all over calmly. Now, Ive seen a
lot of things in my day, but Eternal-level magic in the Broken Lands
that comes from an independent branch of the Scalefolk Thats a first
for me. He inclined his head towards the huge illusion with real plant
life growing atop it. That place has existed for centuries, and the
Loremasters cant find any word of it whatsoeverand the only ones who
might know, the Void Brothers, arent exactly the type of people you
want showing up to inform you of somethingwe are dearly hoping they Do
Not show up to tell us something.
There were quickly exchanged looks all around. Void Brothers
showing up meant things were going to get interesting. Interesting as
in Wyrm King assaults on the Wall, the fall of cities, the deaths of
crowns and kingdoms, planar eruptions and summonings of fiendish
armieslittle things. It was generally agreed upon by sages that the
less people heard of and knew what Void Brothers did, the better off
everyone was. Just about everything people did know about Void Brothers

was associated with disasters arising, and prices paid in everything

from blood to souls to legacies...to millenia-old nations.
My superiors think they can nail down at least some of the
Scalefolks personal runes from the Covenant rune you foundthats a
start. They believe that the chambers below us were the initial grounds
this group gathered at and shielded, and the proper fortress was erected
later, with the illusion overhead, as a proper acknowledgement of
Eternal status and their own power.
Your reports on warring Twain and White energies have some of
the eggheads truly worried. Active conflict within the manasphere is
usually very perceptible, yet this has eluded Geomancers, Wyrms,
Aurorans and even the gods for centuries. The Grand do not want this
places existence broadcast to anyone if they can help it, and so far
the knowledge of its existence seems to be tightly controlledperhaps
the Brotherhoods work.
Regardless, any measure of divinatory magic attempting to track
me down at this point will find that Im somewhere in Auroran lands
brushing up on my spellslinging for a season or two. Im not hiding per
se, but Im definitely not at the Walland theres things and people who
make a point of noticing such things, and a lot of them arent mortal.
His Madwand began to circle slowly in his long fingers again.
When I go under that shield of illusion, my orders are to make sure
nothing gets in or out except those relieving or assisting me. The Grand
are moving very slowly and carefullyI dont expect another arrival for
at least a week as the misdirections are being laid, and a full blown
occupational team could take up to six months to gather. The Grand
arent this careful without a really, really good reason, and Im taking
my orders very seriously.
Errants team looked at one another carefully. And so where
does that leave us the Haxan asked calmly.
Bringing another Source out hereor rather, humbly asking a
Source to come out and split some skullswill do exactly the opposite of
what we hope to accomplishdrawing all sorts of attention here. If we
start directing glorysword teams this way, the same thing is going to
happenthe powers in these lands are many things, but stupid is not one
of them.
For better or for worse, you are stuck with you. And I really
strongly advise you to kill those last four in there before they go
looking for allies and upsetting the shroud we are attempting to pull

over this place. If they come outside, Ill deal with them as I might,
but my job is to seal the place now, not go looking for a fight.
Errant was looking at the Halvyr thoughtfully, chin in his
hands, pondering something, and then slowly moving his eyes to Trencher.
Trencher, Warren, you are saying that the castle area is a
strongpoint of the Twain, right
The Rockborn nodded slowly. It gets stronger the closer you get
to the castle, and quickly. It definitely is the dominant force in the
dungeon there.
So, if it gets stronger, you could probably analyze the
increasing strengths, and if its circular, pinpoint it
The spellcasters all looked at one another. Easy enough to do,
Irinlight agreed for all of them.
Sir, have you ever seen a perfect chimera, or a perfect hydra
Irinlight blinked. Axiomatic creatures are
Not stratic. Just perfect representatives of a natural species.
Like, oh, a Chimera that actually symbolized what a Chimera-Rune might
stand for, without all the weaknesses or potential of being born,
living, and dying does to people.
Now everyone was curious. Im not sure what you are driving at,
Haxan. A creature that represents a Rune That would be a fundamental
manifestation of the laws that exist at the heart of the Twain he
trailed off slowly.
Which could likely only manifest at or very close to a center
of Twain power. Errant met the Halvyrs eyes squarely. I made sure to
fight nothing down there, the place was virtually steaming sometimes
with energies Ive not much use for. But I distinctly saw a chimera
arise out of nothing but a flash and congealing of white light so sharp
it hurt to look at itand it was not a natural chimera. It was more like
everything a natural chimera should have been, without the otherworldly
perfection and stratification of an Axiomatic. I also passed by the
carcass of a hydra that struck me as being similarly strong, and also, I
saw Serpen down there who were not affiliated with Heshel.
This was news to everyone. He hadnt made mention of it, as the
focus of his scouting had been on locating and observing the masters of

the dungeons below them, and getting the layout of the place.
These Serpen were not natural either. They had a weird light in
their eyes, just like the chimera, and they looked much too goodno
weakness at all in them. I dont think they were runic representations,
per se, as there were minor variations in their appearances
A Truename is a Runic rendition of ones own soul, Trencher
observed calmly. If this is a center of Twain power that strong, they
might very well be incarnations of their own souls, called back into
service, with none of the weaknesses involved in lifes struggles,
frozen forever at what they attained in life. And if they are slain,
they would simply revert back to runic form until enough power
accumulated to incarnate them again.
That is a very disturbing kind of immortality, Rorg reasoned
in his deep, gravelly voice. Reborn a clean slate as of the moment they
died, if even their memories before then are preserved You could
slaughter them a thousand times, and each time they fought you, it would
be like the first time.
Exactly what I was thinking. A marvelous way to train people.
Warren blinked, Irinlight blinked, Trencher blinked, even Cheri
blinked. Rorg just pursed his lips thoughtfully.
Thats rather sinfully wickedly clever of you, Haxan,
Irinlight murmured, turning the idea over in his head. An unending
supply of playmates who cant go anywhere, are always reborn, and who
can be killed without hesitation because they arent truly aliveyou
could fight an incarnate Rune or Truename creature a hundred times until
you can read their every move like a book.
Rather what I was thinkingeven given the difficulties of the
Twain and true nature of the center of the field we dont know of.
Errants hazel eyes were still calm. And, of course, theres still the
fact its a locus of the Twain and probably better off just being
destroyed, and we dont know what feeding True Death to one of these
creatures might do He shrugged, and then got a serious look on his
face. You have also heard Trencher talking about a nearly Eternal-Class
Guardian Daemon down there, and some other sort of extremely powerful
and corrupt magic. That has to be addressed, as well, especially if it
was placed there by Heshel and not native to the dungeon.
Mmmm. Well, theres nothing that says I cant give you at least
a little bit of help, and I imagine after the amount of slaughtering

youve been doing youve got some serious Karmic Retention to work
offand the funds to do it. But, Ive got to be about making sure
nothing gets in or out firstmy advice is to do what you can first, and
then Ill do what I can when I have time. He met their eyes steadily.
They wont be leaving soon, I can assure you of that. You just need to
make sure that you do.
Good enough. Errants eyes were flat and hard again, focused
on killing. Something to deal with the Daemon. I imagine that thing
dying will get Heshels attention nicely. And well need something to
put whatever its guarding intoor something to destroy it.
Irinlight smiled slightly. Other then a Clansword in the hands
of a Source he laughed lightly. Let me think about it, and make your
plans. Ill help where I can, but I have a very long day or nine ahead
of me.
Theyll be much shorter with Trencher and I assisting you, even
with the lesser spells we have, Warren noted firmly. Help us deal with
the masters, we help you with your duties, and we both get our jobs done
faster.
Sounds like a very good plan to me, Irinlight grinned,
gesturing them back. Lets see the layout of the place, and Ill see
what I need to do, and what I can do to help.
===================================
Light. Lots and lots of light. Hot and severe and bright as the
sun, searing Tainted stone and Daemonic guardian with the power of the
Realms Above.
The cavern was shaking with the impact of massive bodies and
blows. Four meters tall, Rorg was going toe to toe with the massive
two-headed guardian daemon, Shrek an incandescent arc of blood-red light
slicing through scales harder then steel like water that vomited acidic
blood in wild sprays of dark ichor.
The rock was boiling with the assault of energies drawn from the
celestials, vivic fire was blazing from a dozen small cuts that Errant
had inflicted with breath taking accuracy and speed, splashing about
their feet as it fed on the essence of daemon-kind. Poisonous jaws
clamped about an armored forearm, the other head screamed as /Duty/ came
down from above in a wild display of lightfoot along the ceiling and
pinned Errants shield inside the other set of jaws, his other hand
burying his longknife in a balefire orb before kicking away in a smooth,

rippling arc that avoided a bone-bladed tentacle arm as thick as his

waist with liquid ease.
Warren was shouting words no one could remember, making the
daemon flinch with every syllable, his staff a thing of pure silver
slamming into the clawed legs with bone-breaking force, every hit making
the air strobe with light and a chorus of thunder and fury. Lion and
Hound, jaws fit with shining fangs, tore at the feet of the creature as
arrows with heads of golden fury as bright as the sun drove into the
long necks of the creature.
Black magic flared in the air like thunder, Warren went reeling
back as soundless thunder countered it with all his strength, and the
air seemed to ignite with shadows and emptiness. /Shrek/ came down on
the lashing free tentacle-arm with the power of a Jotun, and sent it
sailing away as his set feet refused to be hurled away or aside by the
mass of the creature.
The things lashing tail broke free of a dozen bands of stone,
ichor steaming from a score of needle-sharp puncture wounds to it,
hurled Hound and Lion aside with a smashing impact. The Beasts rode the
hit, using the creatures own strength to finally drag one foot out of
alignment, and send it crashing down to the side.
A half-dozen crystalline bottles of blessed sands smashed into
the huge chest, glittering purity sprayed over the fiends body and
ignited with holy wrath. An ear-splitting shriek of agony released
Rorgs arm, and /Shrek/ came down in a double-handed blow deep into the
center of mass of the creature, plunging for and finding the black heart.
Acidic blood fountained skywards, sending everyone reeling back,
a Word from Warren igniting the very air and consuming the display
before it could scar them all. /Duty/s vivic fires exploded along the
shield-spiked skull, poured into the bloodstream, and began to do their
work as a convulsive spasm flung Rorg away, the stone beneath his
armored feet shattering as his grip on it was broken.
Two more sun-bright arrows drove in deeper then any arrows
should have into the surviving skull, streaks of anathemic brilliance,
hastening its demise. A white light sparked deep in the center of its
breast, and then tore outwards in the flash of an immortal dying, a
psychic scream of horror and disbelief that leveled all the mortals
there as the Land reached up, and was Fed well.
----------------

It took long breaths for any movement to resume from the

soul-slicing power of that death-scream, thoughts gelling to coherency
as vivic fire raged and danced and assured them all that this thing was
well and truly dead and gone forever.
Trencher sat up, blinking his eyes, looking about at the cave,
awash in a gleaming whiteness of transformed stone so bright it made his
eyes hurt. Yet even now, veins of blackness were advancing into the
purity like a malignant disease, defying the residue of the vivic fires
dancing over them, streaming down like things alive from the cask that
sat in an alcove in the corner of the cave. Taint, as nasty and strong
as ever Trencher had seen it.
He was not the first on his feet, somewhat to his surprise.
Errant was already up and reclaiming /Duty/ and his knife from where
they lay spotlessly clean, standing straight up, blades down, in what
looked to be a residue of purest sands blasted from corpse of
daemon-thing and the tainted floor.
His eyes were only on that chest.
Get everyone out of here, he said in a no-nonsense voice,
crackling with more inner power then Trencher had ever heard him use.
/Duty/ lifted, and the Runes on it were blazing with more power then
Trencher had ever seen on it, True Death in full glory, singing with the
power and purity of the Land. Vivic fire began to build as Errant began
to slowly move the blade, white fires thick as liquid began to ripple
and flow around him as he gathered chi.
Trencher didnt need to be told twice. Errant didnt care what
was in that cofferit was going to be destroyed or neutralized.
With a tap of /Forge/, the earth moved like water, groaning
bodies were picked up and carted backwards by a rolling wave of flowing
rock, hurrying them out of the cavern area, from blinding white purity
to streaked outer edges where the purified rock of the Rockwave blasted
to vivic life to clear an untainted path, away from what was about to
follow.
/If that Mojh didnt know we were here before, he certainly does
now,/ Trencher thought, making for the door to these fell chambers with
all speed, a swathe of white fire leading the way, and a trail of
whiteness flowing behind as behind him he felt the Sources presence
growing deeper and stronger then ever before.
/Someones been feeding that lad/, he thought with satisfaction,

and then he heard a distinct not-sound, and as they hurtled into the
destroyed chapel, the world went white.
==========================
/Whatever it had been, it is now dust and fresh food for the
Land/, thought Irinlight with satisfaction, hoisting the unconscious
Haxan over his soldier. His Madwand was burning hot white with the vivic
energies around, and easy enough it was to burn a Rune of True Death
into the place where /Duty/ was lodged deep amidst the dust of destroyed
metal and whatever they had concealed. The Rune blazed up fierce and
proud, taking over the focus of this place from the Clansword readily,
and Irinlight tugged it free, impressed by how easily the blade slid
free of the stone. Despite all his years, this was the first time hed
held a Clansword, and Dwarven Highcraft was always a pleasure to
beholdespecially a blade thrumming with the purity of the Land like
this one was.
A gutsy ploy, rather forcing him to get down here and make sure
they were all still alive. Hed felt the death of the guardian with
satisfaction, a surge through the White easily measurable to someone
with senses as finely attuned to the manasphere as his. Of course, when
the artifact or whatever it was had been destroyed, that light had come
blazing right up out of the soil, hurled back the Twain to the very
limits of the illusion, and rather blatantly spotlighted the Twain
Source beneath the Serpen Citadel as it drove the influence of it back
within.
Even if the Grand had to come and collapse the magic here into a
holocaust of magefire, the destruction of whatever that thing of Taint
had been would make it well worth it. He wondered, however, if the Mojh
had even sensed itas the Twain had been pushed back into the Citadel
depths, it had naturally strengthened, crystallized, stabilized, and
even at the height of the surge he hadnt been able to feel a single
ripple in it. Someone inside might feel a pulse or flaring, just for a
momentnothing to make them alarmed, probably excusable as a Rune
Incarnate forming.
Sources. He hadnt expected such blatancyat least they could
have identified what they were trashing and then disposed of it
properlybut leave it to a Source to do it their way.
=
*Comments*

Halvyr naming conventions: The family names of Halvyr follow an easy

pattern of splitting the family name between males (Halvyr) and females
(Halvyri). Fyre Irinlight, above, is of the Family of Starfyre. All of
the women of his Family will be known as Star 'Proper Name', and all
males will be known as Fyre 'Proper Name.'
This convention is well known, especially because of the Morningsun
Family of the Auroran Weirhold...The Mornings are among the mightiest
Pyromancers alive, and the Suns the strongest battle magi.
Fyre Irinlight is at least 19th level, and would probably be considered
a Ranger/Mage/Eldritch Knight, with Zero levels in Fighter, Bard and
Rogue to accentuate everything. He's a Battlemad, which means a
Fighter-Mage, his Madwand is actually a powerful tool for focusing
spells that also can shoot out a forceblade reminiscent of the 2E wand
of force...and although it didn't exist at the time I made up this
story, allows him to Arcane Strike through it to devastating effect.
He's got more Zero feats then the entire party put together, and he's on
the edge of being Senior Passguard (meaning, Epic). He just hasn't
thrown himself up against an Epic foe yet, and is in no hurry to. He's
only a century old, after all.

/*Wyrmbreak 8*/
Yere a bad liar, Dhatun. That stone might be white, but aint
no damn light up there I can see.
And your mother smells worse then you, Daenlander. Shut up and
get up here so I can hear your whining better.
The Mick had learned to respect the Dhatuns opinion on anything
dealing with delving, and receving confirmation that this was not a way
back to the surface was souring him, yet the Dhatun had never been much
impressed by him and was a superb scout for all his attitudenot that he
got much vocal respect from the Mick, either.
Swearing, grunting, cursing all the gods and whatever offspring
they had that had gotten them all into this predicament, the Mick clawed
his way up the collapsed tunnel the Geomancer had driven upwards towards
an open area. Behind him, the rest of the Marauders groaned and
assembled up, while above a sharp light sparked as a stone needle was
driven into rock, and Grodin Blackhamar deftly wove a rope thru it and
sent it downwards for them to use, tying it off quickly and firmly.

The Mick hauled himself up into a tunnel, blasted as clean as

driven snow by somethingsomething hed seen before. The stone felt
slick, smooth under his hands, carved by something other then magic, and
the geometric precision of it in the firm glow of the stone on the
Dhatuns helm was frankly rather unnerving, especially seeing it extend
out in either direction straight and true.
Something got Land-Fed here, he stated, catching the Dhatuns
glance as he recognized the effect. He stood up and moved away from the
hole, judging the extent of the white stain on the otherwise dark rock.
Either something bigger then I wants to be thinking of, or a bunch of
somethings Id rather not be running into. Rather like all the stuff we
been stumbling over trying to get the Hells out of the Deeps Below
This was a single big thing, only one epicenternot sure what,
but it definitely made an impression. The Dhatun and Daen moved out of
the way as the rest of the Marauders began to pull themselves quickly
up, armor and weaponry clanking on the stone as they put some energy
into it. And fairly recent, too. Someones been here. The stolid
Dhatun, just shorter then the Mick and likely fifty kilos heavier, held
his two-handed hammer like a toy in a massive, solid grip, considering
the tunnel forth and back, his dark eyes steady over his equally black
beard.
Best news I be hearing in three weeks, ye junior excuse for a
Rockmage. He saw Red was the first one up, obviously listening in. See
what direction they went in, Red. Hopefully they be gloryswords and not
too greedy to see the likes of us praising the Land for getting out of
the Deeps alive.
Aye, sir. The Ahltaran archer, pale and sunken-eyed after
weeks out of the sun, bent resolutely to the task as the rest of the
dozen members struggled upwards from the hole, scattering dust and more
about the hole, crowding out the passageway to make room.
They were a tired, drained, weary, sun-starved and bedraggled
lot overall, as might be expected of a group of mostly humans whod been
wandering the Deeps Below for the better part of two months. Bets were
being taken on how long theyd been considered enslaved by the Passguard
by some of the Unspeakable Things and the like theyd stumbled across,
Things theyd fed steel with a promptness and thoroughness that had kept
all but four of them alive and in fairly good health, along with the
priestess of Sylune, Niva, and her counterpart, the Hiken warrior priest
of Valus, Urgo, and their healing magicks. Grodin had helped, but his
Geomancy skills were focused in a different area, as were those of
Shindin, the supersly Hynnyl scout and trickster-mage who even now came

soundlessly out of the new tunnel with a chipper smile on her face,
followed by Rashalveno longer quite so glamorous as before, but cleaner
and more hale then the rest of them for the soulfire that kept her
looking much nicer then the lot of them.
Expanding their ranks to include spellcasters and healers had
been the smartest thing hed ever done on the Wall, the Mick thought,
along with making sure everyone got Darkvision goggles or something
similar, and keeping the healers alive at all costs. Aye, hed lost four
good Men, but none of his original crew, and of course the Children had
managed to weather it all. Good deaths for the most part, fighting and
killing, although having your brains pulled out wasnt the best way to go
That way, Red indicated, his voice spookily loud. The
Marauders had learned by very, very harsh example not to move at all
when it was not important, and the tight confines of the corridor made
for good acoustics. Red was pointing down the corridoraway from the end
with the very faint, ghostly light. They went down the other way, but
came back, and did not return. I cant be sure who or how many,
eithernot much to work with here.
They be using vivic fire is good enough for me. After them.
The Micks voice had lost much of his Daenlanders loud arrogancetoo
often had noise brought in things looking for a meal, and so his voice
was little more then a whisper after all the time Below. In quiet
formation, for all the clanking of metal and armor, they watched Shindin
flit down the passageway ahead of them, and a few breaths later were
following her in tight readiness, wincing at every echo of metal on
metal or steel on stone.
Oddly enough, a light flared ahead, in the particular hue
Shindin used for signaling, heralding the all clear up to where she was.
That was a cheerful thought, but their pace and the noise they made
didnt pick upthey knew better, now.
She was crouching in the passageway, very near the end, and they
could all see the white-stained rock all about ahead of her, coloring
everything beyond the entryway with starkly unnatural purity. Everyone
slowed to a shuffle at the sightthat much vivic fire would have had to
come from something truly impressive.
Shindin pointed to the ground, then the wall and the floor.
Runework. Grodin
The Dhatun frowned and moved forwards, hammer at the ready. He
looked down at the almost invisible lines of force the Hynnyl had

perceived, tapped his hammers haft to the purified stone, and in the
pulse of magic the warding runes flared brightly to revealed
lifestrong, sharp, and sure, and hard to look upon.
Grodin cheered up immensely on seeing them. Rockmage work. I
recognize the style. Warding runes, meant to keep things at bay, or at
the least slow them down. He should be aware if they are breachedif we
are lucky, hes close by. I will alert him to our presence.
The Dhatun concentrated for a moment, the butt of his hammer
brightening with a crystalline light as he summoned magical energy, and
then carefully reached out and tapped an arm of the rune on the floor
before them, discharging the energy in a flash of power the rune drank
up without fading.
There, hell feel that if hes anywhere within a league. We
should have a response shortlyeither hell come to investigate, or
With a sparking wink of light, all three runes abruptly vanished.
-hell clear the path for us. Grodin smiled and shouldered his
hammer, his sudden smile and relaxing posture startling after weeks of
grim readiness. Lads and ladies, we are almost to safety. One way or
another, theres Rockborn aheadstay alert and careful, but Im hoping
we have naught to fear.
Ill believe it when Ive a lass in each arm at the Wall,
Hodre muttered softly, but everyone heard him quite clearly. Still, the
Dhatun led the way, something he was normally not permitted to do, and
without a glance at the Mick. That gesture of confidence was even more
relaxing then his words.
Necks craning this way and that, they moved through halls of
carved stone splashed with huge swathes of crystalline whiteness,
passing what looked, amazingly, to be personal chambers for inhabitants,
and then out into what had obviously been some sort of evil fanenow
seared to eye-watering whiteness, the carvings and dcor losing a great
deal of their symbology with large chunks shattered to dust. A bright,
unnaturally pure white light flickered from a passageway extending from
behind a fallen, shattered statue of some size, the original form
unrecognizable for the stone sloughing off it in sparkling heaps.
Something really, really nasty got Fed nearby, Grodin
murmured, gawking at all the white. Big nasty. Nastier then anything we
saw. Mick grunted despite himself. Well, except for whatever that
thing was in the underground sea. That was pretty big

Right. Sunlight, ye wee hammerfoot. The Mick headed for the

broken and splintered doors out, sundered by some monumental impact,
pausing at the opening to survey the halls behind, with everburning
torches spaced every so often. Right, they even have some normal light.
Considerate bastards, the former owners were.
Scalefolk stonework, Grodin commented aloud, and then tensed
as he saw motion ahead.
The quiet /shing/ of steel clearing scabbards was eerie in its
simultaneity. The group was poised and ready and moving into support
positions with the clockwork grace of deadly lessons learned.
Down the hallway ahead of them came loping a form with a
familiar gait. The Mick blinked, and still wasnt quite sure to believe
his eyes when it came up on them, nails clicking quietly on the stone,
and barked once in greeting, tongue lolling off grinning white teeth.
A Hound. A russet-furred, scarred-up, barded and collared
Haxan-bred Hound.
The Mick tried to fight back tears, and happily nobody saw as
there were shouts all around and proud Men cried out and came converging
in to see and pet and hug Mans Best Friend as only the best deliverer
of good news could deserve. Shouts and laughter and sobs of relief
joined the chorus as the Hound played his part to the full, barking and
licking faces and taking no offense at everyone who wanted to ruffle his
ears, wagging his tail happily.
The Marauders, at last, were out of the Deeps and going home.
------------------------------------I wouldnae believe it, but at this point I cannae say I give a
damn. The Micks voice was thick, as befitted a Man and Daen whod just
seen fit to down an entire skin of Rockborn spirits in one go. Be that
as it may, he didnt fall down, only stood in the stream which covered
the exit to the Land Below and shuddered quietly, looking up at the
glory of Aru hed thought more then once he would not be seeing again.
You get under cover or youll burn your skin off, Errant said
calmly, seated on a rock and watching the Marauders strip down
unabashedly and take their first real bath in weeks, unmindful of their
nudity. Warren was nearby, rapidly spinning a one-way illusion to
conceal the celebration from any aerial observation.

Then Ill let it burn, this time. The Daen began to remove his
soiled garments and the armor showing thru beneath tartan and kilt. The
smell that wafted out had Errant in agreement, as the cloth dropped and
was forgottenlikely to be burned at the first possible moment.
Seven weeks is a long time out of the sun, Errant agreed, as
the Mick slowly stripped, dropping everything into the waters, and then
sank down to his knees in relief. That must have been some trek.
Trencher got the location of the crevasse which started it all from
Grodinyouve moved nearly thirty leagues from there to here, which
likely is three to four times the distance through the Deeps. Thats
extremely impressiveyour stock on the Wall just went way up, Daenlander.
Aye, that be nice to hear. We all be rich sots too, what with
the loot and swag and spoils we stuck into that enchanted bag that the
priestess be toting aroundand a bit more weve got, too. His voice was
slurred, but his eyes were sharp as he suddenly focused in challenge on
the Haxan bastard watching him emotionlessly.
You accomplished more then mass butchery Errant didnt bother
to hide his surprise.
Aye. Theres a race of bat-folk down therebig sorts, the size
of ogres and more, once slaves to the Wyrm. They were a bit surprised to
see usthey been alone and cut off since the Crashing of the Crowns, for
the most part, and the shifting earth only recently opened up tunnels.
As long as we didnt go shilly-nilly on them, they were reasonable for
Beast-folkand had little love for the Wyrm who once enslaved them. We
offered to negotiate a trade agreement with them, with the Wallthey
seemed particularly keen on the idea.
Errant didnt bother to hide a grim smile. Trade agreement.
Standard glorysword percentage, no doubt. Well done. A forward base in
the Deeps with a possibly friendly race would be a huge coup for the
Passguardyouve just guaranteed your names in the Annals.
Had them anyways. We had a junior Loreguard with us the whole
time. The Daen closed his eyes and sank farther into the waters. Made
sure he had paper and ink. Ye can read all about our marvelous
adventures down Below.
I think I will. Errant didnt move, watching the Daen calmly.
The Micks eyes popped open as a stray thought wormed its way
through the marvelous haze of good alcohol building up in his blood.

Aye, and what were ye doing this time, down below in a dungeon out of
the tales
Destroying greater daemons, demons, undead, clearing out a nest
of Serpen and Lupin fanatics, putting the plans of a Mojh archmage to
waste, and feeding an Artifact to the Land while preparing to assault
the stronghold of some vanished Scalefolk Eternals, is all.
Keeping busy, as ye are wont to do, the Mick said drily,
letting his eyes close again, smiling at the deadpan deliveryand the
cold, hard light behind Errants eyes, harsher then theyd been, and
more dangerous.
Thats about the size of it. Errant tilted his head slightly.
Want to help
----------------------------------------Shut up and listen, then argue.
The Haxans voice had an edge to it that got their attention.
Having a Passguard sitting behind him watching him didnt hurt, either,
and the original crew knew better then to mess with him. They elbowed
the others to silence.
Below is glorysword training heavenan unlimited amount of
critters to practice putting to the sword. Unfortunately, theres a
certain amount of non-native individuals we have to be about killing,
and those critters are going to get into the way.
We are going to need to keep the numbers of roving beasties
down, and the best way to do that is to have a slightly unreasonable
number of bastards with blades around dealing with them so we dont have to.
Once we do deal with those peoples, theres plenty of complex
to explore, and we are going to have to take it slow and dangerous.
Theres going to be some muscleheavy musclemoving in here to start
securing the area, doing research, and maybe blowing it all up in the end.
So, if we want swag, loot, glory, and the karmic gains involved
in getting around the works of Eternals at work, we have to do it now.
You can enjoy lighter work, in numbers, knowing the exit isnt far, if
you care to do so.
Or you can head back for the Wall. I understand completely
youve been thru Hell and back and would really like to unwind and tally

up some goldon the other hand, after all youve been through, Id think
you would like to be able to just unleash every little bit of stress,
strain, tension and resentment youve been unable to do so for the past
few weeks on some hapless monstrositiesand Ive got just the volunteers
waiting for you.
Hash it out. But, after all this time, I dont think a few more
days is going to hurt youand it should actually be fun. His smile was
hard and cold. Its my people who have the hard part.
----------------------------------Errant was determined the Verrik was going to die first.
Just the thought that the wine-skinned Akashic master was the
most likely to get away rankled him to no end. His resourcefulness was
unquestionable, and what stories Irinlight knew of him conveyed it well.
He had tempted much and never been caught, even by other skilled
adventurers, and taken his toll on those who had thought to lay him low.
Irinlight had woven wards about the placeteleportation was not
going to let anything get away now, and even summoning creatures was
going to be nigh impossible. It would probably be possible to draw
Truenamed beasts out of the focus of the Twain, wherever it wasbut such
things could not possibly be controlled here, in a place of power for
the Twain, which could have some interesting side effects.
That meant either superb skill or subtle magicksshapechanging
and illusion the most likely. An Akashic would rely on memory and
knowing the ground, evading the random creatures that spawned here and
there, or slaying them as the four repeatedly proved capable of without
great effort.
Whatever arrogance motivated them, for some reason they still
had not made contact with their compatriots at the other end of the
tunnel, because there were no guards nor wardings securing it against
trespassers when Errant first returned to it mere hours later. In his
wake, nearly a score of gloryswords began to move carefully into
positions here and there.
He was content to examine layout, memorize it, and note
potential avenues of escape, especially for those with an inclination
for mental powers and persuasions. In particular, the ventilation shafts
that ringed many of the rooms with air holes and a steady flow of
oxygen. Likely as barred as all other entrances to actually leading
outsidebut certainly a way to get around any guards not specifically

looking for such things.

An escape route for the subtle of mind. If truly subtle, likely
the key ones would be artfully concealed on top of being hardly
noticeable in the first placeit would take only the smallest of
openings to allow someone in gaseous form to pass.
Now, to get the attention of an arrogant, paranoid, compulsively
perfectionist yet cowardly master of mental skills.
--------------------------------The alteration to the frieze was extremely subtleMaster Kifaru
almost didnt see it. Still, something pulled at his memory, and he had
long ago learned to obey his instincts about subtle things being out of
place. Stones, patterns of dust, stray hairs, they all told a story he
could easily unravel, and when something changed, he was the first to
knowand the first to want to know why.
It took him a moment to identify the cause of his discomfort,
and he bent down slowly to gaze at the carving near the bottom of the wall.
A Man, being sacrificed on an altar in the middle of a very
powerful ritualistic spell. Instead of the expression of horror and pain
that had been present before, it looked like someone had taken a very
smooth application of acid and changed his expression to one of fierce
defiance, and loathing for the creatures that did this to them.
The Verrik leaned closely and sniffed cautiously.
No scent. Was he misremembering
He rocked back on his heels. This made no sense. Was someone
playing a joke upon him To penetrate this far into the complex just to
change a carving Who would do such a non-sensical thing, especially in
light of all the defenses up to this point
Had the team of gloryswords returned Impossible. There had been
definite precautions to prevent return by teleporting, and no form of
divination or Akashic locating techniques could pierce the Wards of the
barriers above.
That said, if anyone over religious stupidities in the Fanes
levels were dead or very stupid.
The latter seemed impossible. Surely a word of warning would

have reached them, by one means or another. The demonic servants alone
would have hastened to warn them, perhaps so they could fleethey could
not have been slain so quickly and surely, could they
The Verrik questioned all this, finding no measure in his assessment of
the gloryswords to believe they had such a superbly skilled member among
their number.
That led to the belief that the defenses were down, and without
warningwhich would take either large numbers or great tactical
brilliance, and exactly who, how and what could achieve such a feat The
glorysword team had pulled out in frantic hastethe readings of the
stone had assured them that they had passed from their to another place
beyond range of detection spells, in the direction of the Wall, and it
had been easy to skew things so they could not return in the same way.
Were the Lupin acting up No, the priestess saw Heshel as some
sort of leader or visionary, by the grace of her demonic patronunless
they had abruptly discovered whatever it was they also sought down here,
the backing of the Lupin was assured.
Someone, or something had done this. Hadnt they He could not
believe his memory was in error in this matterhe distinctly remembered
studying the carving the first time and commenting on the need for
sacrifices to accommodate the ritual being enacted, perhaps as many as a
score of beings involved.
But if this frieze had changed, would others
Cautiously, the Verrik got to his feet, feeling for the presence
of intruders and finding nothing. Master skulker that he was, he slid
instinctively into the shadows, activating the magic he needed to make
himself less then a ghost to watching eyes, and went searching for other
changes.
Yes, yes, yes! Here, a Serpen was now being impaled on a spear,
instead of simply butchering a helpless Dwarf. There, a towering Dragon
inflamed a dozen Scalefolk and more even as it died in massed magical
fury. And in this place here
/Duty/ came shearing out of the stone and into his chest with
unearthly precision, and almost killed the Verrik instantly. But some
sixth sense, even as he was stepping forwards in eager remembrance,
caused him to pull away slightly, at a different angle, and so the blade
which should have punctured his heart drove deep into his lung in a
flash of reddened metal, and the Verrik tore desperately away.

Red hued, a blooding Rune or bloodsteelmagic would not close

the wound, he realized with instant clarity and dispassion. He was
already clawing for his popper-pills, even as he executed a double
somersault away with marvelous precision, shutting off the screams of
pain in his chest almost absently.
The human came around the corner with fluid grace, more skating
then walkinga Wave Master, he knew that singular pace as an indication
of the House of Flowing Waters, and a sword of High Dwarven Craft,
terribly beautiful in its ultimate precision and his own blood gracing
the runes on it blazing with a light you couldnt really look at and
comprehend
He popped the pill under his nose as lept up the wall and pushed
up and out for altitude. With a hiss and crackle, he inhaled the
mystical vapors, and in midair dissolved into nothing but gas, beyond
the humans reach.
Or so he thought, as the human followed him up the wall with
truly marvelous speed and pushed off, his blade of angelic perfection
leading the way with a terrible resolution that could only mean very bad
news for the Verrik Akashic.
The adamantine edge, sparking cold mist and snapping
electricity, drove a full handspan into the stone after him as he poured
into the ventilation system, just barely out of reach of the thrustbut
barely was all he needed. Smoothly and confidently, the system mapped
out in his head well ahead of time, he went sweeping thru the dusty and
bewebbed pipes, aiming to get out of there.
The clank of something sealing up the tunnel behind him, the
abrupt stopping of the flow of air, told him immediately something was
wrong.
He zipped quickly down the pipe to the nearest exitexcept the
cross-pipe was blocked, sealed by smooth stone. So was the next.and the
next.
Kifaru fought down his fear as he hurtled for the last way out,
near the room where hed first spotted the alteration to the friezesand
slowed down as he saw the metal plate now firmly glued in place over the
exit point.
Well, well, well, he thought, almost smiling as he considered
his predicament. He had been herded most efficiently, forced to act on

his first impulse, and now when his shifting of form failed he was going
to die before he could possibly employ any of half a dozen other methods
he had available to either pierce the barriers ahead of him or adopt a
form that would not be killed by being in the pipe and thus grant him
more time.
He had been well and truly out-thought, and was going to be
killed messily by his own cleverness.
What an appropriate way to go, he mused, and settled back to
compose his final thoughts for recording in the Akasha before his
demise. He was amused to discover how much the thrilling coming of his
own demise focused his thoughts on what he wished to leave behind as his
legacy.
----------------------------------The plate popped off the wall, and a thick stream of dark
crimson blood began to stream out it and down the carved stone from the
pressure of the Verrik's solidify body. Errant just nodded to himself,
reaching up with /Duty/ to tap the remains of meat and bone jutting out
there, and make sure that True Death insured that this was a trap that
the Verrik wouldnt be coming back even with someone elses aid.
Now for the Jytani. Hed seen she liked to prowl outside the
records area here, massively outsized blade in hand, looking for
troubleand disposing of it with great skill and glee, and the
tremendous power of the Jytan. She was a known Man-slayer, and while she
probably had a great experience fighting Men straight up, he rather
doubted shed ever gone up against an Independent trained in Rockborn
Jotun-slaying techniques.
And besides, it wasnt like he was going to play fair now, was it
-------------------------------The Scaletrolls came staggering out of a side passage, massive
wounds dripping in their sides, clearly having run into something a
little bit tougher then theyd been prepared to handle. A-Verskil
actually recognized this lotshe remembered distinctly killing them at
least two other times, although Master Darkfire had actually finished
them off once she had hewed them down. With a triumphant laugh, she
lifted her blade and went for them, exulting in the coming fight and
slaughter.
She nearly cut the first one in two with her first swing, a

horrendous blow that surprised the Scaletroll greatly. With a roar of

delight she chopped off the arm of the second and smashed it into the
third, driving her boot into the fourth to stop its charge and bringing
her blade down to split its reptilian skull with great precision.
They tried to overbear her, but she was much too strong and
heavy for such crude tactics, and the whirling armor wall of her Harness
fairly ripped their talons away as they tried to grapple with her.
Exulting, she just flung them back and proceeded to hammer her blade
down on them with great blows of her sword, laughing as they screamed
and ripped and wrenched at her and died like the hapless reborn things
they were. So satisfying, the killing, able to slaughter over and over
with no chance of fallout or consequences, knowing your victims would
only be coming back for more, and it would be even easier the next time
The blast of fire and stone hit, and hit hard. It had been a
long time since shed been slammed that hard by the impact of magic. It
tore the two still-moving Scaletrolls apart and lifted all five of their
bodies clear of the floor as it came up from below in a slamming and
slashing eruption of magic.
For a moment she thought it was one of those Rune-born Serpen
sorcerers casting at herthey sometimes took command of other creatures
as they tried to organize instinctively and reclaim the area, not that
it worked very well.
And then the cold point of steel drove into her kidney with cold
precision.
Her feet hit the ground and planted like oaks as she spun and
cut in the same motion, ignoring a wound she knew to be incredibly deep.
Missed completely as her foe was split-legged on the ground and
thrusting upwards as her sword sailed harmless by overhead.
Human!
A Haxan!
She had never seen a sword as magnificent as the one which now
drove into her thigh, sliding between plates and punching through mesh,
seeking the artery, and she barely compensated in time, snarling as her
great hooked and barbed sword came back to cut him open.
He inverted so smoothly it was like she was his partner in a
play, feet spinning to catch her leg. Instead of trying to trip her,

instead he levered himself completely out of the way of her descending

sword and behind her as her blade came crashing down into the stone and
sent the shattered mosaic pieces flying further.
The ground lifted under her again, howling with the anger of the
Deepfires, and now she glimpsed the stout form hurling the magic at her
as she was pummeled and burned again.
And the Haxan didnt move at all, save to equally quickly regain
his feet and thrust for her throat under her exposed helm. Ignored and
ignoring the magic in mutual disdain.
She jerked back as the blade exploded up through the steel of
her helm, seeing the shearing edge pass before her eyes with shocking
speed before her arm could sweep out and hammer into his shield, forcing
him backand stifling a shout of pain as the point of his blade somehow
found the joint of her arm in that same motion.
A-Verskil realized she was probably going to die, and that all
she could do is attempt to take one of them out with her
The Woman stepped up behind the hated form of the Dwarf, recurve
bow drawn, centered, and gleaming pile shaft aimed squarely and
serenely. In slow motion, A-Verskil watched it release, perfectly
centered and balanced, and drive out and through the thick metal of her
breastplate with the tremendous force of the profound archery of Haxan.
A sharp coldness clutched her heart with icy talons, and she saw the
swordsman coming in behind that arrow far too quickly, palm behind his
sword pommel, thrusting precisely along the path that arrow had forged,
splitting it right in two as the blade entered the hole, shearing the
steel of her Harness apart, and entered her chest with the full force of
his weight, muscle and /ki/ behind it.
They watched her stagger back, blood falling from the closed
helm as she coughed mightily, and was unable to recover from the force
of the thrust. With a crash of nearly half a ton of Jytan and metal, she
hit the wall and slid down, her huge blade making a mighty clamor as it
rang on the stone of the room.
White fire hissed around /Duty/s length buried in her chest,
licked at the rent, and then raced over flesh and bone and blood from
within, devouring the remnants of the forces she had called on in life.
Her armor rattled and settled as the energies did battle, and she was
consumed and Fed to the Land forever.
Errant just glanced at Warren, stepping out of the doorway, and

his answering nod was all the confirmation the Haxan needed. Warren
loved his sound bubbles.
Two down. Two to go. Unfortunately, those two tended to hang
together with distressing regularity, and so would be faced as a team. A
Flaming Horned Master and a Mojh archmage gifted by fiends.
Errant crossed to reclaim /Duty/, eyes expectant and ready for
more battle.
---------------------------They arent coming.
Errant stepped around the edge of the room, /Duty/ in hand and
shield at the ready, long knife clasped behind it. His icy smile and the
runes gleaming on his blade drove the point deeply home. Mojh and Horn
hissed in unison and stepped away towards the doorjust as the stone
flowed down and sealed it abruptly and thoroughly.
Trencher stepped around the eastern way, with Cheri behind him
with nocked and ready arrow, /Forge/ already smoking red in his hands.
Rorg shifted into place to the west, /Shrek/ poised and waiting, with
Warren behind him and also ready. Butter and Russet streamed past Errant
to take up spots to either side of the Haxan.
Feed the Land! the Haxan snarled, and was coming for them,
/Duty/ trailing sparkling, liquid mist, and the room filled with fire
and thunder and stones shaking with power and fury.
----------------------Warren exhaled loudly and slumped to the ground, looking at his
blackened hands, keeping a wary eye at the hissing, spitting white fires
devouring the corpse of Hashel merrily.
Ouch. It was fast with those spells. He blew on his smoking
hands carefully, still ringing with the force he had to channel to
overcome the magic of the archmage.
Not fast enough. Good job on the counterspelling. Errant
didnt move as Cheri was sewing his cheek back on, green gunk already
smeared on everything over half his face. Butter growled proudly, having
literally ripped off the Mojhs head after chewing through his scaled
neck, and Russet had clamped down on one wrist and made it quite
difficult for the Mojh to use his staff.

That was one fast, tough bastard, Rorg said by way of

backhanded compliment to the hacked corpse of the Horned Master, strewn
in six pieces across the floor. He makes a good dead sonuvabitch. We
should kill him over a few times more, Im thinking. He scratched at
his face, where flash fried, blackened skin peeled off easily. Damn
Horns. It takes years to get a nice collection of scars, and now I gotta
start all over cause this @#%$ burned off half my face
It makes you look cute. /Forge/ beat slowly before the Urkhar,
who made a face almost as horrid as it had been when he divided the Horn
into pieces. Now shut up and hold stillyou can scream when yer done.
The athame eased forwards to touch his forehead, the iron heart pumping
to red heat and the sound of an open forge and hammer on steel echoing
in the air.
True to Trenchers command, he didnt scream until the healing
was done, but he did put a couple new indentations in the stone walls.
Errant just closed his eyes as Cheri worked patiently on the skin that
had been nearly ripped off most of his face by the tearing arms and
razor-scale skin of the Horned Master. The pure brutal physical power of
the Horn had exceeded even Rorgs brawn, but clearly the Master had
known he was going to die, facing two skilled students of Profound
schools at least as old as his own, and used to working together.
It had been instructive indeed to see a Horned Master laying out
everything in desperate fury, completely uninhibited and as fast and
strong as a mortal warrior could possibly hope to be. It had not saved
him, of coursethe Canyon and the River had taken him with all the
vicious power of four millennia of learning and training. Rorgs mailed
fist had inserted deep into the Horns mouth to stop the spouting of
goutflame, taloned hands flying free as /Duty/ took them from him one by
one, and /Shrek/ drove into the crossed defenses of steel hard scales
and simply would not be yielded to even the strongest attempts to pry it
from the Urkhars grasp. /Shrek/ had cut off an extended foot to
unbalance the bastard at the last, and then in the same moment /Duty/
had removed head and /Shrek/ cut him in twain at the waist.
Errant hadnt seen much of the Archmage, only that Trenchers
pre-summoned elementals had shut down desperate summonings, the Beasts
had gotten into its face faster and more harshly then the Archmage could
expect, at least one arrow had nailed clawed hands to stave, and Warren
and Trencher had been busy indeed countering and pulling apart the
energies the Mojh had been attempting to draw on. He supposed it was
quite the ignominious end, having your head chewed off by a Lion as it
literally tore you apart with all four sets of claws, but dead was dead.

He was glad Butter hadnt been too badly burned by the demonfire breath
of the thing, or those oversized claws that had replaced the Mojhs
arms, gifts from whatever demonic sponsor the thing had claimed.
It was about then that the Mick sauntered in, sniffing visibly
at the smell of scorched flesh in the air.
Aye, whats this Resting on the job whilst me lads are busy
dealing with fell beasties popping out of nowhere to lay about them
The Daen made to look strict, but the looks sent his way prompted a big
smile despite himself. Well enow, ye get to claim yer gloryswording
right alongside us, and see who gets to reap more.
Warren and Trencher snorted in unison. Manling, therell be no
word of this place outside the highest levels of the Passguarddidnt
Irinlight talk to you of this, yet The Micks expression made that
pretty plain. Go talk to the Halvyr. Yere going to be much more famous
then us among the gloryswordsbe satisfied with that.
Aye, I think I will! Feeling quite smug, it wasnt until
sometime later that the Mick realized that Errant was going to be very
well known among the Senior Passguard for finding something so important
that they didnt want it revealed to the common gloryswords of the
Walland which was better for the warrior, being known by the great and
mighty of the Wall, or the other gloryswords like himself
New Post Re: The Wyrmbreak Wall.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------*Commentary*
This entire dungeon is, of course, based on Maure Castle from dungeon
Magazine, converted over to the proper setting. Our nasty Mojh is Eli,
and his Seeker companion is now a Verrik Akashic, and his other aides a
Serpen Horn (think of a Half-Dragon Oathbound or Monkish assassin) and a
Jytan Champion of Darkness. The templated creatures in that module make
perfect Runic Templates, effectively becoming incarnations of their own
Truenames.
One of the worst things about reposting all this is losing the thread
commentary in between, as people debated how to kill off our cunning
Verrik Akashic, or keep him alive despite the prescence of a True Death
blade.
==Aelryinth
New Post Re: The Wyrmbreak Wall.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------/Where we investigate more clearly what the Mick has been doing, and the
ramifications it holds for Dragons and Men.../
/*Wymbreak 9*/
The illithid never saw him coming.
Actually, Rashalve never saw him coming, either.
Trying to recover from the hideously powerful mental assault
scrambling her brains as the armored illithid advanced on her, she could
only stand shakily, soulfires guttering around her long knives as the
thing lifted a living sword hissing with mindwarping energies to strike
her down
She was not at all sure where he came from. It was like he rose
out of the shadows, all eyes of death and reaving Clansword.
The illithid warrior convulsed as /Duty/ came across its back,
spraying glowing yellow ichor in its wake as exo-shell armor shattered
under the misting, crackling edge of the Clansword.
The thing didnt die, somehow managing to turn, armor shell as
much exoskeleton as protection, crackling with energies that made the
very air curdle at its joints, and she saw the cleanly severed spine
jutting out its back hadnt even made it drop.
The longknife with the Blooding runes hissing the same putrid
yellow as illithid blood slamming up under the multiple tentacles at the
bottom of its face did, the force of Runic anathema strong enough to
burst the taut skins of the thids ears in a sick display of bursting
brains of very inhuman hue.
Without breaking motion, he whistled once, pointing at her,
spinning around to face another shocked illithid who had moved into
sight with an escort of mutate 'thid-scales.
The rippling smash of the psionic assault made the air hum and
ripple, crashing full into the Haxan with the focused force of the
'thids' mental powers.
Errant just snarled and lept to the attack, shocking 'thid and
escort even moreso.
A russet-furred form lept before her, head wrapped in a tight

helm of oiled hide. The Hound just bared his teeth and waiting, guarding
her while she strove to throw off the paralyzing effect of the mental
attack.
She was given an eyeful of the power of Flowing Waters swordwork
as Errant unslung his dark shield smoothly and tore into the middle of
the mutated Scalefolk, /Duty/ a wave of cold mist and lightning. Two of
the creatures were dead in the first two seconds, one with his knife in
its eyeball, the other missing its head, and he was going for the squid
and not slowing down as their curved blades rang with eerie quiet
against his shield and were deflected by /Duty/s path.
The Squid attempted to get airborne and out of Errant's range.
Amazingly, he didnt even try to leap after it, concentrating on ripping
into the other two thrallsand two crystal-trailing shafts smashed into
the skull of the creature with waiting precision and sprayed garish
brains out in a messy arc behind it.
Cheri and Red moved up on either side of her, arrows moving
again smoothly into place. The Ahltaran smoothly took a shot at
something off to her side, the Armsister remained fixed on Errants
progressdespite the fact that Rashalve had somehow lost sight of him in
the shadows of the cavern.
Motion how had he gotten all the way over there as he
somersaulted past a hulking golem-thing that looked to be made of
nothing more then huge whorls of brain tissue, and the towering thid
with a braincase large enough to roast a chicken in gave a start as very
abruptly it had an armed enemy directly in front of it. The golem spun
around with terrible speed for its bulk, lashing at Errant with a fist
trailing encephalic fluids and was more then a bit surprised, along
with the leader thid, when its fist squarely met the face of the thid
spun smoothly into the path of that fist by dint of a strong hand on a
writhing tentacle and the kind of smoothness shed seen only in Twin
Moon forms.
With a casualness so smooth it seemed rehearsed, Errant let the
stunned Squid fall, drove /Duty/ into the base of that huge skull and a
great deal further, and then hopped back out of range as the infuriated
brain golem took another swing at him.
The power of the creatures mental assault was even more
physical then that of the normal thidsand just as ineffective, as he
simply rode the wave of energy right back into the middle of a writhing
knot of Thralls charging at him who had also been caught in the blast.

/Duty/ was a blur of steel in all directions, limbs and gore

flying away from the Man in the midst of that cleaving blur of metal as
the screaming, mind-reamed Thralls got to test the edge of a Clansword
of Haxan.
Trencher rose up out of the stone directly behind the faceless
mass of the golem, and with a CLANG that rocked the whole cavern drove
the hooked head of /Forge/ directly down onto what would be the base of
the spine on a humanoid.
The golem shuddered as patterns lashed up it in a fell growth of
Runic vengeance, glowing with terrible Stratic might, and then tore
apart in a thousand gleaming blades of energy, taking the golem with them.
Rashalve desperately wanted to act, to hurl herself and her Fire
Dancer training against the creatures, prove her own skill and power in
comparison to the rampant butchery going on as the arrogant Haxan and
his Flowing Waters cut a swathe of death through these Illithids and
their minions, but this was not the arena for which her style was
madeand it was a playground for a Wave Master.
Trencher cast something that made the stone shake and new
inhuman screams arise outside of her view, striding forwards towards the
carnage Errant was wreaking as he made for each of the Squids he could
see, going around or through their personal guards as circumstances made
possible, and leaving death behind him.
Cheri and Red moved up and away, but the Hound remained behind,
guarding her as she tried to reclaim scattered thoughts, everything she
could do to keep her feet and balance as the fighting swirled, and she
could do nothing.
It was a horrible feeling.
========================
Illitharid with a brain golem. Errant gave the oversized skull
a healthy kick towards the Mick, who stopped it with a booted foot of
his own. Illithid nobility. A strong excursion force. Ive been told
that a brain golem is directly connected to the Elder Brain that is the
hub of illithid communities. They know something happened here.
Aye. The desmodu should enjoy us butchering their foes for em,
but theres more on the way. The Mick gave the head a boot towards the
huge mass of the bat-man guide, who visibly flinched away as it landed
before him.

Animpressive deed. The translated voice coming from the

carved horn dangling from the Desmodus thick neck echoed slightly as it
translated the chiruppy warbles and ranging squeaks of the desmodu
language. Dark eyes looked over the two leaders of the Wallguard
contingent sent down to establish a forward base. Strongdangerous
foes, the tentacled ones are. Warily, the ogre-sized Beastman reached
down with long, apelike arms to touch the severed head, as if afraid it
would suddenly animate.
That all depends who is fighting them, how, and why. From what
I remember, Dragons consider them kind of tasty Errant mused, glancing
at Loreguard Cussler, who looked up and grinned agreement at the fact
before getting back to his writing. Large white teeth were revealed as
lips pulled back in a feral grimace by the bat-man for a moment at the
mention of Dragons. Weve got the perimeter secured up to the
battlecaves and about a half hour walk beyond it. Are they suitable for
your people
Yes. The mass of the Desmodu shifted, betraying eagerness.
With the additional space, more food can be raised, which will lead to
the bat-man trailed off as Errant raised his hand.
We dont mind killing things down here, and having your people
move into the new spaces, Sharrak. Its not like we want to live down
here, and we are here to kill things. But be very careful you do not
take what you cannot holdand if you needed us to take this place, then
it is likely you cannot hold it easily.
The desmodu shifted uncomfortably, considering that fact.
Agreed, he agreed pragmatically. A small outpost, at the
mostharvested in passing, but not a settlement until we have the numbers.
And theres going to be more activity. The Serpen know you are
here, the Squidsand things Deeper then them. The Lows are going to see
a lot more activity of the savage Thrall tribes now that youve got
access and the Wallguard is visiting, stirring up interestand your
Heritage unfortunately lends itself to corruption by Dark powers. Im
not sure this whole deal was good for your people as it standsyour
society is going to have to change to deal with all the external forces
coming to bear on you.
A long and narrow tongue licked long fangs nervously, dark eyes
shifting over the pair of them, the magefires about which gathered the
other surface-dwellers in their bright, loud skins of metal and
strangely lethal tactics of combat, alien voices echoing with disturbing

loudness to the darkness-born desmodu. The guide had done little more
then observe the battle, singing a unheard chorus of power in the High
Song to help them do battletruly impressive battle, led on two fronts
by these two Humans.
Much was said of Humans in the old tales, small and weak and
frail, yet capable of bringing down Dragons with courage and skill and
teamwork and resolute courage. Certainly these fit that description, the
size of the children of his people, but capable of a degree of killing
lethality that was actually frightening to behold. Watching both of
these Men wade through the terrible mental powers of the Tentacled Ones
to cut them down had brought pangs of fear to Sharrak that anything
could have that strong a drive and will. No wonder it was that in the
end it was not the Dragons that had won their millennia of warslike the
tales, they had severely underestimated the small size of their foes.
I will appraise the King of all I have seen, he said, careful
to speak as much truth as possible. The Men were possessed of sharp eyes
and strong magic, and Sharrak did not want to consider the implications
of misinterpretations or misleading them unwisely. There was a great
deal of uncertainty between surface and Deep-dwellers, and likely would
be for some time.
Good enough, the Mick nodded. We can hold the place while ye
return to the King, and bring back some numbers. Well even start on the
fortifications for ye, I reckon.
Most gracious of you, Sharrak said, lowering his head and ears
deeply to the pair of them. The mastery of stone and earth the True
Rockborn possessed was as mighty or mightier then their fallen kin, the
Gray Ones. With careful grace and strongly powerful agility, the Desmodu
spun about and removed himself from the circle of the magefires light,
all four limbs pumping smoothly and easily as he hurried back along the
path of travel towards the main caves of their people.
The Mick and Errant watched him go, glanced at one another, then
of one motion turned to look at one of the newer members of their
combined parties.
The massive Dhatun in blued steel, with azure crystal eyes and a
beard of a blue so dark it was black to all but the flash of magefire,
rose from where he was conversing with Trencher and made a careful
transition over to where the commanders sat.
Well, yer Scaliness the Mick asked, earning him a reproving
look from the proud figure, which only made the Daen chuckle more.

He just wants to prove he can treat you as casually as a Haxan,

Chromiul, Errant said evenly, before sharp words could be spoken. Just
remember you dont have any rank out here.
The seeming Rockborn opened his mouth, closed it, and thought a
moment. Indeed. His deep voice was as magnificent as the rest of his
appearance. I have been in the service of the Blackstone Throne so
long, I have occasion to forget. My apologies.
Comments Errant asked calmly. I know you are looking for
different things then we are, or you wouldnt have been sent here.
Our presence and the opening of the Low Tunnels puts them in
grave danger, Chromiul stated in no uncertain terms. Their numbers are
not greatperhaps several thousand, and in a tightly confined ecosystem
where they cannot expand save against extreme pressure from all
sidespressures we are exacerbating by our presence. They have no degree
of familiarity with civilized defenses, and little to no magical ability
as a whole. While their natural gifts make them formidable warriors,
their lack of numbers and resources weigh heavily against themif they
wish to grow they will need substantial aid.
The Beastmen are made to be fecund races, however. Their
numbers can expand rapidly in the space of one or two generations giving
adequate resources. With proper learning and protection from the
influences of the Dark, they could indeed rise to become a powerand
their hearts, in contrast to many of their kind, are truer then many
Humans, and seemingly by instinct alone.
Suitable for alliance with the Wall Errant asked, while the
Mick remained scrupulously silent.
If their King is willing to negotiate with me, I am willing to
negotiate with him, Chromiul agreed, azure eyes flashing for just a
second as stray emotions slipped past his control.
A Dragon with a Domain in the Deeps outside Haxan hasnt
happened in over two thousand years. Placing these people under the
protection of you and your family would be a massive honor, would it not
Chromiul looked down at Errant in irritation, then shook it off
and managed to smile broadly. Indeed it would. It has been Ages since
Sardiors Own had any presence in these lands. To be the first to hold a
domain again Chromiul trailed off, eyes far off in the distance of
times older then the nation of Haxan. This could be the beginning of

the Reclamation, Haxan. We do not take this lightly.

Forgive us if we do. We dont think on quite the span of
millennia yeta personal failing, no doubt. Despite himself, Chromiul
let a chuckle escape him. How well do you think they will respond to
having a Dragon in their midst who is not of the Deeps
The Sword Dragon was pensive. I would ask you to broach the
subject and allow their reaction to be judged. We have learned much in
our exile, and that which we learned best is that trusted allies are far
better then subjects, ruled however benevolently. I would not be seen as
forcing my presence upon them.
Errant looked at the Mick, who just nodded, happy to agree to
anything which would increase his bottom line. That should be no
problem. Theyve gotten enough shocks in the past few monthswhats a
few more
--------------------ADragonwishes to speak with us
His fur going silver with age, the massive King of the Desmodu
was still an impressive figure, projecting regal power and authority for
all his bestial appearance. Still, little could conceal his shock at the
idea of allowing a Dragon into the midst of his people once more.
Surely you know that Dragons have dwelt among the Men and
Rockborn of the surface lands for millennia, and fought against the Wyrm
Kings and other Spawn of the Dragon Queen. Loreguard Cussler was at his
most trustworthiness and open, with literally nothing to concealother
then that said Dragon was already present. At one time, all the Deeps
of the Lands of the Wyrm were open to many Dragons, until they were
driven forth by war.
Great claws gripped the arms of his throne of malachite tightly.
News of the battle prowess of the Sunlanders had not been exaggerated,
and now they spoke of Dragons coming here! What does a Dragon wish of
the Desmodu he demanded of the Loreguard loudly, rising to his feet,
skinflaps sweeping grandly out with the gesture to seemingly double his
size.
All Dragons require a Domain of their own, the Loreguard
related with unflappable calm. It is an aspect of their psychology they
cannot outgrow. For thousands of years, they have satisfied this drive
as officers in the armies of the Rockborn Kings, as ministers and

advisors and generals and champions of the Kings Under the Mountains.
A Dragon of the Sword wishes to claim your people as his
Domain, and be the first of his people to do so in over ten thousand
years. What would the Desmodu and their King say to having a Dragon as
their General and Champion
The Desmodus dark eyes went very wide, and the Loreguard could
feel the vibrations of the air as the members of the Court talked in
sounds above and below the range of human hearing.
We will not be again enslaved by Dragons! the King stated in
no uncertain terms, voice almost a shriek, and actually rather painful.
A Sword Dragons Oath is more binding then any you can conceive
of. The holder of the Throne on which you sit will receive a more loyal
and able servant then you dare believe. They will die before they allow
their Domain to fallor see those who rely on them enslaved. They will
not allow such, ever. There was a knowing finality to his voice that
impressed even the ancient King of the bat-folk.
There was a long and careful pause before the King settled back
into his carven throne, obviously listening to his people. A
Dragonserving my people He obviously considered the idea mind-boggling.
Well, you will have to do little things for him. Like expand
your territory, develop a martial tradition and a decent fighting force,
establish a relationship with the Domains of his kin, get him Illithids
and giant spiders to munch on, learn magic, improve your craftskills,
have a lot of little Desmodu to appease his ego, and tell him lots and
lots of stories of your people so he can get a better idea of what
motivates you. You are also going to have to find things for him to eat,
probably things which would normally eat youand hes prone to singing
some really loud martial ballads you are going to have to learn, but
Dragons are kind of funny that way. Cussler scratched his short beard
as the Desmodu King stared at him in disbelief.
What you are saying, Loreguard Cussler, the King began slowly,
as Cussler carefully kept his face calm. The Desmodu had some difficulty
telling Sunlanders apart, but hed been the primary diplomat for the
Wall since coming down here the first time with the Marauders, is
that if we increase our numbers, gain more territory, learn of the ways
of battle of Sunlanders, learn to wield magic and the secrets of
smithcraft and more, in return we must feed him our enemies and
creatures of the dark, and tell him stories and listen to a Dragon sing

Cussler considered that. Well, dont forget the trade things.

He wants to build a hoard, of course, so hell take a tithe of any
trading that he has a presence in, but hell always get fair rates and
he knows his stuff as far as economics go. You might want to pay him an
General Officers wage, at the very least, to show appreciation for the
work hes going to dowhich, Ill have you know, will be a pittance
compared to what hes prepared to give to you.
The Desmodu King plainly did not know what to say. And if
werefusethis generosity
The offer remains on the table. Dragons are very patient. He
has no interest in being here if you dont want him herewhich,
incidentally, hed find very surprising. Hes been a commanding officer
in the Blackstone military for the last four hundred years, so if you
want some character references Ill be happy to procure some for you
He serves the King of the Rockborn That appeared to go over
much more easily.
Well, he serves under the High King Under the Mountain. His
grandmother serves the King of the Rockborn directly, hes really under
her somewhere in the rank hierarchy there.
Of course. The Desmodu blinked at the implications of
generations of Dragons in service to a Thronelike his own. He does not
wish to serve under the High King any longer
He is of sufficient age to claim a Domain and head it, but has
not yet established one of his own formally. He was the most eligible of
the Sword Dragons in service to the High Crown to accomplish the taskan
Elder Dragon, but not yet a Wyrm. He is representing his family and his
race in this matterit is a source of tremendous pride for him.
And to fail to establish hisDomain the King asked, leaning
forwards.
Would be a source of terrible shame. He is very determined to
have a successful Domain, and theres more then a few Sword Dragons who
see a lot of potential in your people who would like to help him
I see. Cussler could almost see the visions of glory dancing
in the head of the King. He would be the King who brought Dragons to his
peopleDragons to serve with them, not to enslave them, to free them to
embrace their destiny. He would be remembered forever.

I must think on this, he nodded, but Cussler could see he had

already chosen, he merely needed to realize it. The Loreguard bowed
deeply and formally.
If you have any further questions, I am at your disposal.
-------------------------------Not a sight you see every day, mused the Mick, seated upon a
hacked-off stalagmite a good distance back from where hundreds of
Desmodu were crouched on the floor, walls and ceilings of the main
cavern, listening to the sparkling grandeur of a sapphire-scaled Sword
Dragon in full sparkling glory address them in their own tongue, making
the very stone vibrate with the majesty of his voice.
Errant cocked an eye at the sight. A few of the braver Desmodu,
largely children, had dared run up onto the Dragon and were listening
raptly, as attentively as their King and his Court. Aye, hes hamming
it up for them. I imagine hes raring to get goinghasnt been a good
Deep War for the Swords in two centuries, and they love to fight. Those
Squids are in soooo much trouble.
The Mick eyed the Haxan curiously. Dinnae understand how you
trust them so much. They be Dragonstheir greed be worse then me own,
egos larger, and, well, they are Dragons. How do ye control them
Pride. The Mick frowned. Dragons are all terribly proud. Of
all the Creatures of the Land, they are the mightiest, bowing not before
Titans or Celestials or Fiends or whatnot. And yet, they were brought
low by the likes of us, and war amongst themselves and their kin. He
indicated the pair of them. Theyve known shame on a depth we cant
comprehend. Theyve had to rely on our mercy and forbearance. And they
know that only so long as they treat us with the same honor we have
given them will they be welcome among us.
Even Dragons can evolve. They need a Domain as we need to eat
and breathe. They need that acknowledgement of their power. And for
thousands of years, the only way to do that is by serving alongside us,
instead of lording over usand seeing how much better it worked then the
old ways.
The younger dragons have known no other way. The older Dragons
have accumulated more wealth, power, prestige and glory then they ever
had before. Glorymorn is a saint from one end of Haxan to the other, and
youve probably heard of her even in Daenland. The Mick nodded once.
She might be the most famous and beloved Dragon who ever lived. And all

because she doesnt rule over anything as her forebears did, or lock
herself away with her hoard as the Wyrms are wont to do. Our concerns
may be extremely trivial to a Great Wyrm of her agebut shes still
involved with Haxan, and when she speaks, the Elders sit up and take
notice. When any Dragons speak up, people take noticeDragons notice
things we dont, because they have such long perspectives. Theyve done
a lot to keep Haxan on track, simply by recognizing our values and
holding us to them despite ourselves.
A lot of what Haxan is we owe to Dragons. Control isnt an
issue for us. As long as the Dragons are good for us, we are very good
for them.
And if a Sword Dragon can bring that to the Desmodu, theyve
got great things in store for them.
The Mick nodded after a moment of thinking. But Ill still be
rich, aye
Filthy rich, if they start mining. Trencher saw at least four
workable veins, and possibly a dozen others, just with what little weve
been traipsing around. Add that to what Grodin stumbled across on your
travels, if the Desmodu can reach them
The Mick smiled. The lads will be very happy to hear that.
Speaking o which he cleared his throat, have ye had any problems
with Rashalve being here I notice the two of ye dont, ah, talk much.
Imagine that. Errants voice was just chill enough to convey
his feelings.
Er, right. Not going to be slipping a blade into her in some
dark place, I be trusting The way the Mick said it earned him another
glance from the sprawling Haxan.
If I wanted her dead, shed be dead. I dont generally make a
habit of killing those who are serving with me, regardless of how many
times they killed me over and over. The Mick coughed at that statement.
Shes out of her element down here, you know. Fire Dancers arent made
for this kind of nasty fighting.
Shes been getting better. Can almost move without attracting
attention now, what The Micks grin clearly conveyed his feelings on
that matter.
You got plans for her Errant asked evenly. The Mick hesitated

for long minutes as he weighed his words.

I were thinking Id be a fine Colonel Crimson.
Errant lifted an eyebrow, but didnt look over. Thats pretty
ambitious. Youd need a fair amount of coin, a ship or four of your own,
a really good crew, a reputation, financial backing, and then a lot of
experience at sea.
The Mick had been ticking those things off on his fingers. Er,
ye left out being a really nasty bastard in a fight.
True. And the little matter of having a blood relative on your
arm helping you into the seat. You discussed it with her
Aye. And the lads. They are all for it.
Being Names in Freesword is a big goal. So you are sitting down
here in the depths of the Deeps in the Wyrmlands why
Er, well, theres the money. And the things we been learning at
the Wall the Mick trailed off, thinking.
You are doing it right, you know. Not asking for money or help
from anyone. The Elders would be intensely interested in having some
naval influence on the seasyou could find financial backing very
quickly that way.
Aye, thought of that. Didnt like the smell went with it. The
Mick looked at the Haxan curiously. What do you do with the coin you
earn Yere more tight-lipped about coin then a banking gnome.
Goes to gear, the Clan, the family, training. If I have a need
for money, the fact that I dont consider it important means I have
little trouble getting it. The fact that I work for the Elders means I
also dont have to pay for most services that cost outlanders like you a
lot of goldlets just say I have a lot of equity if I need it. Errant
pulled his hat brim down, hands behind his head. Im down here to kill
things, not make lots of coin. Doesnt mean I dont know the value of
coin, but Im here for the swordthe glory comes a few notches down on
my priorities.
Aye, I note youve a talent for getting bloody. Errant snorted
at that comment. And yeve a habit of dragging folk along with ye for
the ride

Something you should probably distance yourself from, agreed

Errant, following that line of reasoning. Getting our names affiliated
together probably isnt the best thing for youor Rashalve.
Aye. The Mick cleared his throat uncertainly.
I suggest we split duties. Im here to hack and slayyoure
here to establish a potentially unlimited source of revenue to back a
bid for the Crimson. You need to focus on the trade route from here to
the Wall, and become a holy terror to anything that would dare interfere
with it. Youll have a lot of Sword Dragon help, but also a lot of work
establishing it. A couple years, at least.
Me, I want to kill things, and Im more effective killing the
things down here that think having a little magic or mental powers makes
them fit to rule the world then hewing down wild Thrall races, random
Scaled mutants, and overeager Serpen raiders. You can establish yourself
as a leader of men, get into a lot of public and messy fighting, show
you can organize and buildand if you do it in service to Chromiul over
there, it wont surprise anyone when you decide to take off and make
your own name, rather then being pawn to a Dragon or something.
The Mick narrowed his eyes at the glorious spectacle of the
Sword Dragon, ignoring the mesmerizing scale-play. Aye, a good thought.
The Dragon, it knows a lot about running military things, tactics,
strategies
Probably more then a Lion Generalbut not in naval matters.
Could probably send you to a Shield Dragon with some experienceand
dont forget that your Lieutenant has a really good head on his shoulders.
Vade Aye, he does. A good man, that, the Mick admitted.
Better then you deserve.
The Mick scowled, but didnt gainsay that. Anything else I
should be knowing or thinking
You need a loyal core of spellcasters experienced in wind and
waves to run a naval coreand not those currently serving the Crimson.
Get in good with the Sword Dragon, hell send you to a Shield Dragonand
Shield Dragons know more spellcasters with a bias for the sea then just
about anyone. Just dont tread on the toes of the Hlavans and their sea
witches as you set yourself up.
Aye, theyve got a lot of power in the Steel navynot a good

idea, that.
As for trade routes to establish your shipping presenceas far
as I know theres no truly established trade with your homeland from
Freesword, so theres potential there. Other then that, talk to that
Shield Dragonthey love talking about anything that has to do with the sea.
Getting mixed up with Dragons. The Mick winced. Being seen with
Dragons isnae a good way to get on the good side of the Throne.
Whose seeing what Shield Dragons been playing out in the seas
for centuriesthey eat more sahaugin then the High Throne has any idea
live in those waters. Do you see many Jytans jumping overboard to
explore the Azure Deep just to catch a glimpse of a Dragon The Mick
had to admit he didnt. And you dont think they let all those wrecked
ships go to waste, do you Shield Dragons run a huge amount of trade on
the Krys Myr, through fourth and fifth parties. Keeps them mentally
occupied.
The Mick tried to wrap his head around that idea and failed.
Are Dragons everywhere he asked softly.
They have a long reach. They can live to be millennia old, are
hugely patient, very smart, insightful, and know us better then we do.
If they cant play around with gold and trade, theyd get really bored
really fast. Besides, its a convenient way to build a hoard no one can
argue withand a whole lot more besides. Trade empires are Domains, too.
The Mick winced. I dinnae want to step on a Dragons toeser,
claws. He glanced at Chromiul again.
Dont worry about it. Having new blood to the game only makes
it all the more interesting for them. And if they like you, youll get
bloody rich and you wont even know how or why. If you make them lose
money, theyll get it back. Not like they dont have the time to recoup
losses.
Aye, true. The Mick could almost feel his eyes getting pried
open to the greater world he was going to get involved in, thinking
grand thoughts and making grand plans that in the scheme of things were
just little bumps on the road of a Dragons life. It made him feel
abruptly small again.
Just remember that Men can grow to kill Dragons, Errant
interjected into his morbid thoughts. In the time it takes a Man to be
born, grow old and die, we can accomplish what it takes a Dragon

centuries to do, and bring down things far older and mightier then we
have a right to.
This is our world, not theirs. They just play in it.
The Mick stared at the Haxan, reclining there on gray stone a
klik underground, and then burst out laughing as he realized the truth
of the matter.

*Comments*
This is, of course, an adaptation of one of the core Iconic modules,
where the Desmodu bat-men are introduced (13 HD base, ogre-sized!).
The Mick would have done the orignal 'module', such as it was, and is
now looking to formalize and streamline a trade route from the Desmodu
to the Wall. He'll spend much of his time and effort getting such a
thing built up over the next few years...and as mining operatins
commence, building up his wealth and his name.
This also heralds a long-awaited event of the Neutral Dragons, as they
return to the Wyrmlands they were forced to flee millenia prior.
=

/*Wyrmbreak 10*/
*From the Journal of Loreguard Cussler, son of Clivus*;
/I have had the privilege of being the primary chronicler for
one of the most successful gloryswords of the past century, and the
company of warriors who have chosen to follow him.
I have recounted his deeds as he drove a safe road into the
wastelands of the Wyrms, attempting to forge a trade route of safe
travel with the new Sword Domain being expanded below in the Deeps.
Aided by the Passguard, a great number of other battle-hungry
gloryswords, and extremely interested Dragons, he has driven a great
Wall across nearly twenty leagues of ground, the first Wall to ever be
extended into the lands of the Wyrm. The Geomancers and Rockborn of the
Wall have labored with the energy and drive that has ever characterized
their people on the most ambitious construction of the past century. Not
the broken terrain, canyons, crevasses, or natives have been able to

forestall the establishment of a covered road linking to the lands of

the Desmodu.
Mining has begun apace down below. The Desmodu are extremely
strong and able, and learning much from the Engineers dispatched below,
and quickly. The first wagons loaded with metal are creaking their ways
up from Belowiron, yes, but also fabled mithril and grim adamant,
awaiting the attention of the great forges of the Rockborn
The establishment of the Winding Wall has raised the stakes in
the lands of the Wyrm, and like a sword thrust towards the heart, the
creatures of the Dark Below respond in force. Armies arise out of the
darkness below, tribes and clans of wild savages make regular assaults
on the Wall.
Dragons have begun to filter here from the lands of
Haxanyounger Dragons, eager for a Domain of their own, and the Winding
Wall makes a fine base from which to establish these. Foremost of these
are the Sceptre and the Sword, who enjoy subterranean life, whilst above
Crown, Shield and Valor Dragons are beginning to make their presence
felt ever more often on the lands about the Winding Wall. From merely
patrolling for signs of aggression, the Dragons are finally beginning to
push, and they bring with them the influence and backing of their Elders.
As the Lore Dragon Luminote told me, Finally, We begin.
I cannot count the numbers of dead natives of this land that
have fallen to this most aggressive thrust from the Wyrmbreak. Rockborn
from Blackstone, Haxans come of their own and following the Dragons, the
bravest of gloryswords from the Lands of the Throne who are willing to
anger the Jytan by alliance with Dragons, the spellcasters of the
Weirhold eager to test their magic and skills against the enemy here
Over all this, the Marauders have greatest claim to fame and
glory. Their energy and drive has been motivation for much of the human
involvement, and their willingness to work with all parties in the
establishment of the Wall fosters a great atmosphere of cooperation and
shared destiny. Their battles I have recounted elsewhere, from punitive
strikes to savage defense, and their skill and renown grows by the day.
While hardly exemplars of the Mitharn ideal, they are indeed among the
best representatives of the versatility and skill of a driven
glorysword, and it has been a privilege to record their deeds for posterity.
But now, it seems they have taken enough, and the focus of the
Wall is moved from establishing it to defending itand the Dragons eager
for Domains are at the heart of the Defense, along with the Rockborn

securing the Wall. Words are being spoken now, that it is time for the
Mick and his Marauders to move on, and a great many eyes are turned on
him, seeking where he goes, perhaps to follow./
-------------------------------------------It was cold withoutwinter came harsh and sharp to the
Jotunbones, tearing down from the North with Shakkaks breath, cloaking
all in white and gray.
But inside the abodes of the Wyrmbreak, the wind swirled with
less force, and the buildings were thick and secure against the cold.
Fires roared merrily along, and Men, Rockborn and Children could lift
tankards and eat in warmth and comfort, and songs to defy the ice and
chill arose freely in such places of companionship.
The Mick sat with one hed seen rarely in the past three years,
more in passing then anything. His company was gathered at another
table, the center of the gathering as eager young warriors crowded close
to hear the veterans at work and their exploits. For the moment, he was
not missed.
Haxan, he said by way of greeting, slipping across from Errant
and lifting his tankard solemnly, getting a careful hatbrim salute in
response.
Errant was just another Haxan in the place, complete with
longbrim on his head and sword upon the table ready for use. You would
have to study the sword to realize what it was, and what kind of Man
would wield itand then see the gleam of the bars on his cheek to
realize this was not a young and eager blade ready to make his name.
Daenlander. Well done. Errant toasted him calmly, and the
black Daen happily returned that. Moving on with the season
The Mick knew the rumorshed planted most of them. Aye. We are
still debating where to set up shop for the next step. Northgate is high
on the listcoin enough for our purposes, delightfully liberal in moral
fiber and righteousness, an with more backdoor throat-cutting an
smiling faces then ye can shake a solicitor at.
Youve the finances you need Errant studied the Mick with
professional interest.
Loreguard Cussler is a walking library on how to establish a
good mercantile company, if ye but give him a few weeks to scrounge

about in a library somewhere. The first wagons of metal hit our purses
like a fine rain o purest gold. Ye can leverage quite a line o credit
off a Dragon-run mine, it seems.
Errant lifted an eyebrow at the Mick using a term like leverage,
but let it pass. Daens werent fools about money, especially using other
peoples money. Ships
Ordered from Freesword nearly a year ago, with our first
seasons booty an some promises from the Sword Dragonsand some other
parties. He coughed, and Errant smiled knowingly.
I heard you were approached by House Ryinthi. Best of partners,
those, and theyve wanted a shipping route of their own for sometime.
You could do worsetheyve factors in every major Throne city and most
minor ones. And, of course, they are chest-deep in Throne politics, so
lots of chances for intrigue.
Opportunity, grinned the Mick.
Keep that Loreguard close. Hes insanely valuable as a Witness.
Of course, the underhanded stuff you probably dont want him around as
much more then a Witnesscorrupt business dealings is still corruption,
and hell disapprove mightily. But hes not there to advisehes there
to record and provide history as needed. Errant sat back thoughtfully,
regarding the Daen.
And howve you been keeping yourself the Mick asked
curiously. I heard yer band broke up a few seasons back. Trencher was
hard into making the Wall, and I think the Warder is in command of a
stretch of it.
Warrens married Cheri and theyve a young one nowhe rotates
duties on the Fourth League. Trencher is at work there helping with
establishing a Lesser Greatforge. Rorg headed up north a season or so
ago to rejoin the Northguard, muttering something about the local
competition getting soft. Errant smiled slightly. In truth, I think
they were all heartily sick of the wetwork in the Below and above. You
werent informed, as the Dragons were behind it, but I probably took out
at least nine of the leaders of forces whelming against youand I wont
go into where Ive been underground.
Aye, I heard of the problems with the Deep Serpen. The Mick
pursed his lips. Nasty lot, those.
Very. The equal of the Desmodu, at the least. It is a good

thing the Bats have aid, and are coming along very nicely in their
battle tactics. Ive had to kill me a lot of Deep Serpenand the Sword
Dragons have had to eat a lot of Illithids and their lot. Not that the
Swords are complaining about the latter.
The Sword appetite for Illithids was well known in the Wyrmbreak
and to anyone who worked on the Winding Wall. Less well known was a
growing fondness for flesh of beholders and aboleth. It seemed these
things were delicacies long denied them, and of course, only properly
savored while in battle.
Youve acquired quite a flair for killing Serpen, so Ive
heard. Passguard training agreeing with you Errant ventured knowingly.
Damn useful stuffyed think theyd been at it awhile. Both
men fell silent as a young Halvyri swung by and quickly refilled both
their mugs with grace and precision. The Mick let his eyes linger a bit
as she glided awaywhich, of course, was exactly what he was supposed to
do. O' course, cant be hacking down every Mojh I stumble across in the
Thrones, so, um, been supplementing that with a bit of other training
that came in handy now and then
Lupinal and Felin, and Jotun. Errant didnt bat an eye. Also
useful to know. Looking forwards to the sea again
More then ye might believe. The lakes ye have in Haxan are
grand and clear and pretty as all get outbut the smell of the sea
sometimes wakes me up at night. It were time I went home.
A Man should know where hes supposed to be, agreed Errant.
How long before you make your play
I dont know. Depends on business an how well me rep carries
to naval matters. Ill be needing to flex some muscle an piss on a few
powers-that-be.
Children
The Mick coughed into his beer. Ye been talking to Rashalve
Shes keen on little MacMikals to carry on the tradition of sticking
two blades in things
Family you name gives you legitimacy and someone to inherit
things after youif they are good enough. Rashalve isnt Crimson for all
practical purposes now. People need to recognize that, and what you name
your children will decide that.

Aye, well enough. Ive just not been the family man type, ye
know The look in his eyes made Errant snort with amusement.
Ive got at least a dozen children out there, and I make more
then enough for the Elders to support them on the sly for me. But Im
not trying to build a great organization that I can leave to little
Micks who come after me, either. And I dont have a firebrand on my arm
I can take to wife and still be afraid shes going to beat me silly in
my next sparring session with her. Rare prize, Mick. She may have a
temper hotter then her hair, but shes a very dangerous woman to cross.
Oh, aye to that. Work out here has done wonders for her
attitude, too. She wants to go back home where shes a big fish in the
pond, instead of rubbing shoulders with Passguard who could chew her up
and spit her out without breaking stride.
And back on a ship, just like you. Shes more a sailor then you
are. And smartjust needs someone with some sense to keep her head on
straight. Errant smiled knowingly. And her mouth shut at the right times.
Aye, well see how well we be doing. A few years, mayhap, an
yerll be saluting me in Freeswordwe be seeing.
I look forwards to itif I have the time. There always seems to
be something for me to do hereabouts, imagine that. For a moment, the
killing power in his eyes flashed on as he looked away, a cold and
deadly calm gained from facing things the like of which the Mick didnt
really want to find out abouthed seen enough of such things himself.
Aye. So the Mick cleared his throat and tried hard not to
lower his voice. What about that wee place where we met up again
Anything ever come of that
Errant frowned and looked down at his mug. Truth, I havent
asked, and those who know arent talking. I did see Irinlight in service
out on the Eighteenth Wall, and inquired once in passing. He told me
that high-ups were having a field day with the place and there was some
nasty, subtle and powerful stuff bound up with the place. His tone
hinted at Big Thingsperhaps Really Big Things. Theres Grand Archmagi
messing with the place, I know, at least one Lore Dragon, and if Im
right they brought in Lightning Strikers to aid clearing the place out.
The Mick whistled. Hed met only one student of the most legendary of
the Haxan martial Schools, and seen him in action, a sight hed not soon
forget. If theyre using Lightning, there isnt anyone below an
Archmage or veteran Passguard traipsing around with the place. Mightve

been fun to see how far we could have gotten in itbut like as not, damn
messy, and fatal, too.
And no glory to be had. They be welcome to it. The Mick
toasted them cheerily, and Errant joined in equably. Yell just be
heading back out when the weather clears, aye
Im here for winter sessions of training. No winter in the
Deepsjust more water around, good growing season. Ill be heading back
out when I feel ready for it.
No team The Mick was surprised.
They think Im versatile enough to function anywhere they need
to put mekind of a compliment and a comment on how disposable I am,
Clansword or no. Been working with Passguards, Deep Penetration teams,
and raiders and scouting. Mean and nasty stuff. Passguards like having a
Source along, especially one that can keep up and they dont have to
coddle. He made a throwing motion. They kill everything around the big
bad magic-using Thing from Below, and throw me at him. Seems to work
well for em.
Working right with the Passguard The Mick didnt need to hide
his envythat was a sign of tremendous respect for a humans
capabilities. Gloryswords didnt work with PassguardsPassguards deigned
to coordinate with gloryswords, and usually pull their fat out of the
fire, more times then not. The fact that the Passguards were every bit
as good as their reputations made them out to be had frankly astonished
the Mick initially, until he realized that it was the only way they
survived the duties they had out here for so long.
Working for them, more like, in between times when the Clan and
House isnt calling me to take care of this or that niggling little
problem. Raiders off the Windreeve, Tainted cults messing around at the
Flow crossings, Man-slayers active here and there needing to be put
downI think they like to keep me moving.
Never bored, then.
Truth. The Passguard want me to get familiar with the northern
slopes, so Ill probably messing around in Dauerhamar Valley and the
environs soontheres been a bit too much of Jytans poking around there
and seeing what they can stir up.
Wetwork. Errant didnt reply, just held the Micks gaze
calmly. Aye, a right bastard for a bastards job.

Truth. Errant took a casual drink. Although most of my recent

work has been ranging southmore Serpen, more magicvariety is the spice
of life. He shrugged.
One of these days, Haxan, yere going to have to make a choice
on what it is ye want to kill, instead of prancing willy-nilly oer
every hill and dale looking for the throats ye need to slit for yer
Elders, the Mick declared. Just not while Im in the area, eh
Errant flashed a rare smile. The sea is not my home. Well see
how things turn out.
That we will, and I shall see yer in Freesword
When you claim the Crimson, Ill make a point to be there,
Errant promised. Until then, you really dont want to see me again.
Gods damn me, thats truth, ye heartless bastard. Their
tankards clunked solidly one last time, and the Mick rose to rejoin his men.
Errant watched him go, fancying that he could feel the net of
destiny weaving itself around the personage of a pirate chiefs bastard
son, then dismissing it with a smirk to himself. Try as he might, the
Mick was too enamored of the things magic could do for him to be a
Source and make his own destiny. So many fingers were in the pie of his
life that he didnt know about, and that Errant only suspected. He
wished the Mick well in the building of his dynasty and his legacy. His
own path led elsewhere, a colder, more remote futureit would be
interesting to see where he let it lead him.

*Comments*
It is at an indeterminate time during this that Errant is drafted to
take Hraffner to the West and the Tauren, and some time after the
meeting with the Mick here that the events of Errantry 3 began as the
Tauren start to move.
Above, when I refer to Leagues, I'm speaking of Leagues of a new Wall
driven across the distance between the Wyrmbreak wall and the homes of
the Desmodu. Think of it as the Great Wall of China, built to accomodate
trade wagons and the like, with fortifications every League and towers
along the length. It's built with Draconic power and supervision, and a
Large number of Gem Dragons are using the towers as temporary abodes
while they look to establish Domains of their own. In particular,

Svirfneblin and interested younger Dwarves are slowly infiltrating the

Broken Lands, using the Wall as a base as they consider where to set up
permanent shop around the foundation of their Draconic ally.
Warren is stationed at one of the larger League Forts, where they are
establishing a Forge to purify the ore and cut down on the weight
needing to be shipped. Cheri is on the Haxan side of the Wyrmbreak...he
typically rotates duties on and off the Wall there.
It's not a dull place...there is continual Serpen pressure, and a large
variety of monsters in the Wyrmland who'd love to get their hands on the
new snacks. ON the other hand, there's more Jewel Dragons now in the
Broken Lands then there has been in five thousand years, and some of the
beasties are once again finding out what that means.

New Post The Wereyn

-----------------------------------------------------------------------/One Season's Worth of Happenings. This takes place after the Events of
Daenlander, introduces Warren and gets a look at the Elves of the setting./
/*The Wereyn I*/
Escort duty Errant raised an eyebrow. He had Armsbrother
training, there being nothing like giving some hulking Urkhar a cleaner
shot on an enemy and keeping him alive to guarantee something a nasty
deathbut actually being a bodyguard was not something hed had to do
before.
Oh, youll like this even more, lad. Marshall Wilhelms blue
eyes twinkled with wry appreciation to match his sun-weathered grin.
You get to escort an Elfin.
Errant blinked once. And why in the world would any Elf
venturing out of the Lorhte need an escort from the likes of me he
asked of the lawman, both irritated and suspicious.
Because you are going into Wereyn lands north of Eskelev, you
twatespecially into the remnants of the old Sidhete. Im sure if it was
just a case of sneaking in and sneaking out shed do just fine herself,
but theres a lot of stuff left over from the Lashing in that forest,
and a right merry Clansword-wielding butcher like yourself fits the bill
well, Im thinking.
It wasnt that he was going to refuse the order the Marshall
was an Elder, after all as much as it was the idea of having to tie

his role in battle to someone he wasnt experienced with.

An Elf. He rolled the word around his tongue. Hed never
actually met an Elftheyd been famously reclusive even before the
Dramojh had turned their forest into a nest of horror, and their numbers
had never truly recovered from the event. The Old Fey, they were called,
living centuries and more in the heart of the deep, old forests,
famously knowledgeable about events of the eld times as Dragons might
be, and with the unique perspective being Fey brought to their
awareness. Tied to the Land more intimately then Men, waxing and waning
with the tides of magicand so dependent on it in ways Men were not.
Do you know why she needs to go into there he asked, feeling
his curiosity rising. Hed done some exploratory work with Trencher in
the Sidhete at the behest of some Throne nobilitythe wild Sidhete had
overgrown large stretches of northern Eskelev and there were ruins of
habitations and leavings of the Dramojh in many places. Those had been
some wild and entertaining escapades, alternately running from and
killing the inhabitants, beasts, monstrous denizens and plants of the
places, contending with ancient traps, family-held puzzles, buried
chambers and secrets, tombsclassic adventuring work, according to the
tales of the bards.
Let her inform you of that. Im just the messenger boy. He
seemed to find that amusing, for all his gray hairs. Get your team
together, and shell meet you out by the copse north of town, across the
water. You might want to put some thought into your routeI doubt you
want to raft thru the Bor to get into the forest proper.
No, he really didnt want to have to go thru the heart of a
troll-infested swamp crawling with mutate life forms.

=========================
They rode in at sundown, crossing the bridge unusually late in
the day, another band of Independents out to go hack on something,
riding with the purpose of mercs on a mission. The merchants who were
arriving late to the bridge and circling wagons inside the large wall
there watched them go by silently, but didnt get in their
wayespecially as the four riders, Hound, and Cat turned and headed
north towards the Kraggen-Bor. Sane Men, especially ones interested in
acquiring ever more cash and influence, didnt get in the way of folk
who liked adventuring around in the fellness of the great swamp.
The copse was easily found, as it held the tallest trees for a

league and more, forming a rambling line of old giants along the edges
of the Bor, a clear warning fence for the denizens of the Bor before the
timber-cut lands opened up and exposed the sky. The four rode calmly
just within the thickets of scrub and brush that lept up at the edge of
the trees, dismounting quickly whilst Hound and Lion went padding out
into the undergrowth quietly to have a nose around.
Cheri, Trencher, Rorg and himself didnt set up much of a
campthey would be going on in the morning, and light might attract
something from the swamp less then a klik away. While eager Haxans loved
to sweep the boundaries of the Bor and roust things that had ideas about
raiding into Eske lands, the Throne authorities frowned on this
intrusion to their jurisdiction, preferring to have their own citizens
take up such duties.
When the raiding rate had tripled, theyd found themselves
paying mercenary rates to Haxans whod have happily kept at the job as
they had for generations. It didnt sit well with the Throne, but a lot
of younger Independents got their start as sell-swords sweeping the
borders of the Bor.
It didnt take long for her to find them. They hadnt been
trying to avoid sight, and the animals had gone looking for her, to lead
her back as much as to scout the area.
Trencher felt her first, his head jerking up and half-spinning
around. Errant caught the motion and was on his feet before he could
think about it, senses crystallizing into the predatory, feral calm of
battle. He hadnt drawn his blade, and so Cheri and Rorg simply froze
for a moment, then slowly reached for their own weapons, just in case.
To Errant it seemed as if there was a pulling sensation, as if
the Land was leaning about him. Trencher obviously felt it, and more
precisely, because he also rose slowly to his feet, dark eyes fixed on
the deepening darkness of the forest about them. /Forge/ was at his
side, of course, but not set for drawing power, and so Errant calmed
himself.
One of his instructors had told him that if you were attuned to
the Land, feeling where the Fey were and walked was not hard. They
pulled the magic of the Land to them as naturally as breathing,
concentrating it and lending a glamour edge to all about them as they
did so. Things became more and less real, as if reality was an illusion
with far more to it then normal senses could convey.
He had never felt the sensation as he did now, but recognized it

from the words, and also that it was practically an announcement of the
presence of the Elf, for surely she could be more subtle then this.
A polite bark, an echoing cough, and everyone relaxed
perceptibly. A few breaths later, the Elfin slid through the screening
brush like a ghost, the plants almost seeming to bend aside for her, and
suddenly was in their midst.
The illos did justicethe Loreguard were scrupulous about all
things. She looked tall and slender, until you fit her to scale and
realized she came up to about Cheris shoulder. Her build would have
been almost unhealthily slender for a human, but seemed perfectly
proportioned for her, with every motion alluding to the Fey grace of her
people. Without being able to see anything different, the air seemed to
sparkle about her and draw the eye to the tint of green in the silver
hair, the brightness of huge emerald eyes, and to the incredible care of
her leathers and the talismans which hung from them. The eclectic mix of
feathers, claws, beads and leaves would have seemed a tangled mess on a
human, but on her seemed to convey a story waiting to be told, each
significant, nothing out of place. Her features were narrower and more
precise then human, her ivory skin unmarked by anything as crude as sun
or wind or childhood acne, with high cheekbones and the sharply upswept
and famously pointed ears only accenting the alien beauty of her
heritage, and her timelessness.
It was a very interesting effect to behold. Fey Glamour, it was
called by the magi, who sniffed publicly and wished they could do the
same privately, doubtless.
Good evening, The Elfin bowed gracefully, supple as a reed,
rather looking like she might not have a spine. He blinked as he
realized she wore a bow, but carried a staff in handwhich, if he knew
his weapons, held a concealed spear inside it. The things Elves could do
with wood and once-living material was legendary. I am Shaevva, of the
family of Moonthorn. Are you my escorts into the Sidhete
Errant blinked. The cadence of her voice was pure music, more
like singing then speech, giving a lilt and a song to the crude language
of Men so that it suddenly became quite the thing to hear. He finally
comprehended how the Halvyr stayed so prominent in the realm of
tales-tellers and music-makers, if they had any sense of the language
which could develop a voice and speech like that.
Duly appointed by a grim old Marshall who wasnt telling us
anything, Errant replied, doffing his hat as an afterthought. Rorg rose
suddenly and abruptly to his full and very impressive height, a tower of

metal and strengthand then equally grandly came down to one knee, still
almost as tall as the Elfin was. From that position he essayed a very
cheesy bow, while Cheri performed a careful curtsey and Trencher slowly
and somewhat stiffly managed a careful bow of his own.
Two humans, a Rockborn, and an Urkhar He honestly couldnt
tell if she was disappointed or amused. A woof and a cough made her turn
her head as Butter and Russet padded past her to take their places among
the fourand the two Horses huffed and pawed the ground, while Wings
chirruped his irritation at being missed.
She missed the significance of none of it. My apologies. She
bowed again, to Beasts as well as bipeds. I should have known my
Marshall would not see me in the hands of any but the best. Errant
lifted an eyebrow at her choice of terms, but let it pass by. He watched
her steal forwards and was quite startled that Trencher was her initial
target.
Fingers longer and more slender then human proportions would be
reached out and settled on the thick-fingered mitts of the Rockborn,
ivory against brownish gray, smoothness against callus and scar.
Rockborn, I have no quarrel with your people, and the ancient enmities
were tread under the claws of the Dramojh long ago. May the Wood and the
Stone stand together as they did long ago
Trenchers breath came out in a quiet exhalation, like a
releasing bellows. Lady, I would have it so. Her sad smile of old
tales between old races was enough to make even a Rockborn drop his eyes.
She lifted her eyes first to Rorg, rising again to his feet,
then surveyed Cheri more intently, and at last came to Errant.
He distinctly saw her blink. A Source she asked, somewhat
uncertainly, perceiving something with fey Sight he could not. The
undercurrent of her voice made him distinctly aware she was not totally
comfortable with the idea.
Yes. Errant of the Clan of Ruin, Independent. Cheri is an
Armsister of Ruin, and Rorg is an Urkhar warrior of the Northguard, come
slumming in safer climes for the moment. The big warriors tusks
gleamed in the gathering dark. Trencher, give us a dark fire. Lady
Shaevva, join us and tell us where we are going, what we are doing, and
well put our heads together on how to get there.
She seemed somewhat startled by the abruptness of his control of
the situation, pursed her lips as if to say something, and then simply

nodded.
A faint hammer beat in the heart of forge, and the simple fire
at the heart of the camp lept up, magelight warping the illumination so
it would not be seen more then a dozen yards away. Errant crouched down
easily, waiting, and the Elfin moved carefully opposite him, staying
near Trencher as if drawing strength from his presence.
-------------------------------------My people have many ancient roles and tasks we must undertake
and maintain, she began after a moment of consideration, to an
attentive audience. We are watchers and warders over Elder things and
places which are not meant to be used nor awakened. While the coming of
the dramojh disrupted many of our duties, still we were able to conceal
many things even as we fled, or even pass guardianship to those of good
faith and heart. I am of the line of those watchers, and the Land has
sent me omens of those things we once stood over, saying that they are
threatened by events, and that we must be prepared to stand against
those who would unleash what is best kept buried.
Errant inclined his head. Hed had a hand in unearthing some
things best left buriedand destroying them. Am I thinking that its
not a case of unearthing these things and destroying them
Silver hair flashed as the Elfin quickly shook her head. No!
The things buried are of great power, enough to flee if they were
threatened. They can be watched and concealed and left to be
forgottenbut not destroyed. If they are unleashed, the consequences
could be a grave threat to all.
Because I am a fool, I desire to know the gravity of the
situation I am leaping headfirst into, Errant went on, unperturbed. I
believe you may not know the exact degree and nature of the threat to
your wards. Therefore, I want to know what is being warded and guarded
and in danger of being brought up, so that I have a better idea of what
exactly I might be going up against from both sides. And if you say Im
better off not knowing, Id say you are a fool, because that would mean
you would be, too, and so obviously you wouldnt be asking us to assist
in this task of yours.
Her mouth opened, closed, and she regarded him with those
luminous emerald eyes. Obviously, she was used to being treated with a
lot more deference then he was giving her, and it was she who dropped
her eyes first.

Truly, Sources are different from normal Men, she managed by

way of rueful agreement. In truth, there is more then one location that
is compromised, although I am not sure how many exactly, or all of them.
One is the seal upon a great Elder beast, chained and bound for
more then a Great Age in unceasing slumber, an apocalyptic monster which
could ravage all the lands before it could be brought down, a beast
perhaps only the gods themselves might do battle with. A servant of a
Cult long thought dead has awakened, and plans to release it for his
masters. We must prevent him from doing so.
A second is a great and fell sword, once wielded by a Godless
servant of the Dramojh, perhaps a slayer of Gods fallen. His tomb is
corrupted, and the weapon which seared the souls of the Divine lies
waiting for another servant of corruption to take for his own, and lead
an unholy war against those who revere higher powers.
There are more, but of these two am I certain, for their threat
is the most immediate and the most dire. We must move to prevent those
who would unleash them, and then bury mention of them from those who
seek them, and we have little time to waste to do so.
I do not know the precise identities of our enemies, only that
they serve the Dark powers and the things they could unleash would be
horrible indeed by any standards. The shining emerald eyes looked about
at them all, but especially at Errant. Is this sufficient knowledge for
you, Master Errant
His smile was predatory in reply. Dark cultists Tomb diving
Ancient beasts and traps and things He glanced at Trencher, who smiled
in fond remembrance. Aye, I think thats enough for me. Rorg, Cheri,
questions
Where we going the pragmatic Urkhar asked, without missing a
beat.
Of course. Out of the pouch at her side much too small to fit
it, she drew a lovingly drawn map at least a millennium out of style,
the images on it seeming to shift and flow to convey proper proportions
of distance despite the out-of-date and heavily stylized illustrations
upon it. He identified only Eskelev and perhaps two of the major Duchy
towns from long, long ago as she laid it out for them to examine, also
noting that the map did not directly indicate anywhere.
Here. Her finger touched the map, and he had a supremely good
idea of the relative position of the point from Eskelev, if nothing

else. When we fled the Sidhete, guardianship of this seal was passed to
a paladine family tasked to secrecy, servants of Aru who were actually
Eternal, and able to conceal and hold their realm from the Dramojh with
great effort and magic. Where the founders of the family are now, I do
not knowbut the seal is in danger, and it is there we must head.
Errant measured the distance with his eyes. Over a hundred
leagues, and of rough country. That looks like the location of Castle
Shurrockminor nobles of human ancestry, right on the border with the
Wereyn tribes. They get along well enough with the Wereyn nearby, but
theres plenty of clan rivalry and raiding in the area. We could have
trouble getting there safely, depending on how much activity there has
beenand the Wereyn are infamously prone to corruption from the Dark,
especially from Klaw.
The Elfin made a warding sign instantly, shocked that he would
use the name directly, and then remembering what he was. I sense a
rising threat of danger. The sooner and faster we can go, the better.
Im assuming you could treewalk there in moments, Ladyor is it
too far outside the purview of the White, or fey influence The look on
her face told the story for him. Then overland it is. He considered
the map, applying the experience of his own travels to those lands.
Thats a lot of wild lands, with a lot of wild creatures in there left
over from dramojh experiments. This could get interesting. His smile
was not something everyone agreed with, but at least he wasnt afraid of
the trip. Well go faster on the trade road, of courseI trust you are
able to conceal your race, Lady
I have been told I make a fine Halvyri bard when need be, she
answered back calmly.
Good enough. If we can take the trade road to open country,
here and here, we can make some very good time. We should be able to get
to Shurrock in a week or so, all things considered.
The Elfin looked surprised. That is a formidable pace, and over
unknown lands.
Never run with a Horse before We can make good time. If Im
optimistic, its because Ive been in some of the area beforeas we get
closer to Shurrock and have to skirt the forest is where it will get
slowand where the surprises will come in. His smile showed that he was
looking forwards to it.
=

New Post Re: The Wereyn

------------------------------------------------------------------------

*The Wereyn II*

It had been big. Having two heads to feed probably did that to a
creature. Two poison-spike tails too. And them fliers have high
metabolisms that need to be stuffed with lots of fresh meat.
Hungry people running more then 80 kliks a day are not the sort
of thing you drop out of the sky on, especially when wyvern tail cooks
up so nice with only a few wild herbsand youre toting around TWO of
the suckers.
Butter and Russet were gorging themselves on the strips of meat
that Rorg had cut off the massive carcass of the beast for them, while
the bipeds enjoyed tender wyvern tail stewed wonderfully by Cheri. They
were all a bit surprised when Lady Shavvae joined in with some gusto,
and chewed on the tougher meat with obvious enjoyment. Errant recalled
something about the hunting culture of the Elven peoples and how they
enjoyed feasting on the bigger, tougher and older beasts especially, and
didnt say anything.
Besides, shed also harvested the tails poison glands and the
dewclaws of the wyvern. One was for carving, and he didnt ask what she
intended to do with the virulent stuff the shocked mutate thing hadnt
had the time to use.
Hed seen enough to know her magical talent was primarily
druidic, a magical tradition all but extinct among humans. The Grass
Wars had been a particularly nasty series of skirmishes between Haxans
and Druids, intelligent Beasts of primos origin against Awakened and
Dire animals, the swords of Sources against shape-changing and
nature-magic wielding fanatics who thought they knew best how to run the
world, and the faithful of Mithar refusing to be dictated to by
self-proclaimed prophets of the Land. Druids had been driven from Haxan
permanently from that point oneven Elven druids. What remnants of their
culture remained was reflected in the Hiken and the ranger brotherhoods,
and scattered members of the Halvyr with strong ties to the Land.
Outside of Haxan, the Druids had been driven mad by the changes
in magic and the Land brought by the invading Dramojh. Tainted by the
Dark, the things theyd unleashed on both invaders and innocents were
still being felt today, a ceaseless array of twisted and warped animals

of unremitting savagery which had led to a death sentence on sight for

any true Druid. The path of the Greenbond had largely replaced them
among those who loved the Land for what it was and didnt want to
enforce their beliefs on othersbut tying oneself to plant life and the
Green wasnt seen as much better then tying oneself to the beast and
abandoning what it meant to be sentient and civilized, in the eyes of
Men. And then there was the whole problem with the Green path of Magic
The Elves, however, had a long Druidic tradition, probably the
original one, wrapped up in fey mystique and more natural attunement to
the Land then any mere Man could claim. Shape-changing and nature magic
came more easily to the Fey then Divine power did, so it was hardly
surprising that she used Druidic magic.
Errant just thought it a damned odd set of skills for a Warders
duties. Sure, she could reach the required locations quickly, but shed
be relying almost exclusively on other magical talents to see her through
Bah, what did he know about magic Shed been good enough with
the bow to keep up with Cheri, reserving her magic for emergency use
this far outside Haxan, where the Green sapped at the heart of her
power. He had no problems with her, and the minor illusions she used to
conceal her appearance did not affect him much.
Trencher, of course, wasnt having any problem, riding a
Hovershieldmore specifically, Errants shield. Humming happily, hed
kept up a nice rhythm and beat while the Haxan first loped easily along
the thousand-year old trade road and then cut across the more open areas
of Eskelev to gain some time, riding the shield that drifted easily
along at the Haxans waist level, keeping the pace for them and a sharp
eye out. Russet and Butter and the two Horses kept up the stiff pace
without much problem, used to endurance runningfor which Rorg was
profoundly grateful, as running that distance in his Crystal Shield
armor was not something he particularly wanted to do. Cheri stayed on
her mount Canter, while Rorg rode Gellow, and the Elf alternately winged
ahead to scout the way alongside Wings or used her magic to keep pace
with them afoot, and find a way through the thickest undergrowth,
parting the vegetation with druidic magic to allow them to pass and save
time.
The Wyvern had come down out of the sky looking for a meal, but
the problem with coming in from an aerial attack when you are the size
of a small hut with the wingspan of a festival tent is the very
sharp-eyed Hawks of Haxan can see you coming from kliks away and warn
the dirt-eaters you plan to eat on. The two-headed beast had first flown
right into a column of stone erupting out of the ground at a tap of

Forge, and its luck had gone downhill from there.

Hed seen plenty of sign of nomadic movements in the areaboth
Beastmen tribes and Wereyn. The two didnt get along too well, all
things considered, as the existence of the one had basically been the
impetus forcing the other into existence when the Dramojh came and the
Harken tribes had gone desperately looking for some form of strength and
power to save them.
The Golden Wolf would be so disappointed in his people now,
Errant thought, not for the first time. One of the great regrets of the
people of Haxan was the corruption of the Harken. Some of the tribes had
managed to gain the sanctuary of Haxan, and join the Hikenbut many had
not, and had turned to old, old ways when the gods failed them, grasping
at any straws for battle-might.
Totem-magic. The thought of it made his lips curl even now.
Beast-walking and skin-shiftingand tied intimately to the savagery of
Klaw; blood madness, frenzy, savagery. The Harken had indeed managed to
endure the existence of the Dramojh, empowered by a ferocity in battle
that simply wasnt worth the time of the serpents to beat out of them,
especially given the chill and hostile nature of their homes.
In the wake of the Jytan, the Wereyn had taken the opportunity
to push south into softer, warmer lands with few protectors. The
northern lands of old Eskelev were filled with nomadic tribes that
warred with Felin and Lupin over living space and lands, and did far
more then their share of raiding on more civilized centers of livingand
were often open to a lot of unscrupulous mercenary work.
Hed fought Wereyn before, and both enjoyed and hated it. He
knew the stories of the old glories of the Gray Wolf and Old Bear and
Golden Eagle, and seeing what had become of those great Clans was a
horrible feeling. There were Hiken who devoted their entire lives to
stamping out the travesty of Men these skin-shifting creatures had
become, and berserkers and beast-changers did battle along the north of
Haxan with great regularity and enthusiasm, often drawing in the Adanche
and the Reever wild tribes into the struggle, and, indeed, just about
anything that liked to fight.
Several times he knew theyd been spotted at a distance, but
Wings kept them from stumbling into the middle of any camps, and they
were moving at a very good pace, such that only the most determined
hunters would have bothered to track them or try to keep upand with a
Druid along to erase their trail, that could have been quite
problematic, even given the powers of the Wereyn shamans, or the

Beastfolk witches. He would not have minded a rousing good fight against
these corrupted remnants of Men, but that wasnt his job at the moment.
Im guessing that a slaughtered village is not exactly what we
are supposed to be stumbling across at this place and time. Errant sent
the Hound and Lion out to look for traces of the attackers, having a
pretty good idea what was responsible as he surveyed the damage.
The damage is recent. The attackers cannot be far. Lady
Shavvae looked about at the devastation sadly, but with resignation, her
omens proving true. Her eyes closed as she pondered the area, frowning.
They took the deador consumed them.
Likely both. Errant had no illusions about the Wereyn. Search
the buildings for signs of dead. Likely theyll be thoroughly looted,
but we might find a more direct indication of what and who. Wings,
circle the areaif the others find a direction, concentrate on that
way. The Hawk screeched a reply and took flight.
Not a place to spend the evening, Im guessing, Trencher mused
sadly, and sighed as he headed for the inn, which had half the roof torn
right off. He paused as he considered the damage done to the wood. Ho,
Manling. Look at that roof.
Errant turned from his consideration of the wall of the towns
smithy, solid stone wall stove in by some form of a mighty blow.
Powerful magic, monster Magic had been used to conceal the fact, else
the weight of the beast would have left clear spoor, and such things had
massive scent trails. The Elfin should also have been able to sense
lingering magic.
He trotted up behind the Rockborn, and then past him, vaulting
up to the slumping porch roof, pulling himself up smoothly to the second
floor and the sloping roof near a huge hole smashed clearly through the
solid wooden construction. He reached out to touch the edges of the
hole, and drew his hand back thoughtfully.
This shows signs of massive rot and dessication. He didnt
want to believe what he was hinting at, but hed been trained too well
to not consider the options. The inside is just as bad. Most of the
wooden articles are collapsing and pitted, eaten almost clean
throughthe floor is unsafe and the walls are equally ready to collapse.
Going in could bring the whole thing down on us.
Well, best ye be careful inside, then, Trencher drawled, and

Errant snorted as he stepped inside.

His lightfoot wasnt the best, but Flowing Waters footwork was
renowned for its steadiness on slippery and unstable surfaces, and this
was just a matter of applied concentration. The timbers trembled beneath
his feet, but did not give way as he half-walked, half-skated across the
floor.
Whoever had looted the place obviously hadnt taken the time to
come in here, else there would be some holes in the sagging floor. He
carefully opened the travel chest at the foot of the bed, pitted and
rotting but somehow still intact, and somehow wasnt surprised to find
that it looked like some traveler had indeed been staying in here.
The hole would be right where a window would go. A sniping
position. Something had then smashed a big hole in the window and
proceeded to fill the air with killing gas. He sniffed at the smell of
chlorine and rot, registered the uniqueness of the smell, and snarled as
he looked about.
There, a small closet where someone might seek to take shelter
from the rotting, killing gasholes eaten clean through the door, hardly
a sanctuary.
His long knife struck the lock from the door, and he tore it
openit fell apart into flinders as he levered it wide, and looked on
what was behind.
A Hyn. Hed suspected, from the size of the clothing. Probably a
merchant, by the cut of the clothing, and a female. Of course, it was
hard to tell nowthe gas had done its work well, and she was
unrecognizable, looking as if shed been rotting for a week or more,
instead of a day, yet so pervasive was the power of the gas no insects
dared the area. She still had a shortbow in hand, obviously magical by
the way it had resisted the gas, but the string had been eaten thru
entirely, and the death grip on the curved length of wood only made the
impression sadder.
If he were a necromancer he doubtless would have wanted to talk
with her dead spirit and found out more information. He was not, and
would have put to the sword anyone thinking to do such a deed.
With great care, he retrieved a blanket from the travel chest,
and wrapped the fallen Hyns body in it. No larger then a human child,
he lifted her easily, kicking out the door to safer flooring and moving
out towards the stairs down and the main floor which had signs of blood

and other fightingand still, no dead.

We need a grave for a Small One, he told Trencher as he came
out, and the Rockborn just nodded. Hed be able to find out enough from
her belongings to pass them onto whatever family she had.
Two barks sounded at the edge of town, pitched to not carry too
far. Cheri glanced at him, and he inclined his head so she could ride
off to investigate.
Anything inside Trencher asked, as he proceeded to strip the
body with care and reverence, ignoring the condition of the Hyns flesh.
Linnorm gas. Braer.
The Rockborn looked up with a flat expression. You dont say
Claw marks on the flooring from unshoed, taloned feet. Spray
patterns from wounds inflicted by claws, patterns on the walls not made
by weapons. Could be Beastmenbut well know if they find some tracks.
He glanced at the Elfin, who was moving off towards the edge of town,
following some instinct of her own. Shamans magic, to conceal the
tracks and erase the scentbut it cant possibly cover all the tracks if
the attackers came in from all sides. Russet will catch the scent quick,
and well know the truth.
Wereyn, working with a Rot Wurm Thats for strange
bedfellows, Trencher grunted, Forge beating once and a hole large
enough for the dead and deeper then wolves would dig opening before him,
taking the slain Hyn lass down with it.
Linnorms arent something people ignore. Ive a feeling she
might know something about it. Errant paused while Trencher intoned the
blessings of Earth and Fire upon the dead, sending the spirit on, and
promising the slain a warriors vengeance for dying well in battle.
Soundless corpsefire flared up in the hue of molten lava, quickly
consuming the corpse before the ground flowed together and resealed
itself seamlessly behind.
Wurm. Hadnt expected that on this trip. Trenchers eyes
didnt hide the gleam of satisfaction.
Well see just how much we have to deal with. First objective
is to secure the creatures resting spot and seal. Well worry about the
Wurm when it gets in the way. Trencher hesitated, then nodded. While
Wurm-slaying was almost as worthy as slaying true Dragons, that wasnt

their job at this point.

Both of them looked up as Cheri came trotting back up, Canters
ears back and huffing excitedly.
Tracks, Wereyn, she stated in clipped tones. Butter thinks he
found a trail of the marauders heading east and north, and Wings is
making a pass in that direction. She glanced up to the northwest, where
the Castle of the Shurrock waited in the shadow of the stony hill that
loomed over the town.
Errant followed her gaze towards the castle. North and
eastaround the other side to throw off anyone who investigates the
town. The camp isnt our goalthe castle is. He turned his attention to
the Elfin, who was quickly returning, and Rorg, who was accompanying
Russet back towards them.
There is a trail leading up from the mill towards the castle. A
sally point, or escape tunnel, possibly, she announced with some
certainty. Errant figured she probably knew about it even before her
magic had gone looking for it.
Excellent. Now, if you know anything about a Rot Linnorm in
these parts, nows the time to tell us. Her emerald eyes widened in
some surprise, and then narrowed thoughtfully, turning to the sight of
the castle.
A Rot Linnorm accompanied a Dark Shaman in one of the early
attempts to break the seal, early in the history of the fortress. He was
defeated and slain and his forces scattered with such thoroughness we
thought his name and legend buried with his bones. If the Linnorm is
hereit will be several centuries older now, and I cannot think what
else might lure it from its festering hole except old debts.
A Dark Cult seeking to rise again on the leavings of an
apocalyptic beasts leavings Errant smiled dangerously, and loosened
Duty in its sheath. I just love killing cultists, especially Wereyn
cultists. Lets go get into some cover, and see just what has gone wrong
at the castle. Russet, Butterground duty towards that camp. I want you
out of sight and out of mindbut I want a what, a who, a how many and
nobody knowing you are there. Come back tonight.
Hound and Lion huffed and rumbled and moved quickly away
together. Theyd work out a plan with a few snarls and ear-moves and paw
shakes and tail-twitches and get in closer then the enemy would suspect.
Theyd have no problem trailing the company up towards the castle,

either, when it came time to find them.

====================
Weeee, someone does their defenses right, muttered Trencher under his
breath. Ensorceled, flint-like eyes considered the castle above them.
Well, their Omigods defenses, anyways. Those walls got the standard
magical reinforcement, but not a whisper of runework interlay. I could
probably breach them myself. Must have relied on keeping a spellcaster
around. He glanced at Lady Shavvae for confirmation.
The elemental wardings are strong and potentbut, as the
Rockborn has intimated, they are not constant. Lightning was crackling
about battlements and tower tops, and misty shapes swirling into and out
of sight over the castle. The skies above were murky and clouded, now
rather more obvious as an effect emanating from the castle. Summoned
creatures of wind and stormelementals of air and lightningpowerful
magic of neutral bias. The magi who made this place specialized in
Aeromancy
Ex-Aurorans interrupted Errant blithely. The Aeromancers of
the Weirhold were by far the most famous school, and had more members
claim the High Seat there then any other school, even the meta-mages.
She paused, obviously not used to having her rather mesmerizing
voice cut into like that. Errant just looked at her, waiting.
Remarkably, no.
Good, he sighed before she went on. Aurorans tend to have way
too many strange ideas about how to defend things. I can expect quality
at least a notch below what theyd arrange, Eternal magi or no. The
Elfin blinked as she considered that assessment. Lightning strikes,
force barriers, probably a flight and dimensional interdiction, bound
elemental creatures of some strengththat about sum it up, magi
Trencher glanced at the Elfin, who was plainly not expecting
this sort of expertise from a non-spellcaster. Well, theres always the
mundane stuff, and those are long-term castings, Errantcould be a lot
of the suckers inside.
Yeah, yeah. Centerpoint. What are we making for
Middle tower, there, Shavvae stated, pointing carefully.
However, the Ward about it is quite strong, and probably keyed to

another device. I doubt we can enter she trailed off as Errant just
glanced at her. Ah.
We arent here to ruin the castles defenses, Errant, Cheri
reminded him calmly. We are here to become part of them.
Errant allowed his disappointment to show. Oh, right. Lady
Shavvae, do you have the means to make contact with some of the more
powerful elementals We could use a lack of interference as we go about
our butchering duties.
The Elfin raised an elegant eyebrow. I can speak with them,
yes, and on the winds so as not to disturb their Wards.
Let them know that we are out here. I think an Elf swinging by
should be reason enough, but if they cant tell the difference between
us bipeds, just inform them that theres a Primos Source out here with
an itchy True Death blade they just might want to stay clear of while we
finish off the stuff thats bothering them.
She tilted her slender head in acquiescence. His Source Aura
would doubtless be more perceptible to the elementals then any other
standard of perceptionhe was effectively an elemental creature of the
Prime Plane in his own way. I will do so.
Trencher, take a look at the front gates. Rorg, with him. Im
going to look over our little surprise that Trencher thoughtfully opened
up for us. The overgrown door, concealed by turf and grass, now lay
cunningly revealed if you knew where to look.
=======================
Bone Claw tribeformer Lions. They are among the strongest and
most dangerous of the Wereyn, but not very numerous because they do so
love to prove how truly mighty they are. Errant spat out the words as
Shavvae quickly translated the words of Lion and Dog. Thats a lot of
them in one placesomeone took the heart of their tribe. Must be a
subcheif, tribal champion, or perhaps the chieftain himself in command
to get such an effort.
The Bone Claw were the servants of the shaman who first
attempted to free the beast centuries ago, when first the Shurrock rose
to guardianship, Shavvae supplied smoothly, earning her a wry look from
Errant. We are perhaps dealing with a truly old foe, if it has the
assistance of a Wurm and its offspring.

Finding out that not just one, but FOUR drac-blooded Great Ogres
were hanging around the area had Errant just itching to go off and kill
stuff bigger then him, and Trencher and Rorg seemed very reluctant to
leave such a fine fight behind. Alas, it wasnt their task at this
pointand there had been a lot of Bone Claws.
Happily, only one Drakeling. Looked like a drac-blooded Wyvern
of some size, another offspring of the Linnorm. It seemed to be keeping
undercover, but the sight of it was hard to miss, even given the crude
fortifications the Wereyn cultists had erected half-heartedly to conceal
themselves. Rorgs observation was fairly pointed because they didnt
have much in the way of their own aerial assets.
The Hound also reports the scent of a Human among the myriad
stench of the place, although fading. Female, and a young adult.
You dont say. Errants eyes were as cold as his blade. Not
our mastermind, I hope. Did he sweep the main doors It was late and in
the dark, the Hound had made a quick pass of the entryway, where the
smells were more recent and revealing.
He confirmed Trenchers observation of a battle and slaughter,
blood in the soillooks like the castle was taken wholly by surprise. As
is often the case, treachery works where might did not. The Elfin shook
her silvered locks sadly. The majority of the party was Wereyn, with
one human and one otherpossibly some sort of changeling or
shape-shifter, he could not tell.
Wonderful! My day is complete. Errants mood, soured because
he couldnt start picking off Jotuns and skilled Wereyn warriors, wasnt
helping. What did the elementals have to say
They were untrusting, but said they would refer my words to
their leader, and be looking for you. They were rather single-minded in
their convictionsbut possibly their leader does not have the directive
to kill ALL invaders, she mused with gentle humor.
Magi, get your restwe are hitting this place when youve your tanks
full. Cheri, tail me in while I scout out the wayRusset, guard here,
Rorg and Butter, with the magi. Find a safe spot the Hound can lead us
to, Trench. Errant got to his feet, already heading towards the escape
door. Cheri quietly rose on his flank, as always.
Doing. The Rockborn respectfully inclined his head at the
Elfin, who probably also had a very good spot in mindand sleeping in a
cave when the weather wasnt totally horrible was not something an Elf

was likely to do.

New Post Re: The Wereyn

-----------------------------------------------------------------------/Where we hack on a castle and its inhabitants, and introduce a REAL
Warder to the story./

*The Wereyn III*

Good evening.
His accent was quite precise. Taken with the right inflection,
it meant Welcome to the twilight of your life, or, given the nature of
a threat, welcome to the darkness.
The first Wereyn guard blinked in shock at a human appearing at
his elbow. Then he observed the sword in front of his face, and a
rippling blur that extended out of sight below his chin.
That sword went onwards to plunge directly into the heart of the
Wereyn across from him. That one managed to throw himself far enough
backwards not to die instantly, but the grim-eyed human was moving with
purpose and speed, and death was blazing from his eyes.
A arrow came streaking under Errants arm as he withdrew /Duty/,
and the second Wereyn managed to cough as Cheris shot drove up under
its throat into its brain.
The two surviving Bone Claws were still trying to digest the
fact that a Man was among them oh, spirits no, a Haxan! as they
bared fangs and their muscles began to writhe under furred skin, going
berserk and calling on their animal nature for stronger and stronger
effect in a desperate scramble for survival.
Errant was having none of it, as he brought Duty back in a
flurry of motion so fluid it looked like he had no bones in his arms,
and crosscuts sheared through fine mail links like cotton, making the
third Wereyns chest erupt into bloodspray even as it kicked backwards
and away from him.
Which left one, scrambling to his feet and howling bloody murder
at him.
Rorg stepped up behind the Wereyn, and with one blow from

/Shrek/ launched him across the once-fine table where the skin-shifters
had been eating something best not considered. The Wereyn twisted,
half-stunned by the blow, in mid-air caught by two arrows, and then
Errant stepped aside and swept /Duty/ back to meet the gaping mouth with
the streaming point of his blade.
Clawed hands tore at the dark mithril bracers on his forearm,
but did not get through before the light faded from feral eyes. Errant
coolly withdrew his blade from where it jutted out of the back of the
Wereyns neck, and flicked the blood off on its facial fur.
There was a mound of plunder to one side of the roomtapestries,
chests, candlebra, chandeliers, jewelry boxes and containers of crystal
and fine metals and ivory, some works of art and finely crafted wooden
objects of smaller size, silverware sets and golden utensils and the
likerandom, eye-catching loot that added up would doubtless come to a
decent sumand certainly looked like something worth guarding if you
were a bunch of primitive savages greedy for loot and recognition.
It had definitely been worth their lives as far as Errant was
concerned. The rest of the party slid into the room, Beasts moving
quickly to the doors to sniff and listen while the ladies and Trencher
took up more central covering positions.
Standard layout means that door to the main hallways, and
likely around and up from there, Trencher noted, having already plotted
out much of the suspected layout of the place.
Its early. Likely they are still in bedor just going to bed.
They arent sleeping with the Wereyn, which means theyve co-opted the
living quarters here. If they want to rest, I want to kill them
sleeping. I have a feeling they would return the favor.
Trencher just nodded grimly. They werent dealing with honorable
foes herethe slaughter outside the main gates had been just that, not a
battle. Returning the honor they were given.
And then Lady Shavvae raised her hand. Pause a moment. Errant
looked back at her, ready to open the doors out, scowling with
impatience. I am being contacted by the master of the castles defenses.
That got his attention. He hadnt been expecting anything so
quickly or direct. The Elfin listened to a voice only she could here,
and then excitedly replied in lilting singsong Elvish that shivered his
skin like pure music. Her radiant smile of joy was almost
transcendentalhe honestly couldnt recall seeing anything to rival it

on a more mortal face.

There is a /Warder/ here, called here by Mithar himself just
before the attack. He has been masterminding the defenses, such as there
are, and reinforcing them against the attackers. He is the primary
reason they have not advanced beyond the sealthey were unprepared for
spell-reinforced elementals who could defy the power of their magic.
/A Warder!,/ thought Errant, intrigued. Paladine mages of Mithar
and Sylune, devoted to the defense of others using the arts of magic.
Holy magi, some called them, and Shield Mages, others. Of all the
traditions of magic, the most trusted, for they were forbidden to use
magic to directly harm another, save the unnatural, the supernatural,
and the extranatural.
Tell him we are proceeding on a clean-up of the castle. If he
has any information on them, give it up now.
Again the singsong Elvish. He belatedly recalled that most
Aurorans learned Elvish as their language of Magic, and finding someone
who spoke it outside the Lohrte was almost impossible now otherwise. A
sly tool to determine actual identity.
He identified several primary figures. The warchief of the Bone
Claws is assisted by a powerful shaman. There is a mercenary duelist
with them, which he believes to a be a shapechanger based upon minute
changes in appearance he has observed of the person. They are usually
assisted by several of the Bone Claw berserkers, and led by an ancient
spirit who, ah, seems to be possessing the youngest daughter of the
Shurrock family The Elfin trailed off in dismay. He says that the
spirit seems also to have recruited a fallen priestess of Aru, which it
was his mission to intercept and capture or slay.
A ghost Errants expression darkened yet further, and
suddenly the runes on /Duty/ hissed to life, making eyes flinch away
from the stratic absoluteness they represented. Wonderful. Leave him to
me. Is he trapped at the center of the defenses or can he contribute at
all
His duty is to guard the heart of the Wards. He cannot leave,
she responded quickly.
Then tell him his fallen priestess is about to get dead.
Trencher, hook into the stonework and see if you can locate the
spellbinders. Im going to assume that fallen priestess is desecrating
the main chapel and the priests quarters. Lets see if we cant

interrupt her meditations.

--------------------------------------------------

Errant wiped his hand across the symbol, scattering glittering

dust across the surface of the door with impunity as foul magic hissed
and fell away. He glanced at Trencher, who studied the door with pursed
lips.
I feel the presence of something unnatural beyond, Shavvae
spoke up behind them.
Air elementals are unnatural. Be more precise. Lower planar
Errant replied shortly.
Again, he flustered her. Yes, I think so.
Familiar or summoned ally. He glanced at Butter, who smiled a
gleaming mithral-toothed grin, looked at Rorg, and then nodded at Trencher.
/Forge/ tapped the floor, and the door exploded open.
Butter was flowing in with the two warriors right behind him as
two golden-haired women of extraordinary beauty shot to their feet in
surprise at the sudden intrusion. Butter was leaping and in midair and
coming down on the closer of the two in less then a heartbeat, a merry
roar filling the room as suddenly her leathern bat's-wings unfurled
behind her, and she shrieked as the Lion smashed into her with over two
hundred kilos of fanged fury.
Errant was on the wrong side of the door, so Rorg got to the
priestess first, who was clawing for her weapon and grasping the weird
pastel-covered symbol at her throat, ignoring the trails of blood at
each corner of her mouth as she tried to get a spell off.
Rorg was having none of it, as /Shrek/ came across and cut the
thing in two instantly. Then a hundred fifty kilos of Urkhar warrior was
slamming into her shoulder first, smashing her back into the mirror
shed been primping herself in with a loud crash of breaking glass and
pulverizing wood.
Errant came across the broad bed, rolling once to come up next
to where Butter was energetically ripping what looked to be a succubus
limb from limb. With practiced precision, the Lion rolled over,
abandoning the wild clawings which had ripped the fiend open, and

/Duty/, blazing True Death, came plunging down.

The death cry of an evil immortal, raised in the horror of
eternity coming to an end, was always sweet music to his ears. Vivic
fire lashed outwards in a spray of unwhite release as the creature was
Fed to the Land, and the priestess screamed in dismay and equal horror.
Ham-sized, spiked fists drove into her unarmored ribs,
shattering bone and crushing lungs flat like piledrivers. Urkhars are
infamous for the equality of sexes in combat, and Rorg wasnt going to
give anyone using a symbol like that the slightest breatheror breath,
if he could prefer. Shoulders moving smoothly, he heaved her sideways as
she spat blood, a lot of it not her own, and Errant came smoothly into
the arc of her motion to take her head off in mid-air.
True Death! swore the Elfin, wide-eyed. The spirit and the
shaman will sense that easily! We have just alarmed them all!
Of course. Hence the reason Trencher paid a visit to the main
gates this morning, and the exit from the keep before we came up here.
Errant glanced at the corpse of the fallen priestess coldly, as vivic
fire consumed the blood pumping out her neck and ate away her exquisite
features with equal lack of remorse. Move, woman! The rest of the team
was already peeling back for the chapel, Russet and Cheri in the lead,
and the Elfin didnt have time to react before Rorg and Errant were
moving past her, after Trencher, pounding hard for the doors below.
Elven reflexes took over for shock at the speed of the reaction, and she
raced after them.
A magical cry was going off, some sort of cantrip horn call.
Likely it would normally have been heard by the Wereyn in the camp, but
Errant had faith in the competency of the Warder, especially one in
command of a bunch of air elementals, that the sound wouldnt be making
it past the castle walls. His team knew the assignments as they arose,
except for the Elfinhe hoped she knew how to contribute. This was not a
huntthis was pitched melee in, as the Bards sang, the best adventuring
tradition.
There was a roar from the doorway ahead, a reddish light, and
shouts of pain and anger. He smirked as he vaulted over Trencher, who
just ducked and let him. His speed picked up as he came out on the
landing and in a breath took in the reality of things.
There by the gates, a half dozen Bone Claws, smoking and
blackened by the trap, and gaping at the burning runes scribed over the
door theyd cut open once before, sealing it shut. Behind them, a Wereyn

shaman chanting urgently in an attempt to dispel the wards, clad in

robes Errant knew to be flayed from human skin, accoutered with
implements of human ivory and probably both of those shoulder skulls
were Hikens
Ahead of him, Butter went over the railing smoothly for that
shaman, Cheri to the side sending an arrow speeding ahead with unerring
precision to spoil the spell.
There, to the back of the hall, what looked like a human male,
rapier in hand and somehow stylishly dressed despite looking like hed
just woken up. That one grimaced as Cheris first arrow had caught him
in the leg, and he looked up in surprise.
Rorg would take him. There, the doorway across the hall was
opening, and the hand he saw on the doorjamb was human.
Convenient chandelier in position.
Without slowing down, he was on the railing and taking a long
step forwards.
He cleared the six meters effortlessly, rode the impact forwards
and took the next six meters with equal aplomb as the door widened.
Young woman, couldnt be more then sixteen. Face all scarred and
tattoed in the most savage of traditions and conventions of the Wereyn,
proclaiming status as a senior spellcaster. He could feel the age behind
those dark eyes looking at him in surprise as he came /Riding the Waves/
right into her face.
Behind him, the railing splintered and went flying as Rorg went
right through it and descended to the floor in the most expeditious
manner. The shaman was down screaming in a bundle of fur and claws,
getting ripped apart as the Bone Claws turned and pointed up.
She had good reflexes, and slammed the door in his face. He saw
something behind those eyes flicker in fear as she saw the sword blazing
into new life as it came for her.
Lunge became slash. Hardened oak parted like butter before
/Duty/s edge, and then the full force of his body hit the door and sent
it flying inwards from the impact as it broke and tore. He sprawled and
risked a single look back.
Just in time to see Lady Shavvae toss aside her bow and leap out

like a high diver from the landing, silver hair racing the length of her
as her body expanded and grew with fantastic speed and mass.
The impact of the great white bear landing atop the cluster of
Wereyn shook the stones under his feet. Errant grinned at the screams
that accompanied that feat. /Nicely done!/
His prey was stumbling backwards for the other end of the
hallway, running as fast as she could. In a breath, he was on and after
her, the runes on /Duty/ suddenly off as he considered the spells he was
likely going into.
He hit the door just as she slammed it shut, felt no less then
three Warding spells go off around him, and /Duty/ inserted itself
precisely where hed seen the boltlatch. The heavy door smashed
backwards as it caught his momentum, and he was in a wizards room.
He took one glance around at the paraphernalia of beakers and
spell components and alchemical gear, measured that a great deal of it
was missing and no doubt looted, and then fixed his eyes on the
dark-haired and dark-eyed young woman stumbling back away from
himlooked half-starved, now that he had a closer look.
The first spells hissed out at him, seething necromantic
furyand parted around him harmlessly.
For just a second he stood and stared at her, and the thing
possessing her. Then his free hand flexed, knuckles cracked, and he went
for her.
Dimensional Interdiction in effectshe couldnt port out. She
blurted out a single word, and something really sinister looking began
to materialize between him and herunfortunately, there was only room
for one of them, and the magic didnt quite get the job done before he
was in the required space and preventing the effect.
He drove his palm full force into her face, and /Pushed/.
Her cropped hair nearly tore off her head as his /chi/ ripped
through her skull. It caught the thing hidden inside her flesh, and
smashed it back with pure spiritual force, a direct attack at the
possessing entitythere.
Whatever it was, he wasnt sure. The ethereal thing gave a
hollow, echoing shriek as its ectoplasm was smashed back out of its
host. He could see signs of alligator, wasp, bear, deerwas that a

frogs tongue He wasnt sure what the original race was, nor did he care.
His free hand slid over the collapsing girl, and seized the
throat of the thing. If it was shocked he could harm a spirit possessing
a host, it was even moreso when a material creature caught ahold of it.
The dark pits of its eyes widened as the runes on /Duty/ came
back to life. Spectral claws lashed down his arm, clawing at the armor
and the soul of a Source. He just smiled really nastily at whatever the
spirit was as it twisted and tried to free form out of his gripand failed.
/Duty/ came down.
Ephemeral flesh ignited with vivic fires. The thing in his grip
writhed madly, but couldnt break free of the grip it was held by. A
huge rent opened in its spectral body, and he tore /Duty/ back and
forth, widening the injury with wrenching force.
Writhing became shuddering as the howls of the thing took on a
more desperate tone, rising, rising as undead torment and purpose was
Fed to the Land. Unreal flesh boiled like smoke, vaporized between his
fingers, and was gone.
Vivic fire erupted out of the backpack the girl bore, lashed the
magic of the pack and tore it open. A riot of books, scrolls, spell
components and valuables scattered across the floor around herand
ancient bones turning to less then dust.
He snorted and let her lay, turning and hurrying back for the room.
------------------------------Rorg hadnt taken on the swashbucklerhe had occupied the last
two Bone Claws alongside Trencher, those who hadnt been pinned by the
multi-ton bulk of the transformed Elfin atop them. Russet was dealing
with the pinned Bone Claws by expeditiously ripping out throats or
groins with speed and precision, and the Elfin had herself ripped the
head off of the easiest one to reach with snowy jaws stained red.
The duelist was nowhere to be seen, save for a bloody trail
leading back the way hed come. Cheri had popped the biggest Bone Claw
with half a dozen arrows, and now Rorg literally cut it the frothing
Wereyn in two as Butter rose from the mangled and dismembered corpse of
the Wereyn shaman, the full length of his golden fur stained red.
Errant came down from above, whistling once and pointing. The

last Bone Claw abruptly had a Lion on its backside, and Russet was
racing after the duelist, Errant sliding on the floor and going after
the Hound.
Postern stairs, and up, a narrow niche ahead a shapechanger
could squeeze thru easily enough. He glanced up another floor, saw a
wider window, and kept going as Russet went the same way. They paused
only a second to study the view before Man followed Hound out the upper
window.
It was only five meters to the battlements, and Russet took the
fall, slid along on his belly, and was back on his feet instantly.
Errant jumped easily, took the impact and dispersed it around him,
sliding two paces along the stone, and then off after the Hound.
There. The shapechanger was heading for the main gates, down the
stairs there. Russet saw the wagon of straw before he did, and was off
the wall and into the mound before him, blazing a path as his red-brown
fur burrowed into the mass and out the far side. Golden straw exploded
before Errant as he forced it out of his path and pounded after the
Hound as it howled with glee.
The Duelist saw them coming, obviously shockedhow the Hells had
a dog come up on him so fast Errant smirked and watched the expression
on the not-mans face as he literally slid four paces along the stones
to take up a place opposite the Hound on the swashbucklers other side.
Russet performed a shoulder-roll to snap into proper position, sinking
into a stance that had been directly borrowed from Butter and other
Great Cats.
Good morning to die, isnt it Errant asked conversationally.
He pulled his long knife, holding it against his forearm in defensive
array, while /Duty/ spun once in his grip and came to guard.
The infamous Haxan school of the Sword! The duelist had a good
voice, strong tenor, grandiose, probably borrowed from someone else, but
there was definite skill in the way his blade snapped up on guard, and
his free hand poised on his hip. Corix School of Master Filcartiol, sir!
Flowing Waters of Haxan. Mitharn Classic of Haxan. Valuzuvan of
Master Immersa. Free Soul of the Source. Seven thousand mornings of
Devotions. The duelists dark eyes flickered. And you forgot to
mention your Mentus styleI believe that is what Doppelgangers call
their mind-reading sword school, isnt it
Extremely white teeth flashed in a false smile. You are indeed

widely familiar with fighting styles, sirI salute you. And he did so,
with a flourish, then settling back into stance. I can read neither you
nor your Houndunfortunate. Perhaps a trade could be made, for my life
Information, perhaps
You know what the Haxan policy is on Dops, Child of Amourae.
Errants expression went cold. Goodbye, creature.
Goodbye, human. And the shapechanger essayed the first lunge,
faster then the eye, for his throat, arm growing out even as it lunged
for an impossible reach.
Errant was already moving aside and inside, smiling ferociously
as he parried with his long knife and nearly took off the creatures arm
with a wrist-flick of a cut from his Clansword faster then the creature
would have believed such a blade could move. Feet working madly, the Dop
went defensive, and Errant came in for it.
----------------------------Get im Trencher asked rhetorically, as Errant pushed open
the doors to the keep and burst the Rockborns runes in so doing. Russet
trotted in before him, tongue lolling easily.
It was too used to reading its opponents to be a threat to a
real swordsman. Once it went defensive, it was doomed and knew it. He
ignored the single stitched cut across his cheek, a last attempt at
mocking gallantry to mark him before he had cut the thing in half and
left the foppishly clad corpse to dissolve into gray, lumpy skin and
inhuman, smooth features with no distinguishing characteristics. He took
in the signs of battle, and the very large pools of blood on the floor
from where Russet had done his work around the mangled, crushed, and
burned corpses of the Bone Claws. Lady Shavvae looked no worse for wear,
standing to one side, not an ounce of blood on her despite the buckets
the long fur of her bear form had probably soaked up.
The girl Cheri asked, arrow nocked but not pulled, looking up
the stairs to the door hed cut open.
I took pity on her. Shes likely to have a splitting headache
when she wakes up, and nightmares for the rest of her life. Ill fetch
her. Trencher, get the name of that Warder from the Lady and see if you
cant get him to let the Wards downthat is, unless he wants us to go
take out the Bone Claws too. Errants smile showed that that wouldnt
be a bad idea from his perspective at all, as he headed up the stairs.

And leave the lass in the care of a Mage Paladine Good

thinking, Manling. I doubt theres a better shoulder for her to cry on,
right now. The Rockborn turned on the Elfin, mica eyes glittering
expectantly.
He identified himself as Warren Waryn of Mithar, she replied
promptly, not missing the cue. I doubt he will object to our removing
ourselves from the keep before he lets the Wards fall.
And if he lets them fall before before that Wurm is dead with
its offspring, and the invaders driven off, hes not a Warder, hes a
fool, Rorg contributed with an eager voice. He was seated now, as the
Elfin bent over him, murmuring words that seemed to fill the air with
the smell of a blooming meadow as golden light pooled around her long
fingers, touching the rents in his armor made by the warcheifs hacking axe.
They fight well. We will need a plan to take on them all, the
Elfin said worriedly.
Errants job, the Urkhar said, sighing in relief as she
chanted again. Hes real good at finding ways to kill stuff. I think he
sits around and dreams up newer and better ways of doing it so he dont
get bored. His tusks flashed as he grinned broadly at the slender Elfin
tending to him.
Despite the ferocity of the expression, she had to smile back at
his cheerfulness. Yes, he has a savagery in his soul even your kind
would respect, wouldnt they He nodded without a whit of shame.
I think those Bone Claws and friends are in for a Last
Surprise, myself.
/It's not Errant's first Dragon, but he loves to kill them anyways.../
*The Wereyn IV*
It was almost comical. Almost.
A lightning bombardment, easily drawn from the elemental powers
about Shurrock castle, came down to rain thunderbolts on the camp of the
Bone Claw Wereyn. The sound and destruction of crude dwellings was good
cover for Errant, as the distracted Wereyn werent looking for a scout
coming in to do his job.
The Bone Claws were a threat, sure enough, but the real threat
here was the linnorm. A Wurm who liked to interbreed with other species,

no less. Killing it and its progeny was more important then cutting down
some feral fallen mutates, who were even now spilling out the north side
of the compound where one of the fools had blown an alarm horn, seeing
motion there.
The ball of Earthfire blasting up out of the ground in a
pyroclasmic display of rich red and oranges probably helped, too. But
you never could tell.
The linnorms was moving now, calling to its progeny with a voice
that, however deep, still seemed to shriek and grind.
Wurm senses are as keen as Dragons, for all their wingless
bodies. So when only three of the four dracogiant children hurried up to
their sire, and the dracowyvern made no move to come, it went looking
for a cause, whilst the raging Bone Claws spilled out the northern entry
and charged the distant, beating light where a furnace was roaring and a
distant hammer beating on steel.
A wall of fire exploded up to cut them off. Heedless, the Wereyn
drove through it, elite warriors who knew that such pitiful magic wasnt
going to stop them, their howls and blood-curdling calls for the hearts
of their foes as real as they beasts they seemed like.
The morass of mud didnt much care, as they plunged into it.
Living vines reached up to pluck Wereyn out of midair and tie
them down as they came searing and half-blind thru the wall of flame.
Shouting savages ripped at the mud as roots from below dragged them down
without remorse. Claws tore at sucking clay without effect, and only a
few of the luckiest and most desperate managed to clamber over the
bodies of their comrades and reach the edges of the pit of mud before
the vines could drag them down to death.
Breath heaving, less then a dozen survivors of over forty elite
Bone Claw warriors looked back at the mud, occasionally twitching with
the final struggles of some particularly resilient warrior, lit by the
vengeful light of the Earthfire wall.
The next pyroclasmic wave drove thru them in a vengeful line,
hurling them from their feet as the earth tore apart and went into
molten eruptions beneath their feet. Howling, panting from their fury,
they clawed back to their feet and made for the spellcaster.
Trencher watched them come, spreading out instinctively so as
not to draw too much of his fire. Precast runewalls activated and

exploded up into razor-tip spikes, impaling two of the bastards,

slashing and stabbing those who thought to tear through them and
channeling the hapless warriors back into the proper direction.
A hurricane force of wind roared down from on high and slammed
into them like the hand of a titan. They heard it coming and braced for
it, latching onto the dirt with all four clawed limbs, still making for
him, screaming unheard in the wind for the hearts of the two
spellcasters doing this to them.
Trencher shook his head in admiration for their stupidity and
persistence, momentarily glad they werent Sources, and thrust the
flaming head of /Forge/ into the howling vortex of winds coming from
between the gathered hands of Lady Shavvae.
A second vortex of molten earth came swirling up out of the
ground and was torn away by the shrieking winds. Supercooled magma,
sharp as razors, scythed down the trail like a thousand hurled knives,
and began to shred the Wereyn alive.
He had no pity, and the Elfins face was a mask of cool serenity
as she maintained her concentration with equal aplomb. The nearest
Wereyn got within ten yards before the full force of that steaming
razorfest shredded him apart and literally tore his body apart, sending
it spraying past his comrades. Two, three more tore apart within
heartbeats then, and Trencher let his concentration lapse as Lady
Shavvae demurely folded her hands, and the killing wind ceased.
There were three of them now, deafened, covered with blood from
a thousand cuts, struggling to their feet now
Two lightning bolts came down from above and blew the furthest
two into bits of bone and bloodspray.
The last one tensed, clearly on his last legs, feral eyes wide
with fear as it realized how utterly hopeless its situation was. A last
final rush
Go. Moonlight gleamed and revealed the beauty of the Elfin
druidess in all the ancient glory of her people, fey and terrible and so
wrapped in Glamour as to be nearly blinding. Know that the true rulers
of the Sidhete remember, and Shurrock is under our protection. Tell your
blighted folk what befalls those who cross the Twilight Throne!
The savage Wereyn flinched back, terror on his face as he
recognized just what he was facing an Elf! Here, in the Sidhete, after

so many centuries! Or had they never left! Wild panic seized his mind
in superstitious fear, and with a whimper of terror, he turned and ran.
==============================
Graxscrud hissed a mighty oath as he beheld the carcass of his
wyvern son, head hacked nearly clean off, so quickly and surely placed
his progeny had not had a single chance to retaliate.
Lifting his head ten meters off the ground with a sudden
shifting of coils, he scanned the area, while his three Jotun offspring
gripped their massive axes worriedly, eyes on the bright display of the
wall of fire and the magic at work beyond.
/Three. Where was Rot Grub/ Graxscrud hissed again. The
attackers were dangerously well-organized and intent on killing. Added
to the strange silence from Morlgarl in the Keep above could only mean
some very bad news.
It was time to go.
He hissed the words, and Wormface, Maggot, and Leechnose quickly
took up escort duty as their serpentine father headed directly away from
the flames, back to the safety of the surrounding forest where its power
was greatest.
The pain in its bottom side was searing, more painful then
anything it could recall in recent memory. The Wurm screamed and
convulsively rolled aside, smashing two of its startled sons off their
feet with his mass as he rolled away from the ripping pain, revealing a
monstrous gash in his bottom scales, almost five meters long, sliced
through scales thicker then any Man-made armor like water, and acidic
blood and muscle spilling forth.
The Man came up then, throwing aside the dirt-covered blanket
thru which he had inserted his blade, the runes on it searing the
Linnorms sight with antipathy, the ripples in the air about it the
exact greenish-yellow rotting hue of the Rot Wurms blood. Without
missing a beat, he sent the blade cutting deep into the back of the knee
of Leechnose, drawing a bellow of pain from the dracoJotun, and with
incredible agility bounced around the spinning axe and slid into
position behind the other knee to hack into the back of that as well,
looking for all the world as if he and the hapless Leechnose were
dancing together.
With a roar of primal anger, Graxscrud lunged for the man with

open jaws.
He nearly lost his head. A standing rock disgorged a warrior as
tall and mighty as any of the Bone Claws, grasping a great curved blade
of design used by only one people, and the Wurm had only an instant of
surprise to digest the fact before the blade came down.
Acidic blood sprayed wildly as the scything blood tore through
neckscales as if they were not there, shearing muscle and nearly
catching his spine save for the desperate rolling that saved the Wurms
life. Equally adept, the warrior stepped into the blow and let it draw
across the Wurms throat and slice across his windpipe.
/Borderguard! In the Sidhete!/
Panic began to mount as his killing strike went wide of target,
and then the first arrow sank into the bones of its skull, less then a
fang-width from his eye.
KILL THEM! he ordered his spawn, intent only on fleeing now,
turning on the Urkhar and despite the pain and blood in his throat,
inhaling deeply and vomiting out a deadly cloud of the decaying gas to
rot the Urkhars flesh off his bones. His sons had nothing to fear from
the gas, of course, and were bellowing as they sought to get around
their sire and join the fight.
Wormface took a sudden tumble, and Graxscrud blinked in
disbelief as he saw a Lion and a Hound, jaws side by side and buried in
his sons tendon, pulling in tandem with perfect teamwork to send him
sprawling into his father. Releasing instantly, they were out of range
before Maggot could turn on them.
And then the Urkhar, helm closed, impervious in a shell of armor
treated to resist all acid, shield upraised, took a step through the
cloud and brought his rakeblade down on the coils of the Linnorm. Along
its length, an Anathemic rune heralding the same Truth as that of the
Mans blade burned putrid flame, and came down once, twice into twisting
flesh, and then a third time, into the axe of Wormface almost at his
feet. Wood splintered and sprayed, and the huge weapon lost its massive
head as the haft was chopped through.
Errant took his cue as the dracoJotun fell to his knees, tendons
almost severed, lashing for him and broadcasting its motions a klik
ahead of time. He lept over the axe, up the extending arm, across the
shocked drac-bloods shoulders, and lept high, towards the poised head
of the linnorm. /Duty/ was trailing a stream of putrid waterfire and the

Linnorm was spinning to greet him

The second arrow buried itself in one eye precisely this time,
and the Linnorm instinctively flinched back.
Adamant came through precisely and powerfully, shearing Wurm
bone and flesh, and Errant descended past the Linnorm, gore spraying
from the ruin of the second eye and right ear. Feet gathered, /chi/
centered, and he landed precisely on the neck of Wormface with his full
weight driving down one heel, /Duty/ plunging in afterwards to finish
the job of breaking bone with a thrust that went all the way through the
thick, scaled neck and spurted out under the dracoJotuns jaw in
anathemic hunger.
Silver flashed in the sky, and a blur of motion came across the
moonlight. The only dracoJotun standing screamed and clasped his hand
where an eye used to be, as Wings carried his strike on with agility no
one who had never seen a Hawk of Haxan at work would expect, wheeling
easily around a frantic handswipe and tearing across the kneeling
Leechnose, almost taking his eye as well.
Errant rolled away as the screaming and blinded Wurm lashed
down, the mass of his fathers strike completing the work he had done,
sliding down the brutes back, away from the coils twisting to catch or
crush him with smooth, flowing agility as Maggot struck for him.
It had forgotten about the Urkhar.
Without missing a beat, the Northguard warrior split the skull
of the nearly-dead dracoJotun sprawled before him, taking a steady step
forwards and with terrible precision completed the arc of his first cut
on the Wurms throat.
The massive jugular opened up like a fountain before Graxscrud
could lift his head out of reach of that rakeblades reach. Leechnose
screamed and swiped at the Urkhar with his axe, who casually slammed it
up and away with his shield and whine of adamant on steel, impossibly
steady and strong.
Maggot shouted in sudden surprise and pain, looking down and
back, to find Hound and Lion with their jaws buried in the back of his
knees. Then his eyes came back as the Man suddenly stopped his dancing,
seeming to slide around in an arc, and coming in behind a ready shield
drawn off his back. Caught in an instinctive grab for the animals
ripping at the back of his legs, he instead opened fanged jaws and
vomited into the face of the Man leaping smoothly for his throat.

Rotting gas swirled around, past and didnt even slow the human
down, nor touch his body in the slightest. The half-blinded Maggot got
to be surprised as the reaching point of the sword slammed into the
scaled armor, scaled skin, and thick bone of his chest in one terrific
thrust, driving in horribly deep, the runefire bringing a roar of
deathly agony from the stricken dracoJotun.
There was a crack of shattering cartilage as an arrow buried
feathers-deep in his nose, and the Man heaved and tore, and something
inside gave way with a horrible ripping sensation. The Man lept away
even as the clawed hand was batting at him, taking the hit from behind
his shield and riding the expected impact away and out of reach of a
follow-up strike.
Silver flashed across the trees, and past him, and Maggots
world went dark as the talons of the Hawk tore through his other eye. He
wildly flailed for the Beasts, but they had already let go and gotten
out of range of his thrashings.
Leechnose was the only one of his brothers still able to see,
gawking at the sight of his sire thrashing wildly and spraying gallons
of smoking blood in all directions as he bled out his life. Wormfaces
skull was split right in twain, and now Maggot was thrashing around,
blinded by that blur of a Hawk coming in to take out eyes.
He had to run, despite all the pain.
The armored figure that had somehow beat aside a twenty-kilo
axehead with a mere shield lifted his curved blade with the wave-pattern
edge to it, the runefire on it forcing Leechnoses eyes away with the
pure hunger the runefire emanated. With a deadly confidence no creature
could mistake, the Urkhar came in for him, and Leechnose was raising his
axe to deliver a terrific overhead blow when the arrow drove into his
armpit and his right arm sagged in shock.
The armored figure wasnt interested in giving him much time to
recover.
-------------------------Bah! Leave me with the scum while ye get to take down Wurms and
Jotuns! Trencher spat, surveying the bloody, stinking and rotting
landscape where the blood of the Wurmspawn was searing everything
living. Earth was bubbling and pooling, while the green life was wilting
and decaying just from the fumes of the dead.

Undeterred by stench or effects (and staying visor closed inside

his armor), Rorg, energetically was skinning the Wurm, and had already
hacked off most of the beasts teeth and claws. You got more kills then
we did, Rockborn, so quit complaining!
Aye, butfeh, Trencher spat darkly, watching Errant
approaching himand the way the hissing drak-blood stilled around him,
then started bubbling again once he passed. The Haxan had a couple axe
blades with him, Jotun-sized, well-made despite the size, with the
half-inept rune flourishes of a lesser smith-mage proclaiming them
enchanted weapons. Naturally, they didnt need the hafts, and the bloody
things would be heavy enough all by themselves.
The Elfin didnt miss Errants progress either, glancing down at
the Rockborn with some trepidation. Trencher just grinned into his
flinty beard.
Flame the lot of them, the Haxan said without emotion, making
for Gellow standing nearby, another pair of axeheads already lashed to
the big Horse. Nothing is going to eat Rot-spawn, and I dont need to
tell you how unclean they are.
Hey! Im not done harvesting yet! Rorg protested, deep in his
professional duties. As in, almost shoulder deep, covered in bubbling
and hissing gore.
You got ten minutes to get the key stuff, and maybe get a spell
to resist fire so Trench can cook you clean, Errant said over his
shoulder, and all of them wrinkled their noses reflexively.
You are costing us a lot of money, little Man! the Urkhar
roared in protest, but bent to his hacking with more enthusiasm.
Drac-blood and bits began to fly wildly, and the Druid and Rockmage kept
their distance.
Errant didnt have the heart to tell the Urkhar most of the coin
and cash-worthy valuables would be left with the Shurrock girl, who
would doubtless need the assets to recover from the deaths inflicted on
her family. Possibly some really expensive resurrection magic could save
key people, but that might mean a heck of a journey out of the
hinterlands to find a Luminus of Aru, so unless some wandering
Archcleric decided to take pity on her, she was effectively a single
girl in charge of an entire castle, and the last of her line.
Rorg wouldnt mind, truly. Word would get back of what they had

done and why, and the credit for their reputation would reap greater
dividends then mere gold. Borderguard could wield tremendous fortunes if
they had need to, spoils of war and payment from Rockborn kings over the
millennia, passed down from generation to generation and deployed as
needed to do their tasks.
-----------------------------He was a fairly plain fellow, which Errant found gratifying,
with callused hands and the look of a stableboy about him. He was a
finger or three shorter then Errant, a bit broader of shoulder, with an
honesty about his face reflected in loose brown hair and an open and
cheerful smile. Didnt look any older then Errant was.
He looked extremely tired, too.
Errant gave him an easy salute as the group came trudging up in
the early morning hours, taking note of the silver shod staff tipped
with a gleaming crystal that looked like an egg-sized diamondexcept for
the colors swirling around inside it. Mitharn sword-on-silver-shield
symbol in place, mithral bracers with moon and shield on them, and that
paladine aura breaking on his Source Aura, clear as a fingerprint.
Off-white tabard with gray and gold trim over functional clothing,
nothing pretentious. Could always tell a Pureheart Called to Serve.
Morning! Errant of Clan Ruin, Haxan. Working for the pretty
thing likely older then this castle behind me. He tossed a thumb over
his shoulder at Lady Shavvae, who raised an delicate eyebrow at the
description. By the smoke rising over yonder, Im happy to inform you
of the unfortunate deaths of all the creatures who poised a threat to
this castle, Master Warder.
Please call me Warren. Fatigued and all, he stepped forwards
to shake first Errants hand, then proceeding around to all of them,
taking instead a blessing from the Elfin, and even having the protocol
to offer each animal an ear-scratch or throat-touch, as appropriate.
The young Lady of the Castle is asleep peacefully for the first time in
months. Im afraid the hospitality isnt quite up to what a castle
should be. His wry smile put them all at ease.
Not a problem. I imagine the scum pretty much tore up the
supplies, too. Errant cocked an eye up at the walls, free of crackling
snaps of lightning. Not expecting more trouble, then.
Already askednothing profound. If I could impose upon your
Hawk for a survey of the region, I would be grateful. Wings shrieked a

quick assent, hopped to the head of his staff, and the Warder
delightedly launched the bird up into the air. Forgive me if I seem
tired. Keeping the Wards up, derailing the plans of the attackers as
they sought to force entry, keeping the elementals in line, and keeping
up awareness of any additional allies called in has sapped much of my
strength. I would do more for you, but I have little to work with.
Got a roof Better then weve had for a week. Well worry about
the rest of the stuff later. Warrens relief was palpable. Go get some
rest, paladine. Well merrily butcher anything that comes thru the door.
------------------------------------Errant, this is really, really-, Trencher began warily.
-gonna satisfy your curiosity. Errant reached out to the Seal
carefully, felt the magic tingle over his fingers, and then part. He
grabbed the Rockborn, and without too much protest, Trencher was dragged
through the opening as Errant pushed in the door as if magic powerful
enough to defy an Archmage was not in place. The Seal snapped closed
behind them, regenerating instantly, but was not strong enough to defy a
Source of his caliber. I dont safeguard ancient and terrible beasties
without a look at them. Generally its a lot better to kill them then
safeguard them. Id like to know why they dont butcher the thing with
the full force of the Weirhold or something.
Must be some nasty beastie, Trencher agreed, surveying the
chamber ahead, illumined by a single flame burning brightly in an ornate
brazier.
Illusion, far wall. Doorway. Trencher blinked, concentrated,
and mumbled something under his breath. Errant just smiled. The brazier
Who cares Errant strode for the doorway, Trencher moving more
warily behind them. By the way, supposedly Eternal level mages built
did this place. Do you happen to know if they are still alive
Not a clue. I can ask some old friends at the Weirhold who
might. Why He grunted as Errant shoved open a door he could hear but
not see, and dragged him through the opening.
Huh! Errants exclamation was an understatement for the
sprawling array of wealth spread out before themstacks and piles of
gold and silver and electrum, gilded coffers, golden figures, closed
chests and trunks. The hidden wealth of Eternals, how sweet. Ah, I was
just wondering, if the bastards are still alive, why didnt they bother

to come back and update the defenses for this place. Didnt take their
duties very seriously, did they
Trencher considered that grimly. Probably off plane-hopping and
forgot about this place as something their descendents should be doing.
Im of a mind to remind them of their responsibilities.
Ignoring the wealth, Errant headed past the display, and the array of
magic about it that Trencher could see and didnt even bother to tell
him about, to the hallway beyond.
This one went down, and soon the magical lighting coming softly
from the walls petered out.
Whoa, manling. Errant halted instantly, glancing down at him.
Theres something very big and very bad ahead of us. We just passedI
cant call them wards, they are much too subtle. The Rockborn clicked
his tongue, an almost metallic sound, the Rockborn equivalent of a
whistle as he looked about with closed eyes. Manling, there is some
very, very sly weaving all around us, like spiderwebs of adamant and
starlight. This must be Fey work, Elven magic at its heightit doesnt
have the pure power of the Auroran Weirhold, but its shadows and
moonlight to sun and cheery skies. It doesnt stir the magical field in
the area at allno signs of a Nexus or a Living Weave. Unless you know
its here, nothing short of the Divine could find this placeand they
might have a time of it, too.
Mmmm. Let it fade and be forgotten. Errant sniffed at the air.
Lets go.
----------------------------It was about a half-klik down and around to what turned out to
be a big pit in the earth. Even Errant could feel the darkness radiating
out of that holeit grated on his nerves and, by the way Trencher was
gripping /Forge/, was making the Rockborn even warier.
Dark Fiendish Supernatural Errant asked calmly, knowing the
Rockborn was trying to categorize what he was looking at.
Destructive. OLD, manling. Whatever generates thisolder then
Great Wyrmsolder then a Great Age
And sleeping. Errant wasnt stupid.
And being held there. Starlight and adamant. It would take a

senior Eternal to do thisreally senior, maybe a cabal. This might have

been done when Illitruse was at its heightbut I doubt it. Still too
much Fey in the workings.
Down we go. Errant shrugged off the shield on his back and
held it out. Youre levitating, Im on your shoulders. Trencher took a
deep breath, and took the shield.
It was a long ways down, sticking close to the wall. /Forge/ was
ready to be driven into the black stone that had been seared a weeping
black by the ambient power in the air, just in case there were hidden
defenses to get rid of the levitation.
There was none. They reached the bottom after a careful couple
minutes ticking off the clock, but didnt bother to set foot down.
Errant looked around at the arrangements of stones, keeping
steady on Trenchers uncomplaining shoulders. The fiery light from
/Forge/ lit the area up well, but outside of the Rockborns power, the
light was quickly swallowed.
I trust you can make out something I cant.
Aye. Trencher still hadnt opened his eyes. He carefully
pointed with his athame. That right there.
Errant looked at what seemed to be slabs of dark stone. Mmmmm.
Overlaid stones. An elemental
No. Let me see if this works. He pushed away from the wall
towards the guilty slabs, extending /Forge/ out to shuffle along with
careful control on the floor, pausing before the wall of layered
stonethree huge slabs extending over one another, slightly rounded.
Carefully, he reached out, muttered something.
There was a simple spark, and phantasmal fires burst from the
point of impact of /Forge/s point, no brighter then a candle, washing
quickly out up the wall, and then beyond into the stone.
A figure sparked in the air with a second word, and Errant
studied it curiously as it began to grow and form. Outlining the
creature he asked, carefully studying the figure as it began to wrap
and grow, starting to curve in a more tubular form.
More like, seeing what the elements are like around it. The

earth, the stone, the air. Not interacting at all with the magic or
power on it. Trenchers closed eyes studied the scaled figure before
them, which was slowly shrinking as the image grew and grew
And grew.
Mmm. Looks like a segmented leg, Trench. Errant glanced at the
wall. This thing looks pretty big.
Aye. Trencher watched the representation. Looks to be at
least a hundred paces long. It kept growing.
Yeah, thats big. Errant watched the image slowly expand and
grow over the following minutes. Insectile. Thats an insect leg. Looks
like some form of carapace growing here.
A big bug Trencher watched the image growing. I remember
Hadrigs Tombs and them vermin down there. How long was that beetle
Four paces. Youve not been in the Azaritheres scorpions and
spiders in the deep desert the size of a house in thereand the stories
the Halvyr tell about the Deeps
Yeah, but I dont think they had something this size in mind.
If this things to scale, its a half-klik long, Manling.
That would mean the hill behind the castle IS the creature,
with a layer of stone and earth poured over it to hide it. Trees growing
on it. Errant considered the implications. A beetle a half-klik long.
It shouldnt even be able to move.
Theres enough power in here to make things as unreal as the
beastie wishes. Trencher pursed his lips. Manling, we dont have to
stay here. I can follow the magic from back in safer grounds.
Sounds good. Errant didnt need much more of a hint. Not that
theres any grounds any safer then here, eh.
You didnt notice that your Source aura isnt having an effect
on the magic hereif anything, its making it stronger. Dont worry
about eroding the magic hereits quite a bit beyond either of us. He
wasnt even happy that there was some magic beyond a Source.
Now, Im really, really interested in making sure those idiot
Eternals do a bit of an upgrade. Whoever wanted this thing to keep
sleeping wanted it to stay that way, and I cant say I blame them. And

obviously, whoever this spirit guy was, he thought he could wake this
beast all by himself, or perhaps with another two helpersand not
Eternals. This mook could blow apart Senior Eternal Wards working with
this beasts natural power, and would have worn down the Wards here
eventually with the muscle he brought in. Errant exerted enough force
to keep himself steady as Trencher began the long ascent. Warren may
not like the idea of us coming down here, but you know, Warders are big
on responsibility. Even for Eternals.
And that girl needs some help. Ancestors might be able to help
just a wee bit, Trencher mused, eyes still closed.
Yeah. Lets have a chat with him. Odds are that theres some
sort of alarm that goes off if the Wards are actually defeatedI wonder
if we might be able to set that off. Errants smile was grimly ironic.
And you know, Id like to set the stage for that.
I dont imagine the Lady is going to be happy with us, either.
Yeah, until we show her just how big our bug is. Then I think
shell go along with anything we want to keep it under wraps.
I think we take her job more seriously then she does, mused
Trencher in a more light-hearted tone.
Its you Rockborns and your damn sense of duty infecting us
poor Haxans.
Its you cowardly bastards not wanting to mess with something
grossing out a million tons was the instant rejoinder.
Its a hill. It could dig out Rockborn tooprobably find 'em
tastier then us. Were too stringy.
Hrm. Trencher considered that argument. Yeve a point with
that. Lets lay a really good guilt trip on these Eternals.
Why dont you make that call to the Weirhold. Wouldnt want a
couple of Eternals losing their temper on us poor mortal fools now,
would we
Oh, aye. Trencher considered a moment. Lets have the Warder
do the talking. Hell be better at it. She did say they were Mitharns
originally, didnt she
Yeah, thats a good idea.

--------------------------------Everyone saw them arrive. The central tower lit up like a

lighthouse. The Wards went up with a crack of thunder. Magic hung up and
around the castle like a tangible thing. Errant glanced back at the
tower kliks behind them casually, then turned back to the trail ahead.
How long before they find out, you think he asked Trencher in
a low voice, wondering what was going on between the Warder and Cheri,
who were both taking under their wing the dark-eyed young woman, tattoos
gone, but scars remaining, who was all that was left of the Shurrock.
Well, lets see. The Rockborn poured some crystalline stuff
into his pipe, lit it, and sat comfortably next to the Haxan, legs
dangling over Errants floating shield. Were a league away. Theyll go
thru the castle, find the ruin made of it since we didnt clean up too
well. Theyll check the Seal. Theyll check the traps, the loot, and the
pit. Theyll go down to the town, find that gone. Then theyll do an
aerial survey, and find the smear that we left of the attackers. Then
theyll come back, wondering what the Hells is going on and what
happened to their descendents. Then theyll find the remains and assume
the worst and still not know what went on. Our tracks are gone and we
are off the trade road, effectively unable to be seen from the air. In
the meantime, we have the lass delivered to the Weirhold for training,
and leave the idiots in charge of an empty keep.
Lets put some distance in and leave them to wonder more. That
ride you called on the way he inquired out of the side of his mouth.
Its only a young dragon, but shell be going to the Weirhold
in style," Trencher replied quietly.
Should I have left the Seal unbroken Errant murmured
carefully. The Warder was still peeved at him for entering the place.
Trencher glanced at the smoke from his pipe. Fire twisted it and
became the figure of a huge beetle, drifting back to silhouette itself
against the hillside beyond the castle and hover there as he followed it
back with his eyes.
A league away, and it still looked big, buried under all that
rock and those trees.
Let the bastards panic. They deserve it, Trencher pronounced.
A sound somewhere between a giggle and a laughing brook made them both

glance back to where Lady Shavvae had glided in closer and obviously
overheard them. The smile on her face told them they hadnt done
anything she didnt agree withwell, not too much, anyways.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------Spacer.
Note the theme of professionalism running thru this. Errant loves to
kill, but isn't greedy. He is, however, very thorough, and not a typical
adventurer...he doesn't clean something out and just leave it empty for
someone else to move into and make a bigger problem. He actually leaves
better defenses in place as he leaves by tricking the Eternals into
returning.
This is also based on a Dungeon magazine module.
==Aelryinth

New Post Re: The Wereyn

-----------------------------------------------------------------------/And on for a classic dungeon delve, with an outdoor twist./
*The Weren V*
Errant watched the young Herald Dragon take wing towards the
west, a single rider on his back who was shrieking for wonder and waving
back at them as she went off to a new life. It would be one of the most
inspiring moments of her life, no doubt.
Good for the young maga. He had work to do, however.
Chapter closed, introduction to the next entry in the life of
Lady Shavvae, Keeper of the Treasures of Ancient Times That Should Stay
Forgotten. He turned on the bemused Elfin Druidess. Where to
A tomb. Have you heard of Rigull the Godslayer
No. He looked at Trencher, and the Rockborn just sighed
heavily, and Warren coughed politely, eyes bright, obviously knowing
something.
A powerful Champion of the Dramojh. A godless fiend of a
mortal, who might have been involved in the deaths of Trose and Equus,
and some demigods. He specialized in razing temples and hunting down the

last followers of old religions. Warren frowned. He was slain by the

outraged remnants of the servants of the gods he helped obliterate, and
buried in a forgotten tomb somewhere.
See Just ask a spellcaster, and forgotten tombs jump out of
the landscape. He even said it with a straight face. Even Warren found
himself grinning at the picture from the Haxan swordsman. Dont tell me
they actually buried the bastard with something valuable, and didnt
True Death him
His sword is believed to have drawn the blood of gods, and his
spirit fused with it on his death. The tomb was built to hide the
weaponthere was neither the time nor the power to destroy it, only hide
it from those who might seek it.
Help make the tomb Errant asked Shavvae without the slightest
hesitation. The Elfin raised a reproving eyebrow at him. Thought so.
Anyhows, which way Assuming we didnt stop here just because the tomb
is a hop, jump, and a skip away.
That way, ten leagues. She pointed south-east.
And a convenient trade post on the way. We might even get to
sleep in a bed tonight. What was the name of the place, Trench Karwins
Post or something
Karwigger. He was a faen, I believe Got hisself eaten before
we trooped thru that one time
Some big bug while he was out scavenging in his private plot
for mushrooms, right. Was it the same one that tried to eat us later
that day
That acid-spitting burrowing thing Ankhegs, I think they call
embit of nuisance on this side of the Flow, but aint seen em in Haxan
for generations.
Hounds and Cats take care of 'em young. I hear the eggs are
tasty too, Russet The Hound ruffed once in agreement.
You two can stop reminiscing and start leading the way
anytime, grunted Rorg, swinging back into Gellows saddle.
Oh, right. Thataway it is. Wings, on point, if you please. The
Hawk screamed reply and was launched casually skywards by Rorg. Lets
get moving, then.

----------------Errant bent over the tracks and frowned. Looks like two, all
right. Russet only smells two, but bad mojo about em. Butter didnt
bother to contribute, as the Hound had the better nose of the two of
them. Errant looked in the direction of the tracks, frowning. Wereyn
usually steer clear of the Post, its Throne protected, even if it
doesnt have a Steward. This is extraordinarily close for most of the
tribesthey are bound to get spotted by the hunters in the area.
Found our problem so soon Lady Shavvae inquired musically,
astonished and amused at his nose for trouble.
Well see. Trencher, take them on with Russet. Butter, lead me
along the trail. I want to know where these things are going. He tapped
the crossbow on his back, held out his hand, and Trencher lifted a case
of bolts out of the purse at his waist, slapped it into his hand.
Without another word, Errant followed the tawny form of the Lion along
the path of the Wereyn scouts.
-----------------------------------Errant stayed under coverwhich meant deep in buried leaves and
ferns, with all sorts of things crawling over him. He was used to it,
and besides, it got him within thirty feet of the two Wereyn capering
about excitedly as they spoke with a four meter blue brute with a marked
resemblance to a Jotun hed killed some time back, except it had two
left eyes, an extra arm, and one leg twice the size of the otheramong
other things.
With blue skin and horns Hagspawn Fomor. Trencher would be
crying into his beard for the chance to kill it, not that Rorg wouldnt
be racing him to it.
Damned inconvenient place for one of those horns. Ouchies.
Putting the brute down would be a mercy.
It took some concentration to make out what they were saying, as
both had really bad accents in the pidgin they were using, but it
sounded like the scouts worked for some nasty evil powerful mighty
warlord calling himself the Ravenger. They were bribing the Fomor to
take up service early and get in on the glory and reap the rewards of
partnering up with their mighty leader, who was coming to the area to
seize a mighty sword hidden nearby in Old Times.

Shocking, absolutely shocking, that last part. Errant would

never, ever have expected it. The Fomor seemed surly, but the prospect
of loot, battle, and lots of dead enemies to eat seemed to be swaying
its resolve.
Errant rose calmly from his carpet of leaves and dirt, /Duty/
already in his hand. The Wereyn saw him almost instantly, but not even
the odd positions of the Fomors eyes and ears allowed it to see him in
time.
With two hands, he drove his sword deep into the Fomors back,
going for the misshapen spine with power and focus. Once, twice and
thrice, through skin thicker then any oxen, massively tough muscle the
toughness of oak, and bone as hard as iron and more.
Adamant and Flowing Waters trumped them all, and the misting
point hacked in, down and through the mass of fatty flesh, hide and
muscle to plunge through the spine and drive up into the general area of
where the heart should be, inflicting quite a lot of collateral damage
along the way.
Smoothly, he slid off to one side as the shocked Hagspawn
flailed once and began to fall, virtual rivers of not quite red blood
spurting out of a rent in its back almost as long as Errant was tall.
The two Wereyn, clad in rather well made leathers, had paired
axes in hand, skin beginning to ripple as they took a step forwards.
In a completely silent pounce and charge worthy of a shadow,
Butter rose up from not five paces behind them, and took two bounds and
a leap. No roaring, no flailingjust jaws flashing black mithral and
claws the same, the former spreading wide and the latter coming together.
The one on the right went down with a short, shocked cry of
surprise, obviously not expecting a Lion to come out of nowhere and drop
on him. His stunned companion could only hop away in surprise, and gape
in horror at the beast who was proceeding to tear his companion
apartliterally.
Bad to lose focus in combat, Errant said conversationally, as
/Duty/ drove into the Wereyns side, and his longknife came up under the
furred throat, across, and back. The scout blinked at him, wondering how
hed gotten so close so quickly, and then his legs dropped out from
under him as blood began to spray from his opened throatalso not the
shade of red of Men.

Butter rose from his hapless victim, absently knocking the

severed head away, and an arm that wasnt quite connected anymore. Both
of them looked at the Hagspawn, kicking feebly as the last of its life
bled away in copious streams, trying to plead for its life and not quite
managing to get the words out.
Well, lets see what loot they have and then check in on exactly
what a Ravenger is, he told the Lion, who grumbled assent and started
to nose around for the cave of the Hagspawn, doubtless close by.
================
Errant came in the door alone, it being deemed somewhat more
discreet to leave a Haxan Lion outside the trade post area. While there
were certainly folk here with animal companions, Great Cats wearing
custom armor tended to get noticed and commented on, the way a war dog
would not.
The tavern was still there, but he passed it up for the inn,
knowing Rorg was more interested in a good meal before bed, and lots of
it. The taproom would be more subdued, and he could eat his copious fill
without some idiot challenging him to something based on his size.
He swung in calmly, glancing around at the mixture of
folkmulti-racial, far more mixed then any Haxan establishment, with the
sounds and smells of sentients as much beasts as men.
And at least one party in uniform
The others had gotten in early enough to find a decent seat, and
Lady Shavvae was looking like a fine Halvyr tales-teller indeed, if a
bit short, to the point where she had a harp out, a table set aside for
her, and was regaling everyone with a tale and a song with her glorious
voice that had most of the crowd spellbound.
/Probably something she practiced in an off decade or four/, he
decided, moving to where Rorg, Cheri, Warren and Trencher had claimed a
large corner table. The number of curious eyes following him as he
lowered the hefty sacks over his shoulders to the table wasnt nearly as
many as it would be without the Elfin providing a fine distraction for him.
And lo, he comes bearing loot, too, Trencher noted with grim
humor. Without delving into the contents, he teased one end of the first
sack open, put his purse on the table, and the contents of the one began
to empty quietly and unseen into the other. Anything interesting

Two Wereyn scouts, and skilled ones, with fine gear. They were
here to recruit a Hagspawn Fomor living in the area. Rorg pushed a mug
his way, and he took it without pause. Who is the Ravenger They worked
for him.
Eyes turned on Warren, who managed a half-smile. Im not the
talespinner here! the Warder protested, and they still kept looking at
him. Of course, its my job to know about malefactors and the larger
trouble-makers in the area I am in, and it just so happens that the
Ravenger is a rising star among the butcher, raze, and pillage set of
the Wereyn. Rumor is he has a Balor for a father, and hes not only
half-fiend, but a full Were himselfsome sort of demonic half-bear.
I could see where that might be some sort of a problem, Rorg
spoke up before Errant could, expression absolutely level. Didnt know
it was coming, did we
No, we didnt, agreed Cheri quietly, catching Errant
off-guard. We all thought they were the problem. She made the barest
of nods at the table where half a dozen heavily armed and armored men
were holding onto mugs with great energy, but not drinking, and watching
the locals with suspicious eyes. Finely kept armor, very polished, and
with very prominent symbols of an open palm against a sun on their tabards.
Ah. Thought they were mercs passing through on first glance.
Looks more like knights. Of an Order.
Of Light, agreed Warren under his breath. The Hand of the
Sun, if Im not mistaken. Im surprised they are not preaching to
everyone and sundry now over the virtues of temperance and berating us
for indulging in common sin and vices. The paladine mages eyes
twinkled even as his smile was grim. They are very enthusiastic about
their Cause. Bringing the Light into the Darkness, hunting down cultists
and undead and bringers of woe and such things.
And if a few heretics get caught in the way, praise the Light
their blood was spilled instead of the faithful Errant knew the type
well. And dont tell me, let me guess, they are in town to purchase
supplies for plundering a tomb nearby
Nothing so simple, Rorg grunted. Theres a whole camp of them
out there. Errant rolled his eyes despite himself, and the Urkhar
grinned. They came in real force to make a stab at the tomb. Turns out
that the tomb entry is occupied by a whole mess of renegade
JotunsChorrim, sounds like. Trencher hummed expectantly into his
beard. The Jotuns arent social, but theyve mostly left the locals

alonenot that anyone expects that situation to last forever.

Recruits for the Ravenger, or impediments for getting to the
Sword, Errants mused under his breath. And letting them get to the
Sword is probably not a good idea.
Not on your life. They dont have the power to destroy it, and
once word spreads out they have it, theyll never get it to a safe spot
alive. Warren glanced at Lady Shavvae, who made only the subtlest of
acknowledgements. We have to Ward the thing, and bury the place. He
looked to Trencher, who nodded into his beard. Im also of the belief
that they are seeking some propoganda to spread. The Hand has always had
a rivalry with Mitharns and the Church of Aru, and the mere idea of an
alliance between celestials and fiends to bring down the godless bastard
entombed in there would be a nice little dagger they would use to bloody
the reputation of the Churches, and prove a hypocrisy of faith about us.
Id like to not see that done.
Cant imagine why. It was likely the biggest reason he was
here, even if his talents were also uniquely suited to reinforcing any
existing Wards on the weapon. Ill have Wings locate their camp and we
can take a look-see tomorrow. For tonight, lets enjoy the music and the
food and actual beds.
-------------------------------------------Ah, crap. Take a look at that.
Trencher carefully crept up the side of the hill and joined
Errant in a survey downslope, then clicked his tongue in consternation
after a minute or two.
You know, your luck is holding true, he informed Errant, who
just heaved a theatric and knowing sigh.
The camp spread out below had easily sixty people milling about,
and the banners overhead were an easy proclamation of who they werethe
hand on a sun symbol indeed associated with the Order of Light called
the Hand of the Sun, Champions of that philosophy looking to spread some
zeal in the wild corners of the Empire.
Recognize the individual banners Errant asked, squinting.
Theres so many bloody Champions around, you never know what their
individual flags are.
Hah! Better to ask our new friend. With that, Trencher calmly

backed down the hill and went trotting off to fetch the young Master Warren.
Lady Shavvae, graceful as ever and looking remarkably
uncivilized next to the tabarded, staff-bearing young Master, also
joined them, and both eased themselves up next to where Errant was
studying the camp a distance away.
Champions of the Order of Light, murmured the plain-faced
young man instantly, rather familiar with heraldry from his own
squirehood. Ah, this could be bad. See that Mojh with the axe I think
thats Karimos Enchuridunhes not a follower of Light, hes a Champion
of Magic, works with one of the Colleges down southNorthgate, perhaps
the White Pillars. That woman hes talking to, I think thats Dame
Elyssia Bromorshes, ah, known for her zeal in putting down Dark-spawn
and the like. He sounded confident of his assessment, even at this
distance.
And a Champion of Light and Magic would be working together
why Errant asked the sky. Lady Shavvaes fine lips went thin.
The sword is a known artifact of Evil, and Dark magic.
Doubtless the Mojh is here to examine it, and the Dame to destroy it, if
she can find no way to turn it.
And Im thinking that thats a recipe for disaster, Errant
mused, backing down from the hill. Thats a fairly strong number
theyve got down therebut it doesnt look like so much as a warband as
a noble or two on an outing. I take it they dont have much idea who
else is coming for the blade.
Warren glanced at Errant, instantly surmising what the swordsman
wanted to do. You really dont think Id let you just leave them to the
mercies of the Ravenger and his pack, do you
Errant looked hurtwhich he did very poorly. Of course you
wouldnt. That would be highly dishonorable, having two sets of foes
take care of one another. After all, we only have to penetrate the den
they are camped less then an hour from, ascertain the proper Wards about
the blade and the true status of its defenders, get back out, and then
somehow bury an evidence that something as important as a blade which
may or may not have spilled the blood of a being of possibly divine
status once wielded by a Champion of the Dramojh is buried within. I
wouldnt think of such an obvious solution to part of our dilemma
resolving itself without shedding our own blood.
Thats good, because as the most rustic-looking and messed up

bastard among us, you are probably the best one to play woodsman and let
them know, Warren smiled back.
Errant gave the knighted mage a long, hard look, which had
absolutely no effect on the resoluteness in Warrens muddy brown eyes.
Sighing, Errant shrugged and without preamble, got to his feet.
No time like the present. He slid the Clansword off of his
back, handed it to the startled young Warder, and unslung his crossbow.
If Im going to be a hunter, Im going to play the part. He studied
the camp below for another few breaths, grit his teeth visibly, and
headed downslope.
It really hurt to have to give warning to a potential obstacle,
and especially with one of them a Mojh, of all things. But fools and
their honor are strange combinations, and fools with Vows and things
were even worse. It was not worth pissing off Warren over such a minor
thing, and that hardly meant he couldnt use the Champions in some form
or another to get the job done.
/Or/, as hed heard it put by a Champion of the Unbound he knew
of, /My name doesnt always have to be quite my own/
========================
Halt there, you. Two spears almost but not quite poked him in
the chest. Errant obligingly halted. Who are you and what do you want
here
Trusting sorts, Errant mused, then considered they were actually
judging him pretty well. Nothing much, just come with a warning for
your camp. Warband of Wereyns on the way here, heading for the Chorrim
holding up yonder. Thought you might want to know and all.
The two Sibeccai guards looked at one another sharply. A Wereyn
warband Coming here the bigger one growled. The Lady will want to
hear this, human. The spears dipped and gestured for him to enter as
they parted to rather herd him onwards, towards a curious half-line of
fully-armored folk that had gathered at their whistle of alarm when he
had been spotted.
Errant held up his hands to show no weapons, save the crossbow
slung on his back and the long knife at his waist, and let himself be
escorted into the camp.
He was intercepted on the way by a tall Littorian nearly as big

as Rorg, meaning Errant came up to about his chin. What have we here
More human refuse skulking about the camp roared the Littorian into
his face, clearly less then pleased to see him. Errant held the
cat-mans yellow eyes steadily, clearly unimpressed and unintimidated,
to the extent that the Littorians eyes narrowed sharply.
Your name and business here, human the littorian asked
sharply, less a roaring demand then a growl, now, watching him closely.
Wereyn warband on the way here, led by someone called the
Ravenger. Thought you might like to know. Errant shrugged, looked over
the encampent. My good deed for the day is done, and your breath smells
bad. Can I go now
The armored Littorian pulled back, then snarled down at him.
And where did you come by this information he demanded, clearly not
wanting to believe what he was being told.
Two of his scouts, yammering about it, before I killed them.
Errant tugged on his crossbow meaningfully, and turned his cheek
slightly. The platinum bar there did the rest of his talking for him.
The Littorian, obviously a second-in-command or something,
judging by the decorations on his armor, considered him for a long
moment. The Lady will wish to hear this, he finally agreed, quite
reluctantly. Follow me, human.
/This is why I hate military life/, thought Errant, trudging
along in the wake of the overbearing Littorian. He saw a runner slide by
and intercept the Mojh in armor of a more subdued, bluish hue, report
excitedly, and reptilian eyes turn his way. The sexless thing moved
quickly on a parallel course, obviously heading to the same place, and
intending to get there firstthe big tent in the center of the camp,
obviously, which, if he wasnt mistaken, looked to be actually stitched
in gold thread
Errant sighed. And pompous military added to arrogant military.
He really didnt need this when he would rather just see them bleed the
Wereyn a bit so that he didnt have to.
There were a pair of Jytan guards at the entry to the tent, big
brutes in complex and expensive plate armor, proudly showing the badge
of the order. Errant was ordered to pause for a moment as the Littorian
enteredErrant wondered if the beast-man would remember that Errant had
not given his name yet.

Obviously, it didnt matter, as the Dame and the Mojh came out
together to get a good look at him.
She was an attractive woman, with a trim build, late twenties,
strong green eyes holding the fires of true belief behind them, in
ornate and decorated full Harness, although she had doffed the helm to
let her auburn hair fall free. Obviously, the gilding was supposed to
impress him, standing there in worn leathers over fine mail, but he had
better things to do then be impressed by wealth.
Behind her, the Mojh stood taller and leaner, also in full
armor, although not quite so ornate, built long and lean and toting an
impressively sized axe in clawed hands. Dark and emotionless eyes
analyzed him with an intense stare, and smoke drifted lazily out of his
nostrils every third breath or so. Errant noticed the symbol and
ornamentation of the Mojh was indeed quite different, and that looked
like the symbol of Northgate on his armor. Warren knew his stuff.
A Freesworder is a long ways from home out here, the Dame
stated coldly, putting an emphasis on the name that had more relevance
to something that she might scrape off her shoe. Nevertheless, she
wasnt about to disregard the words of a professional mercenary,
especially a man who wore Platinum. I am Dame Elyssia Bromor, Senior
Knight of the Order of Light of Eskelev, the Hand of the Sun. Who are
you, and what is your business in the North
Longstead, and my business is my own, he replied in the same
clipped, curt tones she was using on him. Longstead was the name of his
House, and so he wouldnt be associated with it the same way Errant of
Clan Ruin would. It was also why hed left /Duty/ behind. As a
courtesy, I will relay to you a warning. I killed two Wereyn forward
scouts sent to recruit a potential ally and reconnoiter the area around
the Chorrim lair I think you are planning to assault up the river a bit.
Hes a local Warlord with some powerful and fanatic followers, and the
locals say hes got true fiends among his people as well. His Warband
numbers in excess of sixty fighting souls, with multiple spellcasters
for back up, in addition to the aid of the fiends. Errant paused to let
that information sink in, as he glanced significantly to the east. I
dont imagine hell like to have an Order of knights camping on the
doorstep of whatever hes planning to do here.
By the way her eyes narrowed, plainly she knew the name, and he
saw the flicker of worry cross her face before she could mask it. I
see. And by killing his scouts, he will be forewarned that there is
hostile and strong forces in the area. Errant almost breathed a sigh of
reliefhe had thought for a moment she might actually be thankful and

reasonable about the warning. But, obviously, a Demonspawn Wereyn coming

to the loot the same tomb that this woman was targeting was entirely his
fault.
Yeah, he agreed with a slow nod of his head, keeping her eyes.
The Hagspawn Fomor they were trying to recruit had a nice bounty on it
toomade me a decent amount of coin killing it, and then looting the two
of them, that was nice too.
Her eyes flickered to the platinum Bar on his cheek, her own
scrupulously clear of such heathen markingsbut knowing the significance
of the Bar and what it meant. He was not a man to be trifled with, even
if he did dress like a common woodsman. And he was talking of killing
Jotuns and Wereyn in the same casual breath.
No, not a man to treat like a heathen cur, or she might reap a
bloody reward. We thank you for your generosity and your time. If you
have no further interest in the area, I suggest you depart while we make
our preparations to meet him in battle. Things are likely to get active
here.
She wasnt offering him service, which meant, as a seeming
Freesworder who fought only for pay, he was not only able to go, he was
obligated to go. Without another word, he gave her a lazy salute and
turned to trot back the way hed come.
Cool green eyes and emotionless obsidian pools followed him as
he moved away.
I trust that one as far as I can throw him, Dame Bromor stated
unequivocally. Platinum Bar Freesworders do not idly wander about. He
is here with a mission and purposeand likely not the same one as ours.
I believe there was talk among the men you posted in the town
nearby returning and speaking of a band of adventurers coming in late
yesterday. If you ask them, Im fairly sure that they will include a
description of this man among their number. Lord Karimos breathy hiss
of a voice was cool and logical, conveying extreme precision and logic
at work.
Adventurers. Warning us of the coming of Wereyn. It seems the
Tomb of Rigull Godsbane is becoming quite the sudden attraction. We may
have to move more quickly, Lord Karimos. She was not happy with this
development, but it was not entirely unexpected, either. Information on
the tomb had doubtless leaked out to more then a few parties, starting a
general, if secretive, rush for it.

Indeed. My team is ready to go as soon as the Chorrim are out

of the way.
With the Wereyn coming, now would be a foolish time to split
our forces. Better that he be occupied with the Chorrim and we strike at
him then, and show him the power of Light! Her face was radiant with
the idea of the coming battle.
The Mojh nodded slightlyit was a good plan. Unless the enemy
was even stronger then the Freesworder had intimated.
-----------------------------Breaking camp and moving off, Errant reported as he came back
to their own hastily moved camp and center of operations. If the
Ravenger doesnt know somethings up in the area, Im from Northgate.
Hell be looking for themprobably has at least one informer back at the
Post.
And a blind fool could guess where they were intending to go.
Rorg spat calmly into the underbrush. Making our own entry into the
area is not likely to be possible with both forces arounddoubtless the
knights have people watching the area even now.
Doubtless, agreed Errant, but his grim smile denoted that he
did indeed have a plan. That hardly means we cant do the honorable
thing and warn the Chorrim, too, of what is comingand why. He looked
around at them all. If they decide to leave, we can be the first ones
into tomb, and get Trencher in place to collapse it. If they decide to
fight, weve made sure they are ready, willing and able. If they decide
to join up with the Ravenger, theyll send out messengers so that the
sanctity of their lair isnt compromised without purpose, and thus alert
the knights to the attack and what has to happen.
That last could be a sticky situation, Manling, Trencher
offered slowly. If the Ravenger gets to use the Chorrims home as a
strongpoint
Its behind a waterfall. What do you think is going to happen
to it when you turn a big section of the cliff above the lair to mud
Errant asked him critically.
Trencher considered that, looked to the Elfin Druidess, who
seemed to find at least something appealing about the idea. Well, a
little terrain shaping never hurt a Rockmage, he said calmly, clearly

liking the idea of the river doing much of the work for him. Whos
going to be the messenger
Errant cocked an eye at Rorg. Well, our Northguard fellow with
the proven Jotun-fighting history. I think theyll at least listen to
what he has to say before the rest of us.
Rorg smiled toothily. Ill make sure not to sound the
traditional horn! he agreed with easy anticipation.

New Post Re: The Wereyn

------------------------------------------------------------------------

*The Wereyn VI*

Big green horned Giants - or little green horned Giants, depending on
your perspective of the matter would normally be an impressive sight,
clutching swords almost three meters long from pommel to blade, glaring
down at a single warrior who was kneeling in the path to their home.
Averaging over three meters themselves, they would naturally loom over a
mere Urkhar warrior, had impressive strength, reach, mass, and ample
cunning and power to back it all.
Which, to Rorg, made the very real fear in their eyes all the
sweeter. The pale, ice-white tower on the right side of his breastplate
was an emblem nearly as old as Haxan, and it meant that the warrior who
wore it had earned the right to claim himself a member of the
Northguard, of the ancient Borderguard of Delvun.
The greatest Giant-slayers alive today. Finding a Northguard on
your doorstep, hundreds of leagues from where they normally went about
their duties in the northern mountains and hills of the Jotunbones or
the Wyrmfangs, was not something any Giant wanted to see
happenespecially since they never worked alone.
He had demanded to see their chief, his rakeblade /Shrek/ out
and ready for work. They were clustered up in front of him, determined
to deny him entry to their lairat least a dozen, probably more. He
sniffed at their lack of disciplinethis was a tribe gone feral, losing
the legendary discipline that made the Chorrim trusty foot soldiers for
the Jotun they normally served as Thralls to, but probably making up for
it with bursts of savagery and power as they recalled the Jotun heroes
of legend.

Not that it would save them. Here on a mountain path, where only
one could come at him at a time, they were lambs for the slaughter if
they dared to make an attack on himand he knew better to get into the
middle of a bunch of battle-ready Chorrim.
Finally a deeper, louder voice then the rest, and a screeching
voice like iron over stone his eyes narrowed as he recognized the
voice of a Hag over the continuing dull roar of the waterfall a dozen
paces away. He stayed on one knee, shield out and rakeblade waiting on
his shield, unmoving, silent, deadly, a rock waiting to explode with
cutting power and deadliness.
The Chieftain wasnt a Hagspawn, thankfully, but he did tower a
head above most of his tribe, a big member of the breed, moving with
assurance and competency and more then a little wild energy, eyes
darting back and forth as if trying to locate invisible reinforcements.
He had on full armor of skilled make, probably Troll-forged, and a
superbly crafted Ogres Greatsword. He was angry and scared and tense,
and wild emotions played across his crude features as he saw the silent
mass of the Northguard waiting on the path to his home.
The blue-skinned Annis behind was taking care to keep in cover,
scuttling close, but not interfering. If she tried her spells, there
would be instant carnagebut a Northguard actually not attacking was a
rare enough occurrence to merit both restraint and respect.
Urkhar. The chieftain ground out the word. Child of Battle.
Even to the Chorrim, it conveyed a lust for combat that had been
well-earned by Rorgs ancestors. Urkhar lived to fight, and the
Northguard to fight Giants. Why are you here These are not your
landsthe writ of the Northguard has no standing here! he bellowed,
trembling with the urge to start a battle, and checking himself.
Doubtless why theyd made the long trek around the Windreeve and
down from the Hiken lands into the wild lands of the Sidhete, Rorg mused.
I agree. The Chieftain blinked, and he saw the Hag tense
behind the brute. I am here to deliver you a courtesy and a warning.
That rocked the Chiefpoliteness from a Northguard What manner
of trickery is this he snarled, now really worried.
You have made the error of establishing your lair over an
ancient barrowdoubtless you have tunnels too small for you to enter in
the rear of your lair, else you would have done the looting

yourselvesor the defenses deterred you. He heard the Hag whispering,

but went on. Now, forces are converging upon this place for the rights
to enter that tomb and recover what was secreted within. None of these
have the slightest regard for your people, of course, and you are
nothing but an obstacle in their way. A force of knights of the High
Throne is prepared to cut through you all and remove you as a threat to
the local folk, and a Champion of Darkness comes bearing death and
destruction to all who do not bow before hima child of fiends. The
Chorrim murmured wildlyalthough this might be a feral band, the ancient
duties of the Jotuns were clear in this regardthey could not kneel to
such an abomination that their ancestors had been doing battle with for
millennia. My own band seeks to enter the tomb, reinforce the ancient
wardings, and bury the tomb for all time. None of us, of course, care a
whit for your presence.
The sharpened teeth of the greenskin ground together audibly. It
was very plain that the tribe was between a rock and a hard place, if
all this were trueand while the Northguard was as legendary for their
wiles as for their killing power, warning Giants of the presence of
enemies was strange and new.
And what do you expect me to do, Urkhar snapped the
Chieftain, flourishing his massive blade. Run like a cur from my home
In the end, yes. The coldness in the Northguards voice made
the Chieftain tense, almost expecting an assault then and there. The
knights know the Ravenger comes, with skilled warriors and the aid of
the Pits. They will wait until he begins the assault on your people to
engage him. If and when he falls, they will root you out of here
themselves, and press on to the tomb. If they fail, then me and mine
will come behind, and we will not fail. There was the promise of stone
and steel and ice in his words, and the Northguard did not swear Oaths
lightly.
There were defiant shouts behind, calls to charge and overwhelm
the puny warriorshouts snarled down by the tribal champion with a few
bone-crunching blows to back them up.
The Hags words were clear to Rorg over the jostle and the din
of the Giants. The tribe is more important then the lair. We can build
another, claim another home, elsewhere, she told the Chieftain, who
listened to her carefully.
We cannot run from scum of the pitsour ancestors would haunt
us forever, the big Chorrim snarled quietly back, despite the agreement
plain upon his face. His eyes narrowed, and he looked back to the

Northguard, then at the Hag. Northguard, a truce he asked quickly.

My purpose does not change, Jotun, warned Rorg, but got the
expected reaction for the wordpleased indeed was the Chieftain to be
named among the True Giants by a Northguard!
We will do battle with, and hold the fellspawns creatures from
our home. Give us leave to pass when that battle is done, and we will
depart this area before the High Thrones knights advance to do battle
here. Perhaps they will chase us, perhaps they will notbut the
Northguard is known to pursue and not give succor. Swear you will allow
us to depart in peace, and not follow, and we shall do this thing in honor!
Rorg still did not move, considering the offer. You will have
no home to return to, if you plan treachery, Jotun! This place will be
collapsed and sealed for all time! And the Hand of the Sun is known even
by my folk for a distinctive lack of mercy typical of zealots
Doubtless they had intended to bargain with the Order of Light
for the right to keep their home, or perhaps send them after the
Northguardthat was not likely to happen, as the Hags hissing agreement
with that assessment proved. Rorg had little to hide, and if they had to
butcher some ignorant knights who were ready to unleash a great Evil on
the lands in their folly, he was quite prepared to do so. Errant, he
knew, wouldnt have any difficulty with the task, either, with his utter
lack of fondness for warriors of the High Throne.
I understand this, growled the Chieftain reluctantly, but
clenched his sword. We will not give up our home without a proper
battle to honor itbut we will not fight a battle we have no hope to
winat this time.
Showing that he would remember all parties involved and be
planning something. That was something Rorg could live with.
On your Name, Jotun, agreed Rorg. And still he did not move, a
frozen form of metal.
The Chieftain grinned widely with his sharpened teeth, and
flourished his huge sword. My name is Kraggok the Riven Breaker,
Urkhar! Remember it well! On my name, I swear this Oath, before my tribe
and my ancestors!
On the blades of the Northguard before me, I accept this Oath
for myself and my comrades. Do battle well, Jotuns, and let the Pitscum
see if they can match the glory the Northguard knows doing battle with you.

A roar arose at the rare compliment from a member of the

Northguard, loud enough to shake the stones and be heard some distance
away. With startling smoothness, Rorg was on his feet, as limber as if
he had not been crouched motionless for half an hour, and he turned his
back on the Chorrim and strode down the trail with the precise, heavy,
balanced tread of a Crystal Shield practitioner.
He didnt fear a blade, arrow or spear in the back now. The
Chorrim were going to prove they were worthy of being called Jotuns by a
member of the Northguard, or die trying.
More likely, the Ravengers troops were going to die trying.
======
I could hear that all the way over here. Everyone probably
could, Errant wagged a finger at Rorg, who only smiled cheerfully.
Except the Ravenger, who is still a day awayand missing
another set of scouts the Urkhar asked pleasantly, accepting a very
large bowl of stew from Cheri. The Armsister and Russet had brought down
a small boar, more then enough to feed the whole party.
Odd, that, Errant agreed. The knights sent out some sniffers,
too, trying to find us. Lady Shavvae and Butter were spooking them all
day, and the forest was very unfriendly to them, I imagine.
Butter looked up from the haunch he was gnawing on, wagged his
tail once with a toothy smile, and went back to his chewing. Lady
Shavvae just smiled mysteriously, chewing with delicate energy on a set
of ribs, a strange combination of perfect civility and wild savagery
that somehow fit her Fey image perfectly.
Trencher poked /Forge/ into the fire absentlymagic warded them
round, taking care of smoke and light and sound beyond a few mere paces
from their camp, rendering them all but invisible in the night. The
Chorrim are definitely preparing for a battle, but they dont have magic
and they know it. Any good bunch of spellcasters can soften them up
quickas long as its a hackfest, theyll do well.
Which means going after the Ravengers spellbinders Or his
allies from the Pits Errant asked calmly.
Id imagine cutting the throats of a few of the spellcasters
would be more productive. The Knights are probably going to be incensed

enough by the presence of the fiends to attack once the Ravenger splits
his forcesI imagine he has to know they are in the area, Trencher
agreed wisely.
While overlooking our own presence, Warren nodded, glancing at
Errant. I imagine you could make a nicely zealous Light scout, skulking
into camp in the night to show the Wereyn the Darkness is no protection
from the vengeance of the Light! His false enthusiasm raised smiles all
about.
Errant rolled his eyes at the Warders mock-zealous words, but
didnt dispute them. Youd think I had experience at it, or something,
he deadpanned back, earning a laugh from most of them. And not
incidentally get a good idea of numbers and composition of the enemy, no
doubt.
Did I say that the Warder mused to no one, accepting his own
bowl of stew from Cheri with a smile. Errant thought the paladine mage
was going to fit right in here, and he took another spoonful of stew and
resigned himself to some late night running.
=====
Daemon hounds and standard Daemonic soldiersmezzos, I think.
Didnt look big enough to be Nycas, if I remember the lessons correctly.
Scarred and banged upnot your ordinary grunt types, and them Hounds are
big enough to be ridden.
@@Looks like hes a Werespawn, right enough. No wings, but hes
got that Balor stench on him nicelysmoking nostrils, flames on the
fingertips, brimstone smell, horns and scales and ebon hide and big
honking claws and demonfire eyes. Not a pushover, by any stretch. Hes a
hulking half-demon, half-werebear brute, and when he starts shifting and
getting his demo-ursuin on, hes going to get really big and really ugly
fast. He did when he found the two dead priests with their heads on one
anothers bellies, and he was really unhappy the Damonhounds couldnt
track me down.
Let us all join in a round of pity for him, Rorg sniffed
serenely, earning a chuckle for those present.
Looks like about eighty followers, all told. Hes got them well
equipped and well trained and utterly terrified of him. Even the Daemons
are careful around him. There wont be any problems with discipline
until hes deadand those knights dont have a clue what they are going
to be riding into. I think the Chorrim can mostly handle the grunts,

even as good as they aretheyve got access tied up and can defend the
entry pretty good being where it is. But if those knights come charging
in expecting a few barbarians, they are going to get slaughtered. He
didnt sound uncomfortable with the idea, although Warren looked worried.
Theyve skulkers and casters enough that if they dont try to
assess their foe, they deserve what happens to them. Nature and War are
equally unkind to the weak and foolish, Lady Shavvae pronounced
demurely, and even Warren agreed reluctantly to that. What is to be
resolved is what we do, and when do we do it
I expect the Chorrim to hold off all but a fullscale assault
with spellcaster support. If he commits to that, the knights are sure to
see and order their own attack. I doubt he will be slain, given the
level of power he possesses, but both sides are going to get savaged and
withdrawhell either make immediately for the lair with his strongest
followers to seize the day, or start playing cat-and-mouse with the
knights. Either way, the Chorrim will probably take the opportunity to
bail, especially if theyve taken a good licking from Pitspawn or
spells. Thats our entry pointI dont want to be in the lair when they
are.
I can be about the making of the collapse bright and early
tomorrow, Trencher nodded, and received an equal nod from Lady Shavvae.
Between the two of us, we should be able to make some major bad news
happen. Do you think you will want us inside
Warder, how much delving experience you have Errant promptly
asked of Warren.
Warren looked slightly worried, but shrugged it off.
Divinations have revealed a massive negative energy presence in the
tombs, constrained by the old wards. I can easily prepare myself for
undead and the like. I am fairly proficient at defeating traps, but by
no means a master trapsmith. And fighting at close quarters I am no
stranger to, be it with a staff or no.
Errant looked back at Trencher. Well set up a momentary bypass
to the Interdiction once we enter the tomb proper, so you can help set
up the Wards there, and the Lady can confim what she needs to. Keep the
Beasts close and make the area fun for all the contestants
involvedespecially the Ravenger. We need a way out those knights wont
be able to stop, too.
I think we can put our heads together and arrange something,
Trencher agreed, with a knowing glance at the Elfin, /Forge/ beating

once in sympathy.
Heres to a fun and styling tomorrow, Rorg toasted all, and
flasks and skins were raised all around in agreement.
==========================
The Wereyn set up camp less then a klik from the tomb entry
where the Chorrim were waiting for them. It promptly began to rain and
make things miserable for them, but they pitched a tight camp, compete
with crude barriers raised and using a copse of trees to guard their
flanks from a charge. Their tents were well spaced and in linevery
cleanly run, despite the nature of their leader and his minions.
It didnt take long for the first sortie to go trudging up to
the path along the hillside leading to the tomb, a group of scouts
sneaking up to see what could be seen. Only one made it back alive from
the ambushthe rest floated downstream with the current after being
stripped of valuables, something that was probably going to happen a lot
over the next few hours.
Wings watched the knights main party, while Russet and Butter
kept tabs on their scouts. Lady Shavvae and Trencher were busy at work
on the top of the hill where the river ran down, mostly out of sight,
working earth-moving magic carefully and quietly. The rain came down,
and most everyone was slightly miserable, but it didnt stop the fighting.
A full dozen strong band was sent up to deal with the Chorrim,
with another group of scouts with bows to give them strength. The
Chorrim met them on the shores this time, exploding out of crude cover
and the river itself with ferocity and power. The Wereyn gave a good
account of themselves, but were overwhelmed by the preparedness and
startling teamwork of the Chorrim, and their numbers. The Chieftain
alone killed three of their warriors, and only one of the most cowardly
scouts managed to slink away, the rest being outrun by howling green
Giants eager for the kill.
Obviously, this wasnt going to be anywhere near as easy as the
Ravenger had hoped, but the Chorrim had very limited access to healing,
and obviously couldnt stand up to a full assault, now that their
numbers were revealed. Another warband, a full score strong, was
dispatched, this one more carefuland with a disguised Mezzo among its
ranks.
Warren politely squashed that disguise from a discrete distance
as the Wereyn did battle once more, pushing the Chorrim back up the path

to their home, careful to whittle them down and minimize their own
risks. Of course, then they had to enter the lair, and the screams and
cries from within proclaimed a few surprises waiting for them. The
Mezzodaemon was an unwelcome guest, of course, but it didnt make it
back out either, its squeals and flailings vanishing into a thick gray
mist that boiled out of the entry and swallowed everything upand let
nothing out alive.
Half his elite Warband dead with nothing to show for it, the
Ravenger was now incensedbut for some reason reluctant to risk himself.
The next attack group did, however, include some of his hand-picked
shamanic priests, whose magic would doubtless do the job his warriors
and archers had not.
Or would have, if an unfortunate lightning bolt hadnt triggered
a mudslide that swallowed the priests up and buried them in the river,
sweeping them down and out of sight, not to return. Unwilling to return
with admission of failure, the rest of the warband pressed in.
The fighting was less continuous nowobviously the Chorrim had
to be much more careful. On the other hand, they had inherited some nice
gear from the dead floating downstream, and now were making energetic
use of it, and their knowledge of their home. Crude traps were set off,
quick ambushes sprung, and final redoubts raised.
The rain cleared up, the sun came out, life got cheery and
pleasant, and lo and behold, the knights took it as a sign and came
thundering into the Wereyn camp on the attack, shining bright and with
spells and lances and swords all aflying.
The initial charge was devastating, but then initial charges
tend to be. Things got a bit rougher quickly, as the Wereyn spellcasters
promptly let their strongest spells go, the Ravenger exploded into a
monstrous hybrid demon-manbear a good four meters tall and sent a dozen
knights fleeing in utter terror, and the melee didnt go quite the way
the knights expected it to. The Ravenger alone slew nearly a dozen of
them, and nearly did for the Dame herself if the Mojh Champion hadnt
managed to snatch her away from under his claws. The knights retreated,
leaving over a score of their dead behind, most in several piecesbut
decimating the Ravengers forces and managing to slay half the remaining
mezzos and three of five Hounds, a singular accomplishment.
Good lancework, Rorg said approvingly, watching the knights
ride away as quickly as they could. Two lances were plucked out of the
Ravengers chest like toothpicks before the Were-fiend returned to his
normal form, almost completely unharmed.

Yeah, and I think the Wereyn got their main spellcaster over
therethe guy with his head in that dead Mezzos mouth. Errant pointed
dryly at the robed figure, and Rorg managed not to chuckle. Not to
mention both the Jytan knightscoming in on foot, not smart. I think the
big guy thought they were tasty.
You are a cold and unfeeling bastard, to so comment on such
noble deaths, Rorg noted airily, and Errant just snorted.
They are still fighting in the cavehe cant hold this camp.
Hell strike and be marching as quickly as he can gather his people if
he has any sense.
The Chorrim didnt make it out. And they did do a lot of our
work for us, Rorg noted. We could be kind and not get them totally
slaughtered. Then theyd really owe us.
Errant lifted an eyebrow at him from under his longbrim. You
expecting gratitude from Giants, Northguard
Honor. And if I dont get it, well, then, I guess I can kill
them all. That option sounded cheerful, too.
Lets move, then. He nodded at Wings, who took flight to
gather the others. Time to go in.
=====
The Wereyn guards at the entry werent expecting enemies to come
up behind them, especially enemies as quiet as a Haxan Independent.
While situated to watch both paths, keeping your eye on both just wasnt
completely possible, and when the sentry heard a heavily-armored set of
footsteps coming up, he naturally stepped out for a better look to that
side.
/Duty/ punched through his spine and mouth and nailed him to the
stone for a long breath or four while the corpse twitched and relaxed.
Rorg came pacing calmly up, Warren and Butter and Cheri trailing behind,
helped the dead mutant down, and kept going.
They had an excellent idea of the layout due to Trenchers
scrying and illusions representing the different areas. They stepped
over heaps of dead, including a few Chorrim, and followed the sound of
combat and shouting to the battlezone fairly quickly.

The Chorrim were on the wrong side of a chasm on the inside of

the cave. They hadnt cut the rope bridge leading over yet, but plainly
it might become an option. The Wereyn were sniping at them now, trying
to keep them from the bridge while they organized a shield charge. They
were just a tad startled when the five came trotting out from behind
them and laid into them.
Errant cut down two wounded Wereyn immediately, removing them
from the damage equation completely, while Rorg shield-slammed two of
them out from behind their cover and watched them promptly get riddled
full of almost javelin-sized arrows. /Shrek/ began to hack and hew,
Cheri planted arrows in shoulders, arms and the occasional eyeball, and
Haxan and Urkhar were back to back and killing everything around them
with interconnected sword and shield work, footwork lazily moving this
way and that as Rorg took advantage of every opening worked up for him
by Errant and Cheri. Warren waited beside Cheri and behind a pearly
screen that popped and sizzled with lightningand Butter rose up to
greet the first Wereyn that threw himself screaming through the barrier,
wrapped him up in claws and teeth, and brought him down.
Caught from two sides, the Wereyn didnt last long. The Chorrim
werent the best of shots, but they were enthusiastic users of their
bows, and then the Chieftain actually came surging across the bridge
with his champion behind him, laying into the Wereyn with tremendous
strokes from behind, and sealing their fates completely.
In another minute, it was all over, and they were standing over
the hacked and hewed bodies, blades carefully between them and space kept.
Take your loot and go, Rorg stated in no uncertain terms. I
didnt come here for your treasure, and their leader will be coming up
here shortly. You dont want to be here when he gets here.
The Chieftain was wounded in many places, clearly having carried
a great deal of the battle himself. He tried not to show his relief to
the fairly fresh small folk, simply nodding once and barking out his
orders to the remainder of his tribe, who scrambled to obey, hefting
what booty they could claim and valuables were portable from obviously
prepared piles.
The company stood discretely aside as the Chorrim trooped by,
all of them wounded, some of them severely, at once proud of the fight
theyd put up and depressed because they were abandoning their home. The
Chieftain was the last to go, and at the top of his huge pack, which
probably weighed more then Errant did, was the freshly bisected skull of
a Mezzodaemon.

Nice trophy, Rorg commented, with a nod towards the head. The
Chieftain just grunted, gave the Urkhar and three humans a once over,
nodded curtly to the Northguard, and headed after his people, warily
glancing back to make sure he wasnt followed.
Butter, heres where you bow out. Warren, add some fun for the
big guy to overcome. The Lion quickly took off after the Chorrimhed
simply use the opposite path, or failing that, just jump in the river.
Warren quickly got to work, scribing runework with his staff that could
detonate for some painful and damaging effects, especially to those with
the blood of fiends in their veins. He patiently took his time to do it
right, while Errant combed the chambers ahead and found the passage they
were looking for.
Theres a light down there, Cheri asked, leaning over the side
of the chasm with a careful grip on the bridgepost, looking down. Its
wavering, like a torch.
Somebody probably dropped a magical light down there. Ignore
it, Errant stated. She acknowledged the point and turned to follow him,
Rorg watching over Warren as he laid his spells and brought up the rear.
=====
Now heres something you dont see everyday, murmured Errant,
as the door to the inner tomb swung wide open. Dark mist boiling over
the floor spilled past them in an unclean stream, showcasing the two
moving residents of the chamber, both poised with weapons high to greet
them.
The inner guardians, the Elven Master stated, bowing to both
of the entities there solemnly, and receiving a wary nod in return.
Seeing a great insectile Ice Devil standing sentry duty next to
a shining Deva was not something Errant had really expected, and the coy
Elf they'd met in this place, the only member of his duty-bound Order to
survive the attempt to constrain the negative energy flow of the weapon
entombed here, had only hinted at their presence, plainly enjoying what
little excitement centuries of unwavering duty could give him. Errant
considered the implications of such an event, looked at the sarcophagus
behind them, and shrugged it all away, leaving Warren to deal with the
moral implications of it all.
Howdy. Errant of Haxan here. The mist hissed and with a quiet
woosh cleared away from him as he lowered the point of /Duty/ and its

True Death rune into it, both entities tensing as they saw the blade.
Im pulling escort duty for the Warder behind me, here to reinforce the
bindings about this place, neutralize the negative energy spill, and
re-empower the divinatory wards. Theres an Elfin outside, and a
Rockborn, who need to be brought in to help and are waiting for our
signal to do so. If you dont mind, wed like to drop the Interdiction
field a minute and let them come on in.
His tone wasnt one that invited discussionRorg was already
setting the conical, rune-carved stonework down that Trencher would use
as his focus. Both of the entities promptly bridled at his presumptuousness.
And how do we know you are not bringing in more foes to slay us
and take the weapon here the Devil demanded in an alien, hum-screech
voice that really, really got on Errants nerves, brandishing the long,
frosting length of a dire spear - so many barbs on it, it looked more
like a thistle on a stick.
Because I dont need allies to deal with the likes of you,
bug-boy; your winged friend can tell you I have no use for that blade;
and thats a paladine mage behind me, not one of your little set-piece
tools of corruption, Errant spat back. Now, theres a half-Balor
Wereyn coming in behind us, and doubtless having all sorts of fun with
the traps in here and the undead we didnt kill, and wed like to be
about our business. You going to be difficult or can we get our bloody
job done and get out of here and leave you two towhatever youve been
doing the last few centuries Without waiting for an answer, he turned
and nodded at Warren, who carefully and deliberately began his spell,
inclining his head at the Deva respectfully, but not stopping his efforts.
The Guardians' worry was for naught, as Trencher popped in a
moment later, holding onto Lady Shavvaes elbow, and took in the whole
scene with a glance.
So, its true! Well, to work. The Dwarf hefted /Forge/ without
another thought, while the Elven Master and Lady Shavvae promptly
exclaimed aloud in Elvish, and broke into musical talk with a babble and
an embrace between them, sounding more like a duet of singers then a
pair of old, old friends holding a conversation.
Errant just grunted and headed back out the door. Rorg, Cheri,
with melet them to their business. I want to give the Wereyn a surprise
when he comes this way. He began to retrace his careful steps, when he
heard heavy claws clacking on the stone behind him.
The Ice Devil came slowly out of the tomb, barbed tail

twitching, looking around curiously with sharp, insectile motions of his

mantis-like head. Would youcare for some assistance the Devil asked
in that voice that made Errant just want to cut it down for peace of spine.
Errant looked up at the creature, at Rorg, then Cheri.
Shrugged. Can you keep the undead off us he asked, for starters.
They will not threaten me unless they wish me to consume what
remains of their blighted souls, the Devil pronounced with great relish.
Uh-huh. Once this thing is dead, Ill be putting them all to
True Death, so dont look forwards to that. /Duty/ hummed, and the
Devil flinched away instinctively. All I know about Ice Devils is that
you use a lot of cold magic. But, I seem to recall that Daemons tend to
loathe cold.
The icy white mantis head tilted and jerked. That is correct.
Well, then, you can help us put them on ice.
================
Sucks to be all alone, doesnt it.
Behind him, the Tomb entry collapsed in a grinding roar of
liquifying rock, thousands of tons of stone plummeting into the river as
Trenchers spell first sheared off a huge segment of stone by liquefying
it, then resealed it behind like cement. The will-o-wisps the Devil had
laughingly identified probably werent going to like their little chasm
being suddenly filled up with a few thousand tons of rock and water, but
those were the breaks.
Between the traps, the undead, the constructs, Warrens
surprises, the cold magic of the Ice Devil, and hacking of Rorg and
Errant, the Ravenger hadnt been able to penetrate the Tomb, and now it
was gone for good, buried beyond reach and sealed very tight indeed.
Among other things, it was now going to be flooded, too, and the entry
rooms filled with mud that had now resolidified.
The others had teleported outErrant had been chasing the
desperate retreat of the Ravenger as the complex had started to come
down. The Demon-were might have wanted the Sword, but hed been frozen,
hacked, punctured and all his minions had died, sometimes quite horribly
and with amazing thoroughness.

And now, here he was, wounded and angry, and opposite him was a
Haxan with a runeblade shedding rivulets of force the same hue as his
blood, a blade that scared the crap out of him.
And hey, here comes the cavalry. Guess they had more healers
back at camp. Errant smiled as he lifted /Duty/ and steadied his
shield. Go on, one last time. Make an effort, at the least.
Black scales and fur spasmed and grew, writhing under the skin,
visage warping into something far more demonic then could be called even
bestial, growing in mass and power and might and lunging for him.
====
The Champions came up slowly as he hacked off the head of the
Ravenger, glancing from Freesworder to the tumbled tomb entry, a fresh
flow of water spilling over the crumbling rocks in a rather picturesque
pattern. They had just seen him almost shred this creature that had
single-handedly broken their attack with a blur of swordwork and a
devastating skill that had literally de-limbed it before it diedand now
the whole body was burning with unnatural white flames, being consumed
utterly into fine dust as it did so.
You, demanded the Dame, pointing at him, - are responsible
for that She pointed angrily at the new lay of the waterfall.
Do I look like I can collapse a hillside Errant flicked his
blade clean and sheathed it coolly, bending down to pick up the skull
and snuff the vivic flames burning there, which had eaten away the flesh
and hide, leaving behind the malformed, horned bone. I did this. Guess
he didnt get what he wanted from inside. Pity, that. He turned the
skull over in his hands, then drew out a pair of leather ties and looped
them through the chin bone and nostrils. Nice bounty on this guy, too.
You can have his toysIm happy.
The Dame fumed, at once certain he was guilty of something, and
completely lacking proof. And it was true, if he was a spellcaster, then
she was a Dark Champion. He had denied her the honor of taking the head
herselfbut by how quickly he had done so, she had no reason to contest
the kill with him. He was plainly extremely dangerous, and the thing
hadnt managed to land more then a crushing blow on his shield before it
had lost both its arms to his blade.
You slew this creature with amazing speed. Your sword is Bane
to Shapeshifters the emotionless Mojh asked with interest, stroking
the great axe he held ready, its lightning bolt symbol of power glowing

softly upon it.

You dont bring your claws to a sword fight. Bad for business.
Errant strapped the skull to his shoulder strap where /Duty/ and his
crossbow rode. Ill let you all clean up. Ive a reward to collect. He
gave both Champions a casual salute, and with complete confidence
trotted between the gathered horses and away towards the south. A dozen
heads turned to watch him go, all that could be made again battle-ready
in the wake of the earlier carnage.
We never did see his friends, Dame Bromor stated with
certainty. He was a part of this, and he used us.
So he did. And you slew many minions of the Dark, including
foul Daemons, which is enough to make this trip of value to your order.
The plunder off this beast will doubtless pay our expenses and moreso,
which is why it was left for us when the Freesworder could claim
rightful battlespoils. The Mojh turned black pupils on the collapsed
hillside where once a hidden tomb had stood. Excavating the tomb now
would take great time and magic now, and doubtless attract all manner of
unwelcome attention. Our primary mission is lost to us. Of what business
he had with the tomb, is now irrelevant. I sensed no strong magic upon
himand the Darkness radiating from the tomb itself seems to have
vanished with the collapse.
Elyssia frowned and concentrated on the hillside, sensing none
of the Dark power permeating it that she had been able to before.
Indeed, it seemed to be suffused with a new light and life and energy,
as if much of the Dark energy had been burned away. Destroyed, do you
think It seemed the only logical explanation.
Possibly. Only time, of course, and those who wish to stir
great powers, will tell. Sir Karimos Enchidur, Champion of Magic of the
Order of the White Pillar, turned his mount and began to ride leisurely
back towards the camp. My task, at least, is done. Continue as you
wish, Dame Bromor.
Gritting her teeth, Elyssia stared after the departed
Freesworder, out of sight with remarkable speed, debating heading after
him, finding him and his friends, and then putting all of them to The
Question to learn exactly what had befallen here.
The uselessness of the notion made her discard it reluctantly.
With an oath to the Light under her breath, she turned after the Mojh,
and her vassals and junior knights wheeled about after her.

Another day, perhaps. And she would have to look into exactly
who this Longstead was, who wore Platinum.
Far above the knights, Wings followed their retreat for a few
minutes before quietly swooping away. Things had turned out well.
==Aelryinth

New Post Re: The Wereyn

-----------------------------------------------------------------------The Elven monk inside the Tomb I had alive after all this time...without
food and water and the like, he's obviously a highly skilled Oathbound
of the Place.
Yes, this is another Dungeon magazine adaptation. The Champions made for
a nice three-way tug that Errant can set against one another.
The Chorrim tribe are something that could be worked into the Throne
defenses when the Tauren invade, so it is likely they meet Errant again.
=
New Post Re: The Wereyn
-----------------------------------------------------------------------/I close out the season here, but sum it up. I can always go back and
write up each area. Many of them are lifted out of other sources./
/*
The Wereyn VII*/
So, let me get this straight.
Weve kept hidden a legendary beast that could eat the whole of
the High Throne.
Weve kept sealed a tomb with a weapon in it that might have
helped kill some gods.
We buried a library of ancient Fey secrets the Elven couldnt
be bothered to move elsewhere before a band of High Throne explorers
could get their hands on it.
We rooted out a band of cultists using a warped holy relic left
behind in the rush to abandon the Sidhete to attempt to summon some
great evil Thingamajigger.

We saved the Heart of the Sidhete from a ceremony led by an

intelligent giant TOAD, of all things, that could have rotted out the
whole of the forest.
We secured the ancient wards over the Sidhe Tor to keep it
unlocatable and whatever secrets are within safe from those seeking them.
We butchered the Deep creatures attempting to corrupt the Ocean
Pearl of the Waveriders and secured it with an Elder Nymph, who we also
rescued from being sacrificed by a possessed Sorceress, along with her
Sylph, Hammadryad and Urgalae sisterswho promptly sent us off to rescue
the Four Weirds of the Sidhete from a Succubi Sorceress out to steal
their powers of Foresight for her own usage.
We rescued the Unicorn Lord of the Sidhete from a Fell Hunt by
corrupted Fey riders, and a Noble Focherai from Fellhounds and Howlclaws.
We liberated the Orb of Festerings from the madmen racing to
release the plagues within it on the world.
We slaughtered the Serpen Seekers out to find the stasis-sealed
caverns of their ancient forebears before they could locate them.
We ripped out the heart of a fungoid creature whose mass
extends over leagues because your people let it grow too large.
We contacted and set up communication with a madly xenophobic
branch of your own people who chose to remain behind when the Sidhete
was abandoned, DESPITE them trying to kill us multiple times.
We have killed over one THOUSAND living things racing all over
this bloody forest taking care of the things the Sidhe didnt have time
to bother with when they ran like mad from the Dramojh to the other side
of Haxan.
And because we didnt reach the last thing you had on your list
in time, its all OUR fault
Errant looked back at the black horizon behind them, necromantic
energies warping earth and sky. He spat once, with feeling, and kept
running.
Lady Shavvae, running alongside him in wolf form, only growled
once in reply. He gave her an unkind look, and kept going.
Behind him, a Wraith King was whelming an army of undead from

the Barrows of the High Kings of the Sidhete. A Wraith-King, of all

things! Skulos had to be grokking laughing his bony arse off as the
corrupted Elf-King raised the tortured bodies and souls of those who had
been slain fighting off the Dramojh for some revenge on the hapless
living. That the Dramojh were dead didnt matterthe Sidhe were going to
have the victory in Undeath that they were denied in life, and that
meant butchering the servants of the Dramojh and all that aided them.
Which, since Beastmen lived all over the High Throne, meant
basically every single living sentient to the south of them. An undead
army such as hadnt been seen in centuries was coming to unlife at the
hands of the Last King of the Sidhete, and it was THEIR fault the
Tainted Elven whod done the job had completed it in time
Bah. Justbah. Now they had to keep running, because the
unliving and the undead didnt get tired, and they had to get warning to
everyone in the way before the hapless natives got themselves added to
vengeful Fey armies.
This was so not his day. Snow crunched under his feet and the
hooves of the horses from the late fall dusting, and he couldnt even
admire the beauty of the leaves and their many colors as he put leagues
between himself and the twisted army whelming behind them.
This was so not going to be fun. At least the spellcasters had
sent out the alarms ahead of them, so some truly nasty spellbinders
could muster up to set things right. All this, of course, assuming the
undead Elves came south. Going northhmmm, maybe that wouldnt be so
badat least until the swollen ranks of the butchered undead got free
and wanted to find somewhere else to go.
Gah. Run, little Haxan, runhe was pretty sure theyd be after
the party, which was believable since theyd carved their way through
threescore fanatics in a wild attempt to stop the reanimation of the
Last King. Said fanatics probably wanted revenge in the worse way,
especially since most of them werent going to be available for undeath
themselves, damned Fey bastards
=====
The one good thing about Jytan was that they knew how to build
well, almost as good as Rockbornand probably more solidly, giving their
size and the strength requirements that came out of it.
Castle Dunstaad was the most northern of the strongpoints of the
High Throne in the old Eskelevi lands, dominating an area perhaps 30

leagues across with the strength of the forces based here. It was
primarily a patrol stopover and base for resupply, but made to be strong
and secure against any horde or beasts sweeping down from the north. The
Steward overseeing the place was a Rune Warden of some ability, and had
spent a lot of time reinforcing the walls and stones of her
keepprescience that was going to come in invaluable.
She took the news of a massive undead force whelming in the
Sidhete with ill gracewhich was entirely believable, as Errant wouldnt
have wanted to hear the like, either. And, of course, she had to blame
someone, so why not some itinerant human adventurers who looked like
they hadnt bathed in days, for riling up a host of undead Elves
Errant sent the Beasts on their way. Fighting Undead was not
their job, and they would be less then effective against things that
could paralyze them just by biting undead flesh. The Beasts went on
their way reluctantly, heading west a safe distance where Wings could
circle far above and watch the battle unfold.
People began to stream into the castle, and on past, attempting
to outrun the horror arising, and the swelling reports of undead riders
on skeletal steeds that focused aggressively on the Lupin and Felin
unfortunate enough to be found by themand slaughtered almost casually
the humans who crossed their path, out of pure spite and arrogance.
Errant was not a spellcaster, but he had his own set of duties
as he promptly took over command of most of the garrison from the
startled Steward. The Platinum on his cheek didnt encourage a lot of
dissension, and the legends of Freesword making their great final stand
against an Undead Host was all the incentive most of the warriors there
of any race needed to do what he said.
That, and a sword that brought True Death, virtually
guaranteeing him the center stage in any conflict with undead.
Proof of the danger of the unliving elves was not long coming,
as arrows of bone and withered wood took out half a patrol he was
leading before they could come to blowsand then the riders got to
sample the sword skill of the Sidhete guards, the most feared border
patrol in the old realms, possessed of a great disdain for all non-Elves
and centuries of experience in cutting them down.
He lost thirty soldiers to ten Bone Sidhe, although it turned
out a dozen of them were merely paralyzed by the fell magic of the
arrows. It took three soldiers to hew one of the screeching, cavorting
skeletal creatures downexcept for Errant, who did for four of them with

a grim efficiency and attracted the attention of all of them. It was

their almost mad focus on getting to him which allowed the other riders
to cut them down at the last.
And that wasnt anywhere as bad as the spectral knights on
phantom steeds coming out of the evening mists with lances of
ghoul-light and swords of umbral gloom. The soldiers had little way to
hurt themat least until the Greenbond present managed to treat their
weapons to hit their incorporeal foes, and waves of positive energy
seared the Knights with the power of life and sent them retreating back
into the shadowy gloom.
Errant stood forth and issued his challenge, and a spectral Elf
with a thin face all sneer and arrogance, wielding a blade like a two
handed rapier, one of the ancient Courtblades of the Sidhe. His armor
bore a blackened and warped image of the Sun symbol of the God of the
Elven, and the pride on his ghostly face distorted what once might have
been almost transcendental handsomeness into a caricature of hate and scorn.
He was plenty surprised when Errants armor and shield defied
the phantasmal touch of his blade, and even more when /Duty/ Fed him to
the Land in a blaze of vivic fire washing through the ether, his
spectral body and ethereal armor no hindrance to the path of the
Clanswords power.
Four more Knights eager for either vengeance or Final Rest lept
forwards to follow in the path of the first one, and he tore through
them with the grim efficiency of a Man whod seen the blade dancing
style of the Elven before, and knew what to do to them.
No, the garrison didnt have much problem following him after that.
=====
Holy Water, barrels and barrels of it. Blessed woods dipped in
sacred oils, arrows of livewood gleaming with life. Wards filling the
air with a hum of life energy and denying the passage of spectral
hoststhey would have to manifest to attack. Sources of Light layered
everywhere, filling the castle and surrounding area with brilliance,
mounted in reflectors to spread the light over the entire area. A
constant hum of prayer and peace filling the area with gentle
reinforcement to boost the morale of the fighting folk seeking shelter
within.
Warren and Trencher were everywhere, working spell on stone,
holy and elemental power being brought forth in preparation for the

defense. Rorg was endlessly drilling the troops on tricks and tactics,
while Cheri patiently carved arrow after arrow for usage when it was
time. Lady Shavvae discretely added druidic magic to the mix, and kept
much of the warped weather at bay so that they might have a broader view
of the surroundings and keep hopes up.
Patrols contracted quickly. The deadliness of the bone arrows of
the Sidhe was surpassingeasily treated with the right vapors from
smoking herbs, but lethal in the field, and the skill of the Elven folk
shocked those who did combat with them.
And that wasnt even counting the magic that was being readied.
Illusions and glamour, mind-bending assaults, terrifying dweomers that
struck at dreams and spirits, enchantments that could be kept at bay
only by the Warded walls of Dunstaad.
Or by the grim mind of a Source not about to be herded like
sheep by mocking undead Fey warrior-magi. As the pale mists began to
gather earlier and earlier, and boil down from the North, he kept going
out and taking a harvest of Unliving scouts with grim purpose.
====
O-Gual was a bit white about the edges. The Steward had never
seen an Elf herself they were almost legendary in the High Throne
and now she had the ghastly pleasure of seeing their undead shells
drawing about her fortress in macabre formations. Molding banners flew
from ghoulish lances, once-beautiful steeds wrapped in rotting flesh,
hides and crumbling barding pranced their bony paths with unclean grace
and power, while on their backs proud Elven warriors held together by
rusting, collapsing armor rode straight and tall, totally unmindful of
their horrifying appearances and countenanceor perhaps all too aware.
Overhead a more dangerous Host spun and capered all about the
castle, testing the limits of the Wardings, alternating from almost
dream-like beauty to mind-searing corrupted souls of the foulest
appearance. In their midst, surrounded by an elite Guard of incredibly
ornate appearance waited the Last King, the balefic power of his stare
readily apparent to every soul on the walls, the fallen monarch now a
Wraith-King of truly terrible power.
Shambling forward from between the proud and terrible lines of
undead Fey came the deadWereyn, Human, Jytan, Beastmen, Jotuns, hapless
Fey who had not been able to get away from the Host and died. Obviously,
undead Fey had no reservations of using necromancy, and quite some
talent in doing so, as real strength and power was apparent in the

numbers of enslaved souls theyd taken for fodder for their

battlesmales, females, even children, and not all of them were
corporeal, spirits enslaved by shadow and undeath as surely as flesh.
They been testing the underground toolike a Rockborn would
forget about the subterranean defenses. The Rockborn rubbed the Steward
the wrong way with his very presence, but he knew his job and knew it
well. His aid had been invaluablehis skill with stone every bit as
strong as the tales said of his stoic race. He certainly had no
reservations about calling on her talents, and she had been startled by
his comprehensive knowledge of rune lore. You spot the lich yet
He hides behind the mists, she replied carefully, trying to
look and not see the travesty taking place before her, the hints of
fallen grandeur in every motion, spitting on her soul to wonder how
glorious such a force might have been when still living. Such terrible,
fallen beauty
He probably has good reason, after the way Errant nearly took
his head off. Insane bastard. Trencher spat and slapped his flanged
/athame/ back and forth between shovel-sized hands, staring at the
parade with grim expression. First people to see a Sidhe Host gathering
for battle in half a millennium and more, and its gotta be the work of
a mad bonehead. The deadheads in Adyrjr must be laughing their bony
arses off seeing thisthought I doubt even they want to attempt to
command a Wraith King
There are thousands of them, the Jytan said hesitantly,
looking over the gathered forces. Surely they can break our Wards and
overwhelm us
Nah. Trencher wasnt worried. Errants a Warder, holy Magus
of the Light. Hes got the spell defenses anchored in enough faith to
root a mountain. Theyd have to break the will of Mithar himself to
collapse the wards as they stand, and that music you are hearing is
grating on them like a hundred banshees. They wont be flying in here,
and they are going to have a right time casting any magic at all,
especially the mind-bending stuff they love, while inside the Wards. No,
they take this by the blade, or not at all. O' course, yer talking
Sidhe, and Im sure youve heard tell just how good they are.
The unnatural agility of the Host was plain to her eye,
seemingly only made even more dangerous by the undead state of the
warriors. O-Gaul gripped her stave more tightly.
But they are not masters of being undead, and we have been

prepared by masters of fighting undead, she managed by way of

rejoinder, managing to break a smile. Trencher chortled agreement.
That be truth. They are going to get a rude surprise, sure
enough. The dwarf's rough chuckle grated on her ears, but at least it
wasn't the ghostly, gibbous music that was wafting from the Host and
trying to drive them mad...
=====
So how many different kinds of undead you count out there,
Warder Errant asked casually.
Mmmm, the Mitharn hummed to himself. At last count, about 37.
I think they are hiding a bone colossus or two back out in those mists,
but I cant quite telland they might have a corpse gigant too.
I feel privileged, Errant replied drily, which got him a wry
smile. A corpse gigant hadnt been seen outside Adryjr or the North in
centuriesunless you counted that little incident at Oggers Head a
generation ago, but that was just rumor. Ahem. Anything special I
should be looking for
I think those cultists got a new lease on existence as
vampiresat least, I think so. Theyve done some nasty things to those
Ogres there, and those trees over there, arent. Errant squinted at the
looming shadows in the mists. Im pretty sure the Kings guard are
Chillguards, and theres some gloomfetches trying to stay out of
sightlikely his personal agents and shadow killers. Wraithblades,
fellguards, redbones, blightbones, loam eaterstheres some undead here
that havent been seen in a long time. Those trolls have been rendered
as Mockeries he pointed at the broken, shambling bodies of the
creatures, unnaturally twisted and studded with spikes of bone and iron
throughout their bodies, but moving with as much or more power then the
living versions. Even the skeletal animals have been reinforced as more
then mere zombies and skeletons. He waved his hand at moldering great
eagles and fluttering bonebats somehow gliding thru the air. A
necromancer would probably call it artistic.
Bored and with too much magic and time. Errant eyeballed Aru,
almost gone beneath the horizon to the west, nearly hidden by the mists
trying to rise to block the hated light and just barely failing. A cloak
of sepulchral fog formed a barrier for the spectral portion of the Host,
expanding swiftly as Aru yielded the sky to the Silver Queen.
What do you think of our chances Warren asked warily. There

are a lot of them.

Errant just snorted, to the relief of those men standing closest
and eavesdropping. The air and the earth are going to be eating at
them. The music is going to deafen them and the light blind them. The
air has enough positive force in it that just coming inside the wards is
going to be like entering a blast furnace. And when reinforcements
arrive, they are going to be pretty surprised. We just have to hold out
until whats coming gets itself arranged and things put in placeand
make sure our own dead stay dead.
Warren nodded agreement. The Sidhe arent the only ones who
dont forget old promises He watched the Host start to rustle as the
sunlight streaming overhead slowly and surely stole away. Time to get
to positions. Feed them to the Land.
Given, Errant agreed, and /Duty/ was brought out and set on
top of the battlements before his shield. The Rune of True Death on it
blazed with a light like a beckoning star to the undead below, and he
immediately saw heads turn his way, seeing both death and release. The
closest soldiers shivered at the bravado of that statement, beckoning to
the Host below, advertising his presence.
/I am here. Come, and Feed the Land/.
New Post Re: The Wereyn
-----------------------------------------------------------------------Errant and siegework. This also showcases why you like castle
walls...they make the besiegers fight on your terms, and like anything
should have defenses built in against flying, transplanar striking, and
burrowing attacks.
Note that while most soldiers are familiar enough with Final Rest, True
Death is a stronger effect, and very effective...especially on a blade
with Anathemic runes there to liven things up.
=
New Post Re: The Wereyn
-----------------------------------------------------------------------/Professionally discharged and wrapped up...with a twist or two. After
all, Errant is human, and Elves fey, and there's an innate conflict
between Source and Fey, especially the Old Race of Men.../
*The Wereyn VIII*
Everywhere, there was fire.

Sunfire from Greenbonds, born of the power of life. Greenish

tinged druidic flame, devouring the unnaturalness that was the undead.
Fires of sacred herbs and woods, flaying undead with the smoke and
raging over them from torches and lanterns. Flaring gouts from sacred
oil and blessed alcohol, prayed over and ignited and making raging
bonfires out of the capering undead. Earthfire roared with deep crimson
and the hue of magma and molten rock, reaching out to devour whole ranks
before it could be dispelled. Magefire in a dozen different hues blasted
back and forth as spellcasters had at one another, thankfully the Sidhe
never having a focus on energy spells and seeing them as uncouth and crude.
And there was a lot of vivic fire.
Errant had stopped bothering to think some time ago. His
instincts were on fire, and his world was white flame howling over him
as undead swarmed him and he Fed them to the Land. They were literally
crawling over him, trying to both die and kill him, and their own
blazing deaths ignited those nearest them. Incorporeal undead reduced to
barely more substance then a breath of air went up like cheapest
tinderskeletal remains ignited and danced brokenly before crumbling
into dust.
In the heart of a white non-inferno, Errant kept hewing and
hacking, untiring and unmindful of the spectacle he presented. The
strongest attacks converged on where he was situated, spells and arrows
were probing for him and finding nothing, and still the undead came up
for him, looking to kill him, or be released from this mockery of life.
This single-mindedness made them much easier to channel and
contain and hack apart in series. Where they were focused on killing the
warriors who opposed them, the Sidhe were terrifying foesdeathly fast,
with armor far too strong for its crumbling fragility, and
blood-chilling weapons and soul-stealing touches. Even hampered by
sacred music grating on their every thought, blinding light all about
them, and waves of fog conjured from holy water eating away at their
undead bodies like acid, they took a deadly toll as they scaled the
walls and made for the living on top.
There were a half dozen Final Rest weapons scattered among the
troops, mostly daggers, and being used by the quick to insure that
anything that fell stayed dead. Vivic flames burst up and died here,
there, everywhere as the men devoted to that one purpose made sure that
no one arose again in the service to the Wraith King.
Warren was a beacon of strength, plying his staff with

consummate skill in support of other warriors, or roundly crushing

skulls with power and force. This might have been the High Throne, but
his continued loud and fervent admonitions to Mithar as he smote the
enemy, or shattered bony wrists and rusting blades, or swept them from
the walkways into those waiting below and climbing behind, gave heart
and strength to those around him, impresed and even awed by his
unflagging spirit. Cheris bow, properly treated with the correct
arrows, preyed on undead as easily as it did the living, calmly bursting
hollow skulls and sending shadows and ghosts and wraiths and spectres
and immaterial things shrieking into nothingness, every shot counting,
every shot a lethal strike in the best of the Wyrmguard traditions.
Lady Shavvae was in her Halvyri guise, serenely singing with her
living harp a gentle melody that meshed well with the holy hymns filling
the air and building upon them with magical strength, lending power and
energy to all within earshot. She was probably keeping together the east
side of the castle more strongly then Warren was the west.
Trencher was on the south side, the most lightly attacked,
occasionally blowing a particularly thick batch of undead into ash, more
often just taking /Forge/ and raining brutal, flaming blows down upon
the animate corpses clambering up the walls. He found it sickening, this
re-enactment of an ages-old feud laid to rest centuries before, but the
Sidhe certainly seemed to seek him out with energy and purpose he was
more then happy to return to them.
Rorg was there to help the Rockborn deal with this extra bit of
attention. /Shrek/ was continually busy, crushing through the lightning
parries and rotting armor of the Sidhe with a power they simply could
not defend against, scattering moldering bones and gear in all
directions as his shield took the best of their archery and turned it
aside. He laughed at them and drove into them, the exact kind of heavy
warrior who excelled at this kind of siege and defense, a tradition the
Sidhe had never developed and seldom faced. His rakeblade was relentless
and his mirth loud and jovial as he ripped into them and sent them Down.
But it was Errant at the North, where the strongest attacks were
massed, that invited them in, and about whom the defenders of the keep
were fighting the hardest at the distracted undead. Many of the least of
the undead army died just braving the vivic fires to attempt to get to
him, and shining lights tore skywards as the innocents among these were
liberated, a sight to rejuvenate even the most jaded of souls there. He
was not stopping, and was not even slowing down after the battle
stretched on, and on, and on, and hundreds, perhaps thousands of undead
went for him, screaming for death and release, and he granted it with
appalling speed. The soldiers around him, forewarned and forearmed,

grimly continued their own battles, using the bulwark of his fight as a
centerpoint to drive the undead into, or wreaking deadly harm from the
fringes of the distracted undead mesmerized by the vivic bonfire being
lit there.
A massive skeletal hand, easily the height of a Rockborn,
smashed into the curtain wall as the bone colossus was brought forwards.
Where enough bone had been salvaged to construct it so quickly was
unknown, but it was easily a dozen meters tall and the force of the blow
shattered the top of the curtain wall almost instantly.
Warren, of course, was anything but unprepared, whirling to
extend his staff out, pointing at the vivic blaze with Errant at its
heart, and tugging at it, directing it with a solemn prayer to Mithar
and Aru.
Like a bolt of fire, the entirety of the vivic bonfire poured
across the distance in a white stream, and drove directly into the
breast of the huge skeletal creation. Massive jaws with no tongue reared
back and screamed an empty scream of agony and release as the entire
creature was almost immediately engulfed from the ribs up in hungry
vivic fire. The bone colossus was reeling backwards as bone turned to
ash with terrible speed, and Warren looked down to see the vivic flame
explode again around Errant as a dozen reeling undead literally blew up
and out and ignited their fellows one more time.
/Duty/ was having a field day. Warren directed a fresh stream of
holy mist down the wall where the fog was thickest, mixing with the
concealing vapors there and eroding the undead while giving them no
target to look upon or dispel without sacrificing their own magicks. He
could hear unholy bone hissing softly along a hundred bodies as they
disinagrated slowly, and the ones that came clawing up the wall were
eroding away before his eyes.
As it should be.
-------------------------The dawn came with startling speed, not the least so when Warren
took the vivic flame about Errants pyre of undead and sent it sweeping
out to the East, devouring the concealing flame and letting the first
rays of the sun come sweeping across the undead horde. With shrieks and
moans, those who could flee did so, back into mists that lost power
under the light, but retained enough to shield the undead from the
killing light of Aru, and in a matter of minutes the first night of the
siege was done.

Lady Shavvae inspected her bloody fingers with some aplomb, and
serenely took another drink of the bottle of wine at her side. Only a
dozen of the Sidhe had even bothered to attack her, and those had died
almost instantly as they struck the magical warding circles about her.
She rose and stretched, cat-like, and went stalking into the keep where
the moans and groans of the wounded were loudestand a healing song
would have the most effect.
Errant took long minutes to recover from his fighting trance, so
immersed in the act of killing his rational mind had to reach up and tap
him on the cerebrum, informing him that it was first light, and yes, it
was time for his Devotions. Around him, he was calf-high in bone ash and
metallic dust from the volume of undead burned away around him, but he
ignored that as the storm in his mind swelled and stilled, and he lifted
his sword towards Aru and began his Devotions.
Warren too, fell to one knee in prayer, bowing before Aru and
thanking the gods for having been of use this night. Whispers he sent
winging to Sylune as she stole from the sky, perhaps to be heard by
other ears.
And the desperate warriors of Dunstaad raised a ragged cheer,
some falling down at their posts as exhaustion took them. The least
tired moved quickly among them, and gleaming daggers were still at the
ready to identify the dead and insure they did not rise again come
nightfall.
The first night of the siege was done.
-----------------------This night theyll bring the tough stuff, not the
rank-and-file. Weve proved we can handle their soldiers. It will be
time for them to unleash their elites.
No one disputed Errants words. Indeed, no one there wanted to
dispute him at all. Any Man, Haxan or no, who could stand untiring in
the middle of an assault of undead like that for hours and emerge with
nary a scratch was someone to be feared and admired. He had command of
the Castle and they all knew it, because no one was going to take the
risk of telling him nonot even a fearful and impressed Jytan Steward.
Thats fine. Warren was tired and would withdraw to his
meditations and rest soon, but still had the energy to attend the
initial strategy conference. The aid that is coming should be here when

the moon is high. Ive already established a focus for themwhen they
get here, the Wraith King has some major problems in store.
Haxan spellcasters the Steward asked suspiciously.
Warren glanced at her, and smiled sadly. Elven spellcasters,
Lady. Come to send their ancestors and friends home for good.
The eyes of many at the table went wide. Living Elves, in the
lands of the High Throne! Lady Shavvae smiled to herself, but none
noticed their inspiring skalds expression.
How many the Steward asked carefully. And have they
ambitions upon returning to these lands
Enough to do the job, and no. Whatever rite was enacted to
raise the Last King of the Sidhete as a Wraith King has an opposite and
counter, and it is that which they prepare. The Sidhete is no longer
their homethey do not wish to return to it.
The Steward relaxed visiblyfighting living Elves would be as
bad or worse then fighting those undead, especially if they were truly
powerful in magic. They will put the Horde to rest once and for all
she prodded quickly.
We but need to hold them in place long enough. Which, I think
we can do. His knuckles cracked on his staff, and he looked to Errant,
who just smiled grimly. A confident murmur went up from all those
gathered at these two Mens lead, and talk turned how to rapidly
rebuild, reinforce, and hold until the time was at hand.
----------------------------They had Fed the Land well, indeedthe White was strong here
now, more then strong enough for the Elves to wield their magic with
their full might. It would get stronger yet when he began to hack and
hew into the mightier things they sent at him.
Errant toyed with the idea of charging out into the mists now a
half klik distant, locating some of the bigger creatures, and Feeding
them to the Land with great prejudice. Tempting, but temptation didnt
hold much lure for him. Let them come, the fighting men recover under
healing song and spell and be ready to confront the horrors of the night
again. Their defense would be even stronger now, for the kharmic gain of
the battle, the knowledge that they had endured once and could do so
again, and that the fear and terror of the enemy was all in their minds.

These, too, could be put down with a strong arm and keen blade, like any
other foe.
Just make sure they were put to Rest, too. Trencher was
repairing the wall that had been smashed, which was doubtless going to
get broken again and soonbut that didnt matter. What mattered was
killing the Horde, Feeding them to the Land, and enduring until the
Elven arrived to lay the rest of the bastards to rest.
Pity. He had wanted to cross blades with the Wraith King, see
how the Elves trained their royalty. Maybe one of the fallen Princes
would come his way and let /Duty/ liberate himhed never liked fighting
butterflies, those folk who danced about like idiots in the middle of a
fight with more style then substance. Bladesingers, bladedancers,
swashbucklers, duelists, peacocks and unfettereds and the like. Rose and
Thorn stylists were almost painful to have to deal with.
Elvish bladedancer. Mmmm. Never really fought one of those
beforethough hed had exposure to how it looked and what happened and
ways of fighting it. Elves and Halvyr had a very acrimonious past, and
the Halvyr had not forgotten what it was like to face down Sidhe
warriors out for blood.
That had been a millennium ago, almost. Good thing Halvyr had
long memories.
------------------------Errant laughed at the princeling. That infuriated the shell of
the Elf even more.
To his right, he glimpsed a gargantuan amalgamation of meat in
something approaching humanoid form having its head blown off by some
sort of Holy Water Steam blast bomb concocted by Warren and Trencher. It
fell to one side and onto a huge rotting, animated tree that was making
a mess of the curtain wall. Errant distinctly heard a deep weeeeeee as
a whole barrel of 140 proof blessed Rockborn Holy Booze smashed open on
the tree, which probably didnt like the way the stuff ate at it more
then acidand even less when a torch of sacred woods wrapped in a strip
off the altar cloth of the closest church of Aru was tossed on it, and
it went blazing up in some very bright golden flameswhich began to feed
on the headless faade of meat crushing it to the ground just as eagerly.
/Death Knight, or some variant thereof/. The Elfs fear aura
didnt bother him, the unnatural cold made him laugh, various magic
spells the Prince trotted out got a chuckle out of him, and the Princes

elite guards were burning around his feet.

A big old Courtblade. Wow, hed never actually seen one of these
things at real play. A rapier nearly six feet long, for all practical
purposes, although it could cut and shred flesh. It also wasnt designed
for use against pretty much any decent armoror a shield. Now, big,
ornate, and fashionable leaping and prancing about a courtroom,
drawn-out duels more art then meaningsure, this could probably be
really, really entertaining to watch and flex for the ladies. Look at
all that unnecessary posing and hopping about like a tireless cricket
and waving that utterly ridiculous sword andit was just too much.
Errant shook his head and stepped forwards into the next hopping
attack, jamming his shield at a right angle to the slender courtblade as
it cut-thrust in, the razored blade-edge bit into the still-gleaming
mithral, peeled it, and locked it for a critical second in place.
Errant looked right into the Princes startled eyes the dolt
thought it had been doing so well and promptly ripped the idiot open
as /Duty/ tore through the fancy armor and had a field day with the
negative energy running about all inside the greenish-glowing bones.
Errant kept moving forwards as the Prince jerked back and tried to
retreat, rather dragging the Haxan with himeven more surprised when
Errant kept right with him, and incidentally cut down two more Sidhe who
pressed in to help their Prince with explosions of white light that got
the Princes attention as they fell away like chaff.
He cut and stabbed, yanking his notched blade free and trying to
use the longer length of his sword to his advantage, his undead
vitality, his superior motility, his
Errant smashed the stabbing flicker of the sword aside, brought
/Duty/ around and cut off the Princes right hand with alacrity. See,
should wear more armor there, he said, keeping moving forwards and his
second blow ripping open the Princes breastplate further, drawing a
hollow scream of agony as ghoulish bone was shredded and began to burn.
And this whole acrobat routine. /Duty/ swept down into the side of the
Sidhes knee and suddenly the Prince staggered to one side. No knee
armor, kinda hurts the joint there. Of course, if you had a shield,
wouldnt need it for your lead leg, right And damn if it isnt hard to
use a big long pigsticker of a sword with one handmust be why sensible
people have weapons they can trade off with. With a half-snarl of
hollow pain, the Prince clawed for the jeweled dagger at his waist, as
Errant lept back a step, avoided two stabbing blades of overeager Sidhe,
and then promptly cut their startled heads off with a flowing crisscross
stroke. And now you are going to parry a Haxan Clansword with an off

hand dagger made for poking venison. Rich. And he glided forwards,
smashed the dagger aside with his shield, and brought /Duty/ around one
last time into the rent in the armor, ripping it, and the Princes
chest, wide open.
The nexus of dark energy at his heart ruptured and went vivic,
blowing the flaming remnants of the Prince up in a really big fireball
of unwhite flames, seizing more then a few undead Sidhe pressing in to
close and making them little pillars of vivic flame too, as they were
consumed.
When the fireball was done blasting everything to crystalline
whiteness around him, Errant was still standing there, in the midst of
the Princes loyal followers, looking completely unfazed by it all.
You, he pointed to a dead Sidhe in more ornate armor, and
another of those oversized needles. And whistling merrily, he started
forwards as the skeletal knight raised the weapon in readiness. It is
said the undead know no fear, but then, not many undead have the fine
luck of facing down a Source with a True Death blade in his hand.
--------------------------And here they come. Warren felt the twist and pull along a
very specific line and path in the Dimensional Interdiction set up
around the place, a surge of power totally past his ability to handle
traveling, materializing overhead.
With an oath, he drew on his bond to Mithar, empowered a spell
with the power of the shining silver light that came from the heart of
his god. The area around him was shot through with a thousand searing
needles of white, spearing undead and then turning sideways to slice
them apart and hurl them away as ashen spray. Startled warriors found
themselves fighting nothing in some surprise, and then they too, felt
the gathering power.
Above them, the mist burned away with a light as pure and sheer
as the stars above. Sylune blazed ahead in all her glory, and about her
circled new stars, stars of magical power gathered to crown the Queen of
Heavens. Stars that winked and burned and wove her a diadem of magic and
song.
Warren did not resist that song, he surrendered to it. Gaping
Throne warriors stood helpless as it came down, powerful and beautiful
beyond their ability to truly grasp. The raging Horde stilled jerkily,
painfully, trying to fight it, but the mist was fleeing their grasp, and

the light of the moon streamed down bright as daylight, and shadows fled
before Her radiance.
Errant looked up into that singing circle of Elven spellcasters,
letting the music balm the killing rage in his soul even as it made the
hair stand up on his neck with the Feyness of it all. About him,
everyone was enraptured, caught in the throes of a sound that was more
soul then sonic, and a light you could feel on your spirit.
His eyes met Lady Shavvaes, who was watching him in some
surprise that he could resist even this, a display of truly mighty Elven
magic. He smirked and began to shoulder his way thru the throng of
gaping, stilled Sidhe corpses, the weakest of whom were already
beginning to crumble as the moonlight ate away the power that gave them
unlife.
He didnt have far to go. The Wraith King was less then a
hundred paces outside the wall, glaring up at the circle, light steaming
on his blackened armor, shadows dancing about him as they warred with
the radiance coming from above. His guards and wizards were motionless,
but one creature was still movingone Errant recognized.
Hi there, he said, and the lich that had been a fanatic,
deranged Elf spun around, still wearing the robes hed been in when
Errant had made his acquaintance before, rips and shreds and all. His
jaw fell open at having the Man an arms-length away, so caught up in
trying to weave spells to resist the very nasty Glamour being woven
above that hed paid no attention to the fact that someone could still move.
/Duty/ was a blur. This one was /not/ getting the kind of rest
that the ring of magi above were promising. He tried to scream, but its
kind of hard when your skull has been split in two and blazing atop your
shoulders as you get Fed to the Land.
The Wraith-Kings head snapped around, giving Errant an eyeful
of the arrogance, mad vengeance, spite, scorn, and hatred that existed
in this shell of the Last King. All the worst traits of the Sidhe made
manifest, and by what Errant knew, not far from most of the traits of
that colossally arrogant bastard who had cost the Sidhe their homeland.
He smiled, a cold, knowing smile. Errant, of Clan Ruin, he
stated calmly, lifting /Duty/, saw the King flinch. I see you are
fighting Absolution, you colossal fool. Grab your blade and take your
medicinethe Silver Queen is not going to take you home.
The Wraith King, the shadow of the Last King of the Sidhete,

glared at him for a long, silent moment. Then the blackened blade at his
side came out, dripping with fell energies that would have threatened
the life of any mortal man with the slightest cutbut not a Source.
A classic Elven longsword. Errant smiled. And a shield smoking
with shadows springing to hand to complement it. No bladesinger this old
bastard, but an Elven Knight in full floweror maybe clipped and given
the vitality of youth by his undeath.
Come take your medicine, Errant gestured, saluting a mocking
version of the Mitharn opening, got a contemptuous response with a
wrist-flick, and then they were at one another.
It had been some time since Errant had fought a good swordsman.
The Wraith King was unnaturally strong, fast, laden with magic that
wasnt spells, untiring, and relentless.
He was also, despite his millennia of life, not a focused
combatant, but a swordsman and spellcaster. Diluted his focus, and the
King knew his spells would not avail him now. He had faced a Source
exactly once before, and the outcome of that had been the liberation of
Yle Tyorm, and a sundering of his old kingdom as the best of his people
left him for the mythical City of Unity. His bitterness and humiliation
had remained with him for the rest of his life, until the Dramojh came
and took the rest away from him by the darkest magicks, despite his
pathetic attempt to reclaim the glory of his kingdom.
And now a Man, a Source like the one who had bested him
effortlessly all those centuries ago, was again before him, and
vengeance was due.
Errant laughed in exultation, eyes bright knowing he faced
someone Lone Ruin himself had faced down, and /Duty/ sang a song of its
own in counterpart to the shining glory above.
=====
They seem rather peeved they dont get to keep all them Elven
spoils of war, Trencher mused, leaning on /Forge/ with fatigue and
pride for what hed done. He was looking out on a field of scavengers
rooting out coins and minor jewelry of Elf make, many of them in a
half-daze as they tried to come out of the power of the music that had
enraptured them all the night before. Rorg was one of them, and quite
industrious at his task. Battle trophies were proud things to Urkhar.
Imagine that. Hundreds of Elf-crafted arms, armor, magical

geegaws, toys, antiquities, jeweled grave goods, and all that fun stuff,
whisked off into the sky and away. Errant just smiled at that image,
everything imbued with Fey power drawn up into the Silver Queen, up into
that blazingly gentle glow, and thousands of undead crumbling into less
then dust as the power that animated them went away. He polished the
ring on his hand absently, whistling a jaunty tune significantly as he
did so, and Trenchers dark eyes fixed on it.
A bauble off the hand of an Elf King you slew in personal
combat. I dont know if you have guts or total foolishness to be claming
a prize like that. A big mitt reached out to snag Errants wrist and
drag his hand closer for an inspection of the thing. This ring probably
has more magic stuffed into it then most archmages would ever think to
put in something, and here you are wearing a pinnacle of Sidhe
craftsmanship as a casual pinkie ring. What a waste. He chuckled
admiringly and let the humans hand go.
Errant turned the band of incredibly detailed, interlocked
leaves around with his thumb. It was the only thing that had actually
survived intact the death of the Last King when /Duty/ went in his
flaming shadow of a mouth and out the back of his skull. That had been a
right big explosion, taking apart the Wraiths semi-material throne, his
honor guards and a few other Sidhe too closealthough their souls had
been drawn free, and the Wraith King Fed to the Land. It wasnt the
royal signet or anythingcrown, amulet of office, corrupted royal sword,
shield and armor, and whatnot had all contributed heartily to the
impressive blast as the Wraith King got to Feed an endless appetite. All
that had remained had been this ivy green ring amidst a very large
circle of crystallized earth.
Eh. Ill assume it was spared for a reason. Maybe someday Ill
give it away to someone who can use it.
Trencher snorted. You dont have the slightest idea what it
does, do you
Errant just smiled. I could always ask you, couldnt I
The Rockborn rolled a gemlike eye up at him, and then looked
around. Yere sure shes gone he asked carefully.
It was the last thing we were supposed to do, Errant noted.
And she didnt even have to be about confiscating all those ancient
Elven weapons and stuff. I think she looked pretty pleased when she cast
the last of her healing spells and decided that we could clean up the
rest of the mess.

Trencher grumbled and sighed. Thats always been their problem,

you know. They weave the dream, but never give it a proper ending.
And here I thought we were running around cleaning up their
messes because they knew how to put a proper finish on things. Errant
just shook his head. And yes, she did inspect the place where the King
died very carefully. Probably cast a few spells looking for strong
magic, just to be on the safe side.?
Trencher coughed into his beard. ?You are such a sneaky bastard,
Haxan. I?ll make some very discrete inquiries back in Haxan about Sidhe
regalia?why do I feel you?ve got an almost priceless Sidhe artifact
there, rotting on your finger??
?I don?t know. But then, she didn?t ask us to secure any
artifacts from the royal person, so I don?t feel particularly guilty
about keeping my little prize. And if it?s not being used, I don?t feel
they are going to miss its absence any more then they have the past
millennium, do you??
?Likely not.? Trencher grinned into his gray beard. ?How long
are we planning on staying??
?Well, unless you want to put a claim in for some of the
battlefield loot lying all around out there, we can go anytime. I?m sure
the victory feast will be something, however. And Mithar knows, with the
price Elven crap goes for, they?ll be able to pay for it a hundred times
over.? Errant smirked. ?Why, they might even drop the murder charges
against me.?
Trencher matched that smirk with one of his own. ?And we get to
watch that Warder of ours start courting your Armsister. That should be
entertaining too.?
?I really should be getting you back home so you can entertain a
few Rockmaids of your own,? Errant replied, earning a roll of Trencher?s
shoulders. ?Mithar knows, I have to fend off the ones who want my
attention hereabouts.?
?Your face is uglier then mine is. I?ll do much better,?
Trencher stated unequivocally.
?Good. We need more Trencherborn about.? The Rockborn coughed
into his beard at that imagery, and then both of their gazes turned up
as a hawk?s cry heralded the descent of Wings. The Beasts would be

returning shortly, no doubt, and then they could head home, and on to
other deeds.

New Post Re: The Wereyn

-----------------------------------------------------------------------*And Finis with this part.*
/Independents of Haxan don't like leaving loose ends, and Errant and
Trencher are both commenting on the way Elves in particular have a habit
of leaving or ignoring messes for others to clean up...right down to
departing when not everyone is fully recovered from the battle.
No, I still haven't decided what the ring does, but it IS very powerful,
the only peice of regalia to survive the explosion, and to be untainted.
I've actually written the Siege of Dunstaad about five different times
and ways, having great fun laying out all the different kinds of undead
assaulting the place, the defenses against them, and so forth. Implicit
in this version was the idea that they were, in effect, working for the
Elves, who have a vested interest in the whole affair, and had to be
ready to deal with problems should things fail. Thus, they were far more
prepared then might be expected for the Wraith-King's rise, and able to
act and 'save the day'...all without an Elf actually ever being laid
eyes on by any member of the Thronelands, contributing greatly to their
mythos./

Epic Errantry I
Eh. Become an Eternal, and the first thing you know is that you havent got a bloody
idea what to do with yourself.
Errant considered the Haxan blade in his handa chiascuro gray, with the Runes of
True Death, Blooding, Anathema and Full Strike inscribed on it, interwoven by a
Bonding rune of transcendental proportions. The adamant and hizagkuur was now
laenwork of the highest level, tempered by the touch of Mithars Torch and more sheer
magical power then had been unleashed since the Crash of the Crowns, interwoven by a
Source attunement and spiritual perfection that defied description.
Duty was truly a blade of legends nowand it had never been the weapon of an
Eternal before. It would only get mightier as he did.
Which was good. Getting a new sword after all these years was a painful thought.
What to do? Where to go? So many things possiblejust the events in passing that

some of the magi had mentioned made his head swim. He could pursue the Serpen
archmagi who might be the crux of the rival magical system that was warring with the
White for dominance of reality. That would take him to strange new vistas, far planes and
otherworldly sanctums.
Go after some of the True Evils left in the Wyrmlands? He was loathe to do
thisthe Eternals of the Children had been playing that game for centuries, and he
doubted his contribution would turn the tide much.
North? He grimaced. He was good, but not that good. It was the job of the Jotuns,
and those grown far too powerful to stay in a society of mortals. While his skills were
indeed great, he didnt truly possess any skills a devoted mortal couldnt masterhe just
had a lot more of them then normal.
He had fancied going with the Grey Hunters as they began the struggle to free their
people from the Tauren, then set it aside. No, that was an Epic Quest, and its success
would decide the future of all the races of Beastmen, and give the tribes a great and
mighty goalto hunt beside the champions of their kind for the future of their race.
Involve himself with the Throne? Mi-Kraum had hinted that having a powerful nonsorceror Man around might impress the Jytan, especially with his own loss of
Staturebut Errant was pretty sure having a Haxan hobnobbing with the most powerful
warrior of the Northern Throne wouldnt go over well with any of the Jytan, even if he
was most famous for the butchery of Tauren. They didnt much like the way hed lured
all their menial labor away
He could involve himself with..against the Southern Throne. The split between the
two was becoming more marked by the dayalthough the Tauren had rampaged more in
the North, the Taint theyd spread through the South was where it was taking hold more,
and the corruption growing in the societies there was ruthless. The tales of the slaughter
of Men made his blood boil, and he wanted to show just what one Man could do to those
bigger then him. Even now, Horse lancers were dealing with bands of Tainted Jytan and
their lackeys out for revenge, and War-Dancing corrupted Jytan were not something to
take lightly. The numbers there were large, and while he could deal with champions and
spellcasters, he was not an army. It was a job for mortals, another test for the Kharmic
scalesmaybe. Exactly how far it gripped the remnants of the Jytan Court was
something to consider.
He could go back and learn. New ways to hunt and kill had always obsessed him,
and never more now that hed seen things on a scale that few people could conceive of,
and glimpsed the powers behind them. A Master of Devotions, a Master of the Rules, of
the Waysthe other Dragon Houses had so much to teach that he had felt when working
with themthe chance for almost limitless martial knowledge beckoned sweetly
Without anything to use it on, an empty dream without purpose. Hed stagnate and
be lost.

He was a Source. Stagnation was simply not in his blood. He needed a foe.
The Verrik?
The Aurorans had told him something of the Verrik homeland, south across the seas.
There, the red-skinned mentalists lived in a hot, arid clime and civilization of great age
and discipline, ruled over by Eternal mentalists of harsh will and ambition, determined to
see their people expand their lands and territory.
Fortunately for the rest of the world, the Verrik were caught in an endless three-way
war. The flat plains and dunes of their homelands were engaged in continual battle with
endless assaults by thri-kreen mantis-men and formian centaur-ants. The insectile races
were implacable, endless, and ravenous, and the slightest let-up in martial vigilance could
mean the Verrik were swept away by sweeping hordes of insect-folk. This kept them very
much occupied at home, and theyd only expanded across the seas intermittently with
those who mostly wished to escape the never-ending battle, or disagreed with the dreams
of its rulers.
If the insect folk won the battles, however, the verrik would be fleeing north en
masse. The arrival of a race of natural mentalists to the southern lands of the Throne
would be a huge shift in powerand instant conflict with the Order as the Verrik
Eternals tried to pursue their shattered dreams of expansion and domination in a weaker
land. Order mentalists were fewlikely it would fall to Sources to eliminate the Verrik
Eternals and the power structure of the Verrik, and more traditional means to destroy the
society they wished to build.
He would be of great use in any such struggle, he knew. But the time for that fight
was not now.
Caraspan? The thought intrigued him greatly. Lone Ruin himself had spent a century
there. In so doing, he had brought crashing down a two thousand year old Empire headed
by its Eternal Founder, totally demolishing the patrilineal power structure flowing thru
Caraspans descendents, ending dominance over two continents and wars of conquest on
two others, and sending Caraspan crashing into a civil war it had taken the Emperor
hundreds of years to dig his way out of.
And in his quest to unite his Empire again, the Emperor had found a new foe and a
new land, and sailed forth once more in a grand crusade against the Jytan homeland.
The Jytan had not been prepared for the assault, or the sheer numbers of the
Caraspan, their ability to replace their losses, the ferocity of racist Men who were not
slaves to the Peacekeeper or War-Dancer mindsets. While ferocious in Chi-Julud, the
Jytan lost much of their inspiration and brilliance when so enraged, and the military of
the Emperor lost nothing. The Jytan also had far less ability to replace their losses, and
the destruction of their infrastructure was leading to widespread famine, drought, and

plague in Jytan lands.

And when Errant asked who their menial labor cast was, he only needed to receive a
knowing glance to confirm whom the Jytan had taken their lands from. Who, in the end,
all races had taken their lands from. Recruiting away the labor class of Men underneath
the Jytan destroyed their economy and ability to keep themselves fed, leaving only war
for survival as the option.
But, Caraspan was homo magos. He had been opposed by Lone Ruin because it was
he who had the best possibility of conquering multiple lands and rising to rule them
alland that could not be permitted of the magos. Ages of history had proven time and
again that the Corruptor would get his claws into any magical bloodline and twist it to
destruction on a scale unthinkable.
The Void Brothers had said that the whole world had virtually been wiped out
several times over in the fallout from Dark assaults centered on Empires expanded across
multiple lands. Great cataclysms that had reshaped the world, brought down everything
old and smashed civilization into savagery in the battles to forestall utter damnation.
More then once. The turnings of Great Ages.
He gripped Duty more tightly, seeking an answer. Clearly, he had a way to choose.
He neednt do it alonebut which way to address his talents?
He hated indecision. Always before, his Elders had always had tasks for him to do,
and he didnt mind doing them. Secure in the knowledge that there were greater folk then
him at the helm, and not of a mind to challenge the likes of Darran Lone for a dominance
position, he had happily butchered hundreds, even thousands of living creatures for the
sheer joy of being a warrior of Man, and making safe his race and people.
Now, he was expected to be an Elder, and lead the way. The Councils might have
older folk, but they did not walk the Long Road, nor would they wish to see the sights
along the way. They were there to bind mortals together in unity with their ownhis job
was to see that they could do so.
Therefore, his job now was to separate the tasks for mortals to do and the tasks for
the likes of him to do in different categories. Like as not, his deeds would now be more
tales passing in the night then deeds to be repeated and inspired. Only his peers would
hear of them and know of what was going on beyond the realms and dreams of normal
folk.
Realms and dreams, realms of dreams
He had fought in every land and terrain under Aru, crawling over mountains in
battles with Serpen and Linnorm, in the ice with Wereyn and the monsters of the rime,
upon the seas and rivers and swamps and forests and hills and deep, deep into the depths

of the stone
It was time to see some new lands, he decided, and to undertake his
specialtykilling things bigger, older, wiser and stronger then he was, in the strange
places nice, normal folks didnt want to know about.
He would, of course, need some help. His brow furrowed as he contemplated that
problem. A Source of his level almost always had required a bond-mage years ago. His
style of living had severely cut down on his exposure to viable onesthe closest he had
come was Trencher, and Bonding to a Rockborn would have raised all sorts of strange
questions about their relationship. He had never seriously considered the question before,
but he found himself doing so now.
That it would be a woman was a foregone conclusion. However, a maga who could
keep up with an active Source was a special sort of woman, indeed, and with an Eternal?
He would be putting her in continual dangerand given his stubbornness, not likely to
be swayed by attempts to use his Source influence in more subtle, political ways.
That meant a younger woman, more active, but still strong enough to survive, adapt
and grow into the demands required of her for the foes theyd be fighting.
He obviously wasnt the best person to suggest someone, although simply letting
people know he was looking would doubtless stir up someone interesting. Maga didnt let
Sources go if they could help it, and the competition for those Sources who enjoyed such
things could befierce.
While women killing one another for a Bond-rite was amusing for a moment, it was
also very stupid and inefficient. Asking for advice would be much more profitable.

================================
I just want you to spread the word among those you deem suitable, not make a song
out of it, Errant told her with some exasperation, which only earned him another blown
kiss. Estrel seemed very tickled by the fact he was actually going to enter any kind of a
long-term relationship with a female.
Do you want a long term lover? You Sources are rather good at fathering children,
you know. Her own quiet smile confirmed something hed long suspected.
A daughter? he asked, more curious then miffed.
Two. He lifted his eyebrows, hoping they got their mothers looks instead of his.
Their names are Rannae and Straelle. My clan raises them as they do all of the Children.
They know of their father, of course, and are quite proud of youthey want to be
accepted to Flowing Waters and learn the Waveslicing Stroke and cut Ogretaurs in two

with single blows.

He snorted. Better they learn to put an arrow into the eye of one at a thousand
paces. Much less painful. He inclined his head thoughtfully as she held his eyes. How
many children do you have, Estrel? I am aware the Children delight in, well, children
I have borne thirteen, of which nine still live. He lifted his eyebrows in surprise
despite himself. Then again, she was old enough to be his grandmother a few times
removed, despite looking younger then he did.
And now you are an Eternal. That could make for a great deal more of them.
We do keep our numbers up. Her knowing smile flashed a dazzling white at him,
and he remembered other days, when the Passguard had been truly impressive to him,
and he wasnt immune to the attention of an attractive instructor out for a little fun with a
virile young Man who was readily seduced.
I will probably be heading south to join what resistance there is to the Jytan while
they mobilize against General Rihala to take back the High Throne. I do not think I wish
to believe the stories of what they are doing to Men there, but neither the Jytan nor their
loyalist Sibeccai have any great fondness for our kind, and I could believe anything with
the amount of Taint that they had.
Estrel looked troubled. Jytan in the Wardance could empty the south of their people
to assault the Plateau or Haxan. The loss of life would be tremendous, and avail neither
side.
Ill leave the solution to that to wiser heads then me. My task is going to be death.
And if some ambitious female decides that an Eternal Source simply Must be
graced with her presence? Estrel asked with another smile.
Errant just grunted. If she can find me, then well talk.
==================
I trust you realize, that if I did not recognize that perfume, you would be dead right
now.
The dagger that had come to rest against his throat paused, suddenly feeling the
callused hand grasping the wrist that held itand a palm as hard as steel pressed against
the side of the wielders head, an internal power waiting behind it with enough force to
pop open a human skull like an egg.
Well, a very sensual voice said into his ear, loaded with enough yin power to
make his heart skip a beat, I will be sure to thank the Mistress for her uniquescents.

The woman in the shadows behind him leaned forwards against him without the
slightest hesitation, her free hand coming up to caress his palm and with a negative effort
move it away, at the same instant as her dagger-hand suddenly was out of his grasp and
not at his throat.
A Night Rose? What are you doing in the South? I thought the Houses got all their
assets out of here. Errant was actually annoyedthis was no place for a courtier or a
diplomat anymore. Men were an endangered species in the capital, living only under the
direct sufferance and sponsorship of powerful Jytan who could protect them. Hed seen
the stacked up corpses tossed in sewers, the bones burned on altars, the dead strewn
across the countryside in ashen farmlands and slaughtered while fleeing across the wild
lands.
I am a Dame of the Night Rose. I have come looking for you. The whisper was all
silken promise and secret smileshe didnt have to see her to know shed be a feast for
the eyes, just by the feel of her against his back.
That got his attention. A Dame meant a Knight of the House of Shadow, which
meant an operating agent of the Clan of Ruin. This woman was an Independent!
Clan or House business? he asked quickly, expecting bad news. House
intelligence was in disarray with the abandonment of the South herehe was actually
probably the best source of information in Tanispar now, what with the amount of
investigating he had done.
Personal. I had heard you were looking for a woman who could take care of
herself, and I decided this was a marvelous opportunity to introduce myself.
Her free hand calmly came around his neck and slid down his shirt, stopping
unerringly over his heart. He felt the pull instantly, the swirling sensation of a magos
drawing on raw manaincluding the ethereal pureness he radiated as a Source. Her sigh
in his ear was almost a force of nature.
Ah. That kind of Dame. A Knight of the Night Rose, as it were. Not just a master
of the subtleties of the House of Shadows covert operatives, but an able and multitalented operative who could be useful anywhere in any role, at any time.
She was a spellcaster, and she was making a bid on him.
That was impressively quick, tracking me down in the middle of Jytan territory,
he told her warily, wondering just how this was going to go. He hadnt even seen her yet.
Finding men is easy when you know how. Especially ones who leave dead Jytans
here and there in their outrage. The subtle and very strong presence of her yin aura
swirled around him, more tempting then anything hed been directly exposed to in a very

long time.
But he was a Source, and he could resist things which would have a normal man
almost out of their head with desire. I dont mean to insult you, Dame, but my normal
operations have not been in the circles you are best suited to travel in. I dont kill
civilized folk for the most partI kill the things which like to kill civilized folk, and they
tend to be much, muchmessier.
The laughter in his ear was half delight and half understanding. That will not be a
problem. I am a fully rated and experienced Independent of Ruin. My specialty may not
be operating in wild environs, but I am fully capable of contributing my best while in
them, and taking care of myself. Not that I will have a great amount of difficulty doing so
if I have a Source Eternal there with me.
Her anticipation and desire was almost palpable. She really, really wanted the job.
Being bonded to a Source was dangerous, but the rewards could be extraordinary,
especially if her skills were extremely supplementary to his.
I did not expect to have this conversation in the shadows watching a townhouse
where a cult of Man-eaters meets, he mused aloud. And relying on me to protect you
all the time will likely get both of us killed, Dame.
True. I am a Mistress of the Night Rose, Pental Moon Singer, Twin Moon stylist, a
fair archer, Theurge of Sylune, and Full Dame of the Night Rose, Independent of the Clan
of Ruin. Do you think I just might be able to take care of myself?
Her coy, teasing tones drew a grunt of assent from him. At the very least, shed be
extremely hard to fight, with all those Moon Dancer techniques. A full Dame? And
building on that with Theurgy? That was very impressive.
Im not quite an Archmagabut I will besoon. And if she bonded to him,
doubtless much sooner then otherwise.
Errant was tempted, and that was no lie. This seemed like a very good matchshe
was a member of his Clan, skilled in social skills hed never bothered to truly master, at
the very least an elusive, evasive combatantand a spellcaster of two disciplines!
Should I be waiting for anyone else to make a bid? he asked her, and got another
of those liquid chuckles for his words.
Do you want them to find you? Theres at least half a dozen Aurorans clamoring
for a shot at youbut of course, they cant track you because they rely on magic, and I
think you need more then just another spellslinger at your side, dont you, mmm?
She had certainly thought things out more then hed bothered toand caught him at
a time where he couldnt consider things leisurely. She was also not selling him on her

beauty, but on the promise of it. She might well be very plain of face, which could be just
as much an asset in her line of work as great beauty.
You present a strong case. I am a little busy doing nothing at the moment, however.
Perhaps we could continue the conversation after a suitable bout of butchery and
revenge-taking?
Her hands moved away from him calmly and professionally, the air changing with
almost bewildering speed to professional, detached calm. How many are you waiting
for?
At least a dozenand the Jytan sponsoring them. He seems to not be in the
Wardancewhich rings more bells then if he were. I suspect a covert Champion who
didnt need to be turned by Taint.
Well, I would be happy to show them and you what just one little Woman can do to
them. The calm knife in her voice was quite reassuringshe was not a stranger to any
form of wetwork.
Ive done work with mages. Im not sure you faced Eaters before. What exactly
were you intending to do? he inquired calmly.
He felt her smile in the shadows behind him. Well, now, this is an order of Oathtakers, yes? Ill have to be a little original
========================
She looked very good, even with the contents of her last meal mixing with the
remnants of this Cult. Shed gotten a very good look at the kind of things the Cults liked
to do in their dark placesthings which amounted to much more then mere cannibalism.
How many of these cells have you found? she asked after a long moment,
flagrantly inserting a slender finger into her mouth and igniting a pink and white flame
inside her mouth. The vapor that billowed out quickly dispersed across the room and
changed the rotting meat and offal and hard and foul edge of mutation to something more
likesweetmints?
Magos, he thought with resignation. Flagrancy in the blood.
A great deal of my early work was quietly eliminating these cells and those who
sponsored them. Errant looked over the walls of this subdungeon, one foot on the thick
armored chest of the Champion of Darkness who had led this cell, boots coated with the
gore of the Champions victims piled up into a nearly knuckle-deep layer over the bottom
of the cell. The walls were lined with the skulls of victims of the Cultincluding
hundreds of fresh ones, skulls warped by magic and decay, now seared and burning with
vivic fire that was growing down towards the floor and the sticky rot they were walking

in.
The Dame straightened back up, casting a suspicious eye on the mixed blood
saturating the thick carpet on the floor.
Yes, it would normally be animating. It has the unfortunate problem of having a
Source standing in the middle of it. And , he tapped Dutys hilt just a smidgen from
where it was burning not-white in the center of the Champions headless torso, and vivic
fire spurted out from beneath the corpse, almost jetting out the thick stump of the
Champions neck with sudden fervor. The blood was instantly kindling to the match, and
fed by the presence of the Clansword, began to spread out in a circle around himnot
incidentally licking his boots clean in the passing, -something else wants to eat it.
She sniffed, but smiled. She did have a nice smilehardly unexpected for a Night
Rose. The things they could do with body language alone was legendary. A lot of people
thought Haxan a nation of backwards, uncivilized hicks, and tended to overlook the fact
that any country with four thousand years of history and more, especially one that got to
observe the rise and falls of Empires around it, knew politics and intrigue and knew it
damn wellall kinds of politics and intrigue.
Farmgirls. Right. Farmgirls with hair the color of stained maple and oak, smiles
worthy of an autumn harvest in all its many splendors, and eyes of deep fields of plenty.
Farmgirls. Yep. With long knives and a belt of silk that could take off a charging
Sibeccais head clean as a sword blade. At least she wasnt wearing high heels
herehed heard that was quite the daring tradition among some females of adventurous
persuasion.
He rather liked working with professionals instead. But hed never worked with
such a casually sensual woman, especially an Independent. Cheri had been much more
level-headed and making sure he didnt over-extend his own stupidity
What was your preferred mode of clean-up? Burning it all down?
Yes. I got quite good at it. Then I would follow those who were most upset at the
appropriate edifice going up and slit their throats in the night. It was amazing how fast
these scum would run when they realized they were being huntedand even moreso
whod they would run to.
I see. Her fingers spread, and fires began to lick around them, her brow furrowing
with concentration. I think I can give the fire a somewhat more thorough and speedy
send off
No, its got to burn a good long timeits just got to not go out. He lifted Duty
from the hollow shell that had been a Jytan Eater and Dark Champion. The very best
scenario is just smoking, and they go inside and THEN set off the fires with backdrafts.

Its rather funny how the cultists try to make sure the legitimate firefighters dont get
inside before them and find out the bad things that might be hereand Im of a mind that
if a good chunk of this citys better wards burned down right now, it would be a good
thing.
Rather unmerciful of you. Sneaky, too. You didnt happen to be in Corix about
twenty some years ago, did you?
Errant lifted an eyebrow as she slowly began to spray the walls downand skulls
that were slowly burning white began to go up like powder in actual flame. There was
another Cult there. The local Elders on station called me in to deal with them, with
Trencher signing on for the fun of the gig. We made a rather swashbuckling escape that
ended up with me in Daenlund saving the life of the Daenish Kingbut thats a rather
long story.
Ah. He wasnt the best at diplomacy, but he had an instinctive grasp of how to
read people on levels they werent aware of, part of the expanding awareness that was
being a Source. Bittersweet remorse and satisfaction in that word and her stance and
smile. His eyes narrowedwith Sources, there was no coincidence, and no Fate. One
way or another, this Dame had aligned herself with him and his objectives, and likely had
been hovering around the edge of his activities his whole life without him even knowing
about itpreparing herself for the role she intended to play.
He thought back to that day, probably the most overt withdrawal hed ever had to
make from the center of a mission objective. That cult had made the mistake of preying
on a Haxan girl come to townone he hadnt been able to rescue in time, dead before he
could track down the headquarters. A pregnant mother
Relative of yours? he asked, as they began to move towards the exit, the Dame
thoroughly sending the whole room ablaze with streams of fire flowing smoothly from
her hands.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She was my mother.
His eyes narrowed. Aye, that was Source influence at work. From that moment,
shed been tied to him by his deedsand likely grown up hating the proud Jytan whod
let such an atrocity happen, and the Beastfolk whod done the deed.
Well see how good you are at identifying the cultists who come to fret over their
dead friendsand then start to run.
Her smile was silken, subtle steel. I think you will find me more then skilled at
picking out people to kill, Master Errant.
He didnt doubt it a bit, nor that there would be a bonding ceremony soon in his
future. It wasnt Fateshed been made into something to fill the role for the time when

it was needed and wanted by him, and until hed considered the option, not even known
she existed.
He wondered how many more things like this cropping up from his past he was
going to run into
==Aelryinth
As Old Friends prepare to go Epic too...
Epic Errantry II
From Cheri? And Warren?
Errant took the message capsule off of the Hawk, popped open the sealed container.
The magic inside was promptly neutralized, and the paper contents lept out of the
confining chamber as they expanded, expertly snatched up before they could fall.
The Dame read over his shoulder easily and comfortablyhe didnt stop her. He
recognized Cheris clean script, Warren being more prone to the curvy calligraphy typical
of the pious and the wizardly.
As he read, his face darkened. The gentle hands on his shoulders stilled as they
caught his tension.
Family matters, he stated with icy undertones, knowing a twist getting thrown into
his lap. He eyed the manor in the distance, home to a whelming center of Tainted Jytan
and their cronies, laying in supplies and arranging raids to the north, into Haxan
landssome very adept Jytans.
Someone elses job, now.
Tell her Im coming, and bringing a friend. The Hawk bowed once in reply, and
then was hurled into the air with such ease it was twenty meters off the ground before it
made its first wingbeat, screaming glee at the feat.
This Cheri Waryn, she is family? purred the Dame in his ear, a distinct lack of
concern in her voice.
Mothers fathers brothers grand-daughtermy Armsister for a long span of
years. That makes her a cousin, and both her and her husband good friends. That such a
thing could happen to them he grit his teeth, the vessels on his neck standing out like
cables for a taut instant before fading away as he calmed himself to crystalline, icy anger
with sudden control. They live at the Wyrmbreak Wall, among the
BorderguardWarren rotates station on the Warding Wall.

That is quite a trip. Are you planning to run the whole way? she asked archly.
I can run five hundred kliks a day if I need to, woman. How about you?
She blinked, having forgotten with whom she was dealing. I can teleport, she
responded primly.
To the horizon. Twenty leagues a hop. At least until you find an Auroran portal, if
theyve placed one nearby. He turned his head to meet her dancing green eyes. Which
makes for a convenient shortcut for you. I suppose I had best get to running. He grunted
and got to his feet. I can make the Long Haul at the Valley and catch a ride from there.
Be at the Wyrmbreak in five days or so. Go on ahead and introduce yourselfIm sure
Cheri will be fascinated with youand you can go fetch the others.
Others? the Dame asked archly.
Ive got other friends who wont let Cheri down, either.
I was hoping to proceed somewhat further in our relationship before getting down
to business so quickly, she bantered back at him.
The look he gave her silenced that line of inquiry better then any words. Without
another sound, he turned and was loping away, speed increasing with fluid energy until
his Waveskating lightfoot was sending him surging along like a river unleashed.
Five hundred kliks in a day. She could well believe it. A pace like that, untiring and
sustainedyes, easy enough to do.
But he was correct on the range of her ability to teleportand had even correctly
ascertained the distance from some height, assuming that she would perform the spell at a
fairly high amount of distance above the ground. It was some distance to the nearest
Auroran Portal that she knew of, but it would indeed make her trip quite short, as it was
then only a short walk and pop, pop to the Wyrmbreak itself.
And he had said to introduce herself to Cheri, which meant to a member of his
family. She smiled at recognizing the subtle complicity implied in that, and the trust. She
had not told him much of herself, as yet, preferring to wait until the Bonding Ceremony
for thatwhich she had done a great amount of research on, and found was expected to
last a minimum of twelve hours, and was largely amorous in nature.
By the words of the bondmagas shed talked to, very, very, very amorous, indeed.
Their eyes still sparkled when they talked of it, Night Rose trained or not.
The Dame was quite looking forwards to it.
=======================

He was, of course, the last one to arrive.

Rorg and Trencher could both be contacted by magic, and travel by the samethey
had likely arrived within hours of the messages being sent, if not sooner, whereas theyd
had to rely on Clan messages and agents to get a letter thru to him. Knowing he was on
the way, theyd already gathered and begun the groundworkand probably knew more
about the Dame then he did, which bothered him not at all. He wanted them comfortable
at working with her and her skills, and had no doubt she would charm them all utterly and
effortlessly.
As normal for humans, Cheri and Warren lived on the eastern slopes of the
Wyrmbreak, in a home molded from the living stone by Dhatun hands and likely a couple
thousand years old. It had expansions built down and into the ground, yet was roomy and
spacious and obviously had been used as a barracks at some point, probably for the great
Army which had Broken the Wyrm-Queen back in Lone Ruins day. Cheri had obviously
taken pains to decorate it and make it comfortable for herself and her brood of five, and
Warrens magic was everpresent in its most helpful bias.
Cheris hair was graying now, getting on forty years of age, signs of a long life and a
hard one despite the care she took to remain in shape, mindful of her husbands role on
the Warding Wall. Still, there was great pain in her eyes as Errant walked up to her door,
visible from some ways, and he was actually rather surprised when she embraced him
gratefully for comingthey had never been emotionally close, but she was family, and
his Armsisterthere would be very little that would prevent him from answering her call.
Warren was there too, equal parts aggrieved and angry, looking older, more
wrinkled, harder, with a fire in his eyes that had been lit by love of family not long ago.
He was taking this news personally.
Trencher was already present, with a somber expression on his face, and Rorg,
looking more scarred and meaner then ever. They were probably surprised at seeing one
another together again so soon, which only amused Errant as he considered it. He was a
Source, and likely their paths were now at the mercy of his. Butter was sleeping by the
fire, and Russet everpresent to wag his tail and watch alertly over the children.
There was no talk of the business at hand before supper. Cheri spread a good table,
and had family of her own living with her to helpa clear sign that something was in the
offing. Errant was introduced all around to her young ones, who were clearly awed to be
in the presence of the holder of the Clansword of the Longstead line. He hadnt seen any
of them in some years, even the oldest, and was rather astonished that the little tykes
whod played with his boots had sprouted to his shoulders in the meantime, and added
some siblings to boot! There was a strong Haxan community here, even among the
Children, so theyd grow up in the way of Men of Haxanbut it was still strange to see.
And he still loved good Haxan cooking, and ate far too much, although Rorg

effortlessly put him to shame. Cheri had experience with towering Urkhars, though, and
set a big enough table to satisfy even his gulletwith scraps enough for both Lion and
Hound.
But, at the last, talk of jobs done and rumors spread and side tales was done, and
they could retire to the common room as the children were shown away by Cheris sister
and aunt, and the six gathered there had leave to talk.
It was Warren who spoke first, his eyes hard yet bleak. What I spoke of in my letter
is proven true beyond a doubt. Our youngest child, probably our last, born these six
months past, was indeed born without a soul.
Errant felt his stomach roil at the news. Abomination. Being born without a living
soulsuch a creature was more then half-dead, and by tradition would normally be slain
as a mercy if found, lest it develop ties to the Dark more massive then any creature with a
soul could whelm, bound by their own contacts with life. No ties to Life, nothing to hold
them backthe soulless were doomed and damning creatures not even True Death could
send to a final fate. When slain, they were simply annihilated.
This is not a localized problem. I have consulted with both Sylune and Aru, and
asked the Halvyr to look into this too. His voice was grim. It seems that there is
arash of soulless being born, for want of a better wordand not just among sentient
creatures. The spirits of all manners of creatures are going missing at birth, and there is a
large number of stillborn turning up because of it, or they are killed at birth for
weaknessbut so widespread is the effect, so subtle, none noticed until we went looking
for a cause.
Acause? Errant leaned forwards intently. Acurse? He didnt think of such a
thing, else Warren would have gone straight to the Archmagi of the Weirhold and found
some way, any way, to break the effect.
Worse, it seems. The souls and spirits bound for a new life are not arriving at their
destinations, as if they were being destroyed at the sourceor at least subverted.
Errant blinked. Interesting idea. Does it have merit?
The Divine are closed on the subject to such a degree we grew suspicious of why.
We could gain only information on the Ban of the Unborn as a name, nothing else, and
had to go looking for more information.
Which meant I did. Trencher huffed on his pipe, crystalline smoke winking in the
air slowly around him. The libraries open to Eternals hold some fascinating things in
them, information older then Haxan, older then the Illitruseolder then Delvun itself. It
would take lifetimes of Rockborn to consider thembut I did locate the information on
the Ban of the Unborn for our friends here. He paused to consider his words carefully.

Before Yle Tyorm rose or the first hammer rang in Delvun, the world was a
different placeit was another Great Age, and empires were at their height of power, and
Men sprawled across the world in great numbers, as they begin to do now. One of their
gods decided to make a grab for power by claiming for himself dominion over unborn
souls, and attempting to stake his claim and influence over the beginnings of all that
lived.
Errant and Rorg both sucked in their breaths. And he was stopped, the Source
said, in no uncertain terms.
Trencher nodded slowly, eyes even more crystalline now then before. He was
crushed for such hubris by an alliance of the gods, who swore a terrible oath that is still in
place today, long after most of those gods have been forgotten, died, or replaced. The
Ban of the Unborn is that oath, that the Divine shall have no power over that which
generates all that is Lifeand not even the Dark has attempted to forestall that Ban.
But something else has. Somethingnot Divine. Warrens grim expression got
even grimmer. There are powers at play creeping under the notice of the Diviners and
Gods because they did not seek influence on the Prime, but in other places. They become
more apparent now.
And ye missed the excitement, Trencher drawled, nodding at Cheri sitting quietly
off to the side. We actually had a Demoness make an attempt on Cheris life.
Errant blinked. No one had said anything on his way to the household, and that was
extremely unusual for overprotective Haxans concerning a clanmate. They should have
been hurrying him up here and ringing the place with steel.
Then again, this was the territory of the Children, and a Demon coming here was
effectively committing suicide.
It got away, he ventured calmly.
But left a friend. Warrens eyes werent any warmer. A Death slaad with Talent.
Errant barely held back baring his teeth. Most interesting. Did it have a death wish
as badly as the demoness?
No, it seemed to want to stop the other. The Halvyr were having none of it, of
coursetheyve got it bound up so hard its thinking with its soles right around now.
Anarchists of Chaoshardly unexpected. I expect they dont really want to mess
around in its head, but went indirectly down the creatures lifeline?
Yer getting too smart in yer old age, Manlingleave the eggheads some pride,
aye? Trencher was more amused then anything. Aye, the diviners started tracking down

its path chronally, looking at the traces of the things it had been dealing with Trencher
coughed politely. Not the kind of task Id like to be undertaking.
What did they find? Errant asked, the last to know and not really minding.
Well, Slaad and Demoness are at cross-purposes working for the same
entityspecifically, an entity with dual personalities, a Demon Prince.
Errant lifted an eyebrow. That sounds like proper Abyssal politics...insane. A
Demon Prince whose right hand doesnt know what his left is doing?
More like right and left heads, coughed Warren carefully. Anyways, this Prince
discovered a path to power might lie in the place where souls come from, and has been
looking for a way to establish the dominance of one or another of its headswhichever
one either creature was working for. Its following in the track of something else that got
there first, and needs a way to defeat it so its minions can do the work needed. He
glanced at Cheri, sitting quietly nearby.
Errant just lifted an eyebrow.
I have a birthmark on my back in the shape of a claw. Its a sign of inheritance, of
the bloodline of Lone Ruin, she said calmly. He had three Dragonhearts, if you recall
the tales, and the greatest of those he took at his first Wyrmbreak.
From the Fire Wyrm, Errant agreed, knowing those tales, told and retold around
the fires of Haxan. A Great Flame Wyrm had been the leader of that Wyrmbreak, and he
had faced her down and killed her with skills unknown by any other Source in that day,
bathed in her Dragonheart and took the power for his own.
Yes. Apparantly, the mark is a sign of having the potential gained from the
Dragonheart he claimed from herand the Demoness was after me for it. She inclined
her head strangely. It seems to be given to only one member of the blood a generation,
and I am the one who bears the Mark at this time.
And of what use is this Mark, other then possibly a sign of elemental affiliation for
fire if you are a spellcaster? Errant asked, frowning. Of course, it could also represent
the Blood of the Emperorif he remembered aright, Lone had been a biopsi of
extraordinary skill and power.
Apparantly, that Great Wyrm is still alive.
Errant blinked. Blinked again. You are serious. He almost didn't believe her,
except for how deadly level her eyes were.
Trencher nodded slowly. She didnt die by True Death. That much is clear from the
tales. He froze her to death with some pyrotaoic ability that no one has quite yet figured

out how to duplicate. Apparantly, there was necromancy involved, regeneration,

contingencies, sacrificing a few of her spawnbut when I studied the records, no
mention was made of harvesting the Great Wyrm after the battleand thats a pretty
good sign there either was no body or not much of one to be found.
Errant winced. I despise recurring enemies. They are like roaches.
Well, this one has a connection to something we did before. Trenchers words
rekindled his interest. Apparantly, this Wyrm liked to muck around and make halfbreeds here and there. One of those half-breeds ended up a strong sorceror-blade, and was
a founding member of a certain reptilian mages cartel that had their own secret base
hidden from Wyrm and Dramojh in the central Wyrmlands
That really perked Errants interest. Youre kidding me. The sealed dungeon?
Everyone else in the room nodded, and he groaned even more. I hate bardic subplot
tie-ins, too! he protested, and despite themselves, everyone managed a dry laugh at the
imagery.
So, the bastard was working for his mother all along. And you are thinking his
mother is the one behind all of this, and Cheris Shadow of a Dragonheart is tied into
this?
Seems feasible, Trencher nodded. If she were dead, wed know itinstead, we
dont know anything.
So, its time for some swords of Haxan to kill her again. Now that Errant had an
enemy and a goal, he leaned forwards. Assuming you did your research before I got
here, whats the next move?
Plane-walking! Rorg announced cheerfully, and got a loud groan from Errant in
exchange. Which means you and your little miss had best get some kind of a
relationship going, or youll have to stay behind. A sausage-sized finger wagged at him.
Youd miss all of the excitement.
And I certainly cant have that. Even he had to offer a smile at what was bound to
follow that statement. And dont even think of making comments about how long its
taken me to get a woman for my own. I dont see a band on you, Urkhar.
Urkhar dont marry, runt, the tusked warrior replied jovially. We leave that to
silly Men. Otherwise, wed end up fighting one another and never get around to the
business of making enough babies to follow in our footsteps! Errant rolled his eyes, and
the whole room burst out laughingespecially the heretofore silent, watching Dame,
who caught his eye and then looked away, blushing despite herself.
Therell be a short delay while implementing such a relationship takes place,

Errant coughed, and got another chuckle out of everyone. I hazard you both are going to
be coming along. He looked at both Warren and Cheri inquiringly.
Some bitch of a Wyrm ate the soul of my son, Cheri hissed in a voice filled with
cold menace, so unlike her Errant was quite impressed. Im going to stick arrows in her
eyes and watch you cut her open like a sieve, and get my sons soul back when True
Death takes her.
That was probably the best reason hed ever heard for going on a quest, he thought,
nodding careful agreement.
-------------------------------------I have to admit, Source and Bondmage is one topic of magic I have done next to no
research on, Warren admitted aloud. Cheri stifled a giggle despite herself, and Trencher
snorted into his flinty beard while Rorg chortled aloud.
Not much call for men to learn about it. I imagine Errants not too up on the
particularsbut you can be sure that Lady Knight is, Trencher said heartily. That said,
I was around the fool long enough that I did do a bit of reading up on the subject, just in
case. There is a precedent for a rare male Bondmage, although I couldnt find anything
about them bonding to non-Humans, so I was safe.
I simply MUST hear more, Cheri smiled, leaning forwards with delight. Ive
only heard that Bondmaga enjoy the process tremendously.
Trenchers laughter rumbled deep in his chest. They should. It involves making out
for at least twelve hours straight, when done with a woman. The process is much longer
for a man, taking a week or moreinvolves a lot of shared physical activity, bonding
experiences and whatnot. The maga has to use his Source Aura to burn out every trace of
magical power in her system, then build up it all up again with pure Source mana. The
descriptive terms used were both extremely sensual on the physical end and
transcendental on the mentaland lest we forget, they both have ample internal power
reserves.
The process purges the impure elements from the body of the Maga and attunes her
to the Source field of her Source, allowing her to draw on his power for her spells. He can
sacrifice some life energy to empower her spells instead of her having to do the same,
and she can draw on the Source field he emanates to restore her own magical power with
great speed.
Warren nodded slowly. Errants Source field is impressive nowhe took care not
to disrupt the defenses about my home, but it was impossible not to feel him coming.
A Dame of the Night Rose is a strange choice for a Bondmaga, but if she focuses
on her magical gifts nowvery interesting, Trencher agreed. And shes a fool if she

doesnt indulge the power he can provide her. I do not take a Dame of the Night Rose for
a fool. He let loose a long breath of glittering smoke-dust.
Not like most Men do? chortled Rorg knowingly. They all shared a laugh about
that.
He does pick interesting traveling companions, acknowledged Warren with a
smile, remembering older times. And having a Source around means for a very skilled
bodyguard who is in no danger from magic. Makes for excellent cover for launching
magical attacks that wont be disrupted, too. His eyes twinkled at the thought. Not that
Errant is likely to stand still that long.
His Flowing Waters is impressive, and hes been learning the Storm Dragon
recently. He can deliver some extremely impressive blows with that Clansword of his
now.
The Hunting of the Demon Khan made that impressively clear, even allowing for
some bardic hyperbole, Warren agreed, recalling the tale that had spread quickly across
Haxan and the remnants of the High Throne. What did they call that final move? The
Storm Surge?
I called it pretty damn bright, the way that thing went up. Trencher nodded
agreement to Rorgs blunt words. Ours went up nicely, but that bastard went off like that
artifact he torched in the Wyrmlands back when.
Warren and Trencher exchanged significant glances, which the other two didnt miss
at all. I have the feeling I have not been informed of something, dear? Cheri asked
archly, with an iron undercurrent that had Warren flushing.
We were going to wait for Errant to return and get about the serious planning. Ties
into that place.
Rorg emitted a groan for all of them, shaking his tusked head. No, no, no! No
bardic tie-ins! The tales are always too convenient about such things!
Warren coughed into his hand, not quite hiding his smile in his graying, trimmed
beard. Well, there was a lot of business we left unfinished there. Specifically, that great
Rune Seal the masters of the place left behind.
Rorg groaned aloud. Dont tell me, let me guessone of the bastards has ties to
this Demon Prince guy, too?
Actually, yes. Red eyes rolled theatrically as Warren went on. Theres been a lot
of research done on those Scalefolk since we left the place behind, and when I went
looking for answers about my son and the links from the Slaadi went up and came down,
I got a visit from an egger of a High Archmage. He had tales to tell methings Ive

confirmed through resources of my own.

Rorg turned to look at Trencher, who just nodded. One of them is a Serpen HalfDragon, and a direct progeny of the Flame Wyrm. Probably the one responsible for her
not getting suddenly and abruptly dead permanently, the Rockborn informed him and
Cheri. And theres one other with ties to the primal, primitive power that the Demonic
Prince involved in this embodies. I doubt that was completely an accident, although I
highly doubt the current situation was taken into account.
Demons and Great Wyrms smacks uncomfortably of the Dramojh murmured
Cheri. Thisthis could all tie into the creation of the Dramojh, couldnt it?
Yes, it could. This Great Wyrm might well have betrayed all of the Wyrmlands to
insure her survival. Trencher smiled wryly. Why am I not surprised?
A descendent of Lone Ruin, and a second Eternal Source, with ties to the same
event? Rorg mused. I cant imagine anyone actually being surprised these things
happen. He counted off on his thick fingers and everyone groaned in well-practiced
unison. We have to find the Wyrm. Where is she?
Someplace in the Well of Souls, where new souls arise from. We have absolutely no
clue wherehave to do some legwork first
Of course, of course. Rorg sighed. Cant make anything simple now.
No, you cant. Ill be working on the stuff that will help us all stay alive in the
Wellwill take me a couple works. You are going to go looking for a way to locate
where she is.
And that would be by-?
Finding the one being who found the source of souls in the first place. Trencher
airily blew another cloud of dust-smoke. The God who forced the creation of the Ban of
the Unborn. None of the records report he was killedhes alive, somewhere, probably
locked away to rot, and without his divinity. Get the directions from him by hook or by
crookor by rakebladeand off we go.
Doesnt that sound easy. Rorg coughed again. The very first thing we get to do as
Eternals is take on an ex-god?
Appropriate, isnt it? Trencher grinned, inclined his head at the Waryns. I can go
if the pair of you would rather take care of the preparations.
An ex-god would make a fine warm-up for a Great Red Wyrm a thousand years
older then the last time she was seen alive, Warren answered without missing a beat.

Good. Then how about you start getting yourselves together. I know where the
Prison of this former God is. Its amazing the stuff some of the Eternals pick up
wandering around the planesand what Void Brothers mention in passing.
Another planar jaunt? Rorg groaned again.
Its in Sequester, where the Gods put things to be forgotten. I advise things to let
you see in the dark, windscreen, and lots of ear protection.
Warren pursed his lips. And all underground, where Demons like to wander and
soak in the despair of the ages. Kind of your terrain, isnt it? He lifted an eyebrow. I bet
I can find a Halvyr willing to spend a few days devising planar protections for us.
Wouldnt want you to miss the fun.
Mmmm. Eyes getting more gemlike over the years regarded the pair of middleaged humans keenly. No, theres already a Mage along, and you need to get yourself
back in a delving mode. Do you some good to think about things. Maybe get into a fight
or four along the way. He nodded at Cheri. Im sure your Armsister of a wife has kept
up her archery, but thats not the same as being on active duty, and you know it.
True. And we must prepare the children for the fact we may not come back.
Warrens voice was at once sad and determined, glancing at Cheri, who paled only
slightly, her eyes iron. This was about family, after all.
Well, then its a good thing their best cousin is along for the ride. I dont think hes
going to want to take you away from your children any longer then is necessary.
Trencher puffed on his pipe as the four began to discuss the fine details of a somewhat
more extended excursion into yet another new and unexplored area, like the days of
oldonly this one, was not even on the same world.

Dame Kavva of the Night Rose is the same as saying Sir Keith of the Sun Flower. The
Knights of the Night Rose are a sub-variant of the Chameleon PrC class. Kavva has
focused much on her magical studies, and expanded her knowledge of magic beyond the
rote Focii of being a Chameleon and channelled them into learning Theurgy. She doesn't
have access to Archmagicks, but those are coming...and she is an extremely versatile and
skilled adventurer.
Cheri and Warren are in the 18-20 range, this whole set up is of course reconfigured from
the Bastion of Broken Souls module, with several others on the way to get our Warder
and Armsister back into the groove. Note that Warren has been active on the Mick's
Warding Wall, but his XP has mostly gone into zero levels, while Cheri has probably not
levelled at all while perhaps refining her bow talents with some Falcon training among

the Halvyr.

Epic Errantry III

Kavva Elsmith had never gone thru an experience quite like that, and was positively
sure she would not again. Not in the Night Rose training, where sensuality exposure and
tolerance was a very key part of the training, and addictiveness was burnt out of your
personality or you failed.
She felt Full. It was a heady, giddy experience, making it hard to focus on what she
was doing. Her Nexus and Valences were all popping and glowing inside her, she felt
like she was floating.
This hadnt been about sharing. This had been about taking, and taking, and taking,
and taking until she literally could not take any more, and STILL the bastard could keep
putting out.
It was humiliating, it was gratifying; embarrassing, but fulfilling. No man should be
able to outlast a woman, especially a Night Rose, but this went so much deeper then mere
intercourse on so many levels.
He was a Source Eternal. She finally had a small understanding of just what that
meant. There was so much primal life in him, a steady fountain that simply refused to be
emptied, and she simply could not take it all in. She had been shocked despite herself,
despite the warnings and the words, sure of her mastery and her power and her ability to
mold and dominate Men his utter impervious to her and the raw power of his
masculinity was simply overwhelming.
So why did she feel so good?
He was already up and goneanother sign of her inability to concentrate, she hadnt
felt him leave, and didnt know how long she had been out. She was vaguely grateful she
had taken the advice on conception and not used magical means, or she was pretty sure
that shed have a child on the way right now. Hed been so bloody hungry for her, and yet
distant at the same time.
More like a lion in heat with no consideration for a mate. Thered been no love in
his eyes. That, at least, she was sure of. Desire, lust, appreciation, certainly, but about as
much romance as a bared blade. That didnt leave a lot to work with, because he seemed
able to ignore his sex drive most of the time, indulging her flirtations without truly being
swayed by them.
Maddening. Delirious.
His internal power had been overwhelming too. Perhaps that was part of the

problem. As a Dame of the Night Rose, she had to have the mental architecture to follow
many paths and rearrange her Focii with little notice. Bonded to a Source, much of that
ability was now constrainedshe could feel the lock on her Focii, the way her Nexii and
Valences were surging inside her with the raw, pure power she had taken from him. She
knew she would do a great deal to keep this feeling inside of her, and to build it up and
make it greaterthe yin power of her Path was simply not going to be a priority of hers
while she strove to master her Nexii as she never had before. She could almost feel her
Valences bulging in her head, aching to unlock to higher and more complex patterns,
expand and fill with new power.
It had all been more then she had expected, even expecting more then she had ever
experienced. Even now, she could feel the bond, like a warm stream from elsewhere,
washing past and over hergentle waves of carefully controlled emotions hiding the
torrent of an elemental, emotional storm.
Feeling the Dragons across his soula Master of Waters, deep, strong, fluid; a
Master of Ways, flexible, adaptive, layered; a building core of the Storm, powerful, fast,
deadly; even a startling flow of the Moon, gentle, controlled, elusive, calming. The
Mitharn focus of the Devotions singing over the bonds of his soul, weaving it all
together, the markings and scars of a hundred lessons learned in pain and survival,
tracked like his soul just like they were mapped on his skin. And empowering it all, the
fact he was a Source Eternal.
His foundation of power was scales above her. Even knowing as much of his career
as she did, she found it hard to believe he could amass such a huge breadth and core of
strength in so many areasbut then, she was not a Source. Her own path had been much
straighter, tied to vengeance for the death of her mother, maximizing the gifts she had
available to her, and paying tribute to the Man who had brought low those who had
murdered her mother by joining the Clan of Ruin.
She realized now that she had been tied to him since that eventher fascination
with his career was probably as much due to his being a Source as her own girlish
infatuation with the ideal of a proud Haxan swordsman. The mere chance at being a
Bondmaga of decidedly unconventional sort had been a chance she lept at, and seeing as
how he was hardly the conventional Haxan swordsman, made perfect sense.
She wondered how much he could feel of her. He was that way, not very far. He
wasnt thinking about her, but she could tell he was aware of her. Being able to gauge his
emotional state would be both useful and dangerous, if he could tell hers in returnor
worse, if he simply ignored hers in return.
This was more then anything as simple as being married. This was the life of a
Bondmaga, and Dame Kavva Elsmith of the Knights of the Night Rose finally realized
that she wasnt sure if she was up for a relationship of take-take-take like this, where a
man could give endlessly, while giving up nothing.

It made her feel like a parasite. A very energized, giddy and aroused parasite, but a
parasite nonetheless.
The only way to prevent such a feeling was to be worth the bondto use the power
and use it unceasingly, surely, deftly, professionallyto earn his respect for what she
could do with the power she took from him.
Bondmaga. He wasnt called a Bondsource, and now she knew why. The flow of
exchange was almost all one way. She was tied to him, taking from him, while he took
nothing from her. And she couldnt give back, she could only be a tool to give the power
of his life some form other then bending Fate and Chance to the course of his will and
life.
Kavva sat on her bed and hugged herself, trying to get her racing, bouncy thoughts
under control, and do what she had been trained to doplan, compensate, and overcome.
And try to ignore the stream from there washing over her Nexii with endless fuel for
the fire
-----------------------------------Should I look in on her? Cheri asked Errant carefully, eyeing the glittering crystal
that was now stuck in the bracer on Errants sword arm. She was not a spellweaver of any
ability, but she recognized an akastarand this akastar was more glowing then glittering,
reacting to only one potential source of energy instead of everything all around.
Attuned to him, and to no other.
When she recovers, she recovers, he stated in no uncertain tones, hands clasped
before him, elbows on the table, looking completely unmoved by what had gone on, the
same old Errant as ever. The others glanced at one another and shruggedthey had liked
the Dame, true enough, but the vagaries of a Source/Bondmaga relationship was not any
of their areas of purview.
Trenchers got himself a forge and is pounding away, Warren reported smoothly.
He expects there to be some trouble in the Well due to the sheer amount of life energy
there, and Im inclined to believe him. Hes rather amused that Life Wardings would be
the easiest way to solve the problem, but hes working around the usefulness of the idea
without using negative energy. Rather dangerous, anyways. Something to do with using
the ambient energy to power effects that neutralize itseems to be relishing the
challenge.
And we are on our way to Sequesterwherever that is. While he knew most of
the major planes just by being around spellcasters for so many years, and knew a lot
about killing the various inhabitants of those places, planar travel was not something that
he indulged innot the least because transplanar portals, being rips in the continuum,

tended to seal abruptly when he was in the area and stabilizing the Land as a Pillar of
Reality.
Its not a place directly accessible by mortals, Warren informed him calmly.
Mortals tend to have enough temptations to deal with to leave the secrets of the Gods
readily laying about for them to try to unearth.
Overland planar travel? Errant sighed. Give me the bad news.
We have to cross Strife. Errants eyes narrowed sharply. Aye, that will be
interestinglets hope we dont run across any of the Hosts engaged there, but its a big
place. Once there, we can find a portal that would deliver us to The Burning. From there,
Sequester is accessible.
Cheery. He measured Warrens expression. And youve found something more.
Warren lowered his eyes. I was actually contacted directly and told, by an Archon.
Theres a few tasks theyd like to see if we could accomplish while we are on Strife.
It was a foregone conclusion that they would do themWarren would take a
suggestion by a servant of his god as a direct command for a Quest. Errant didnt have
any problem with ithe had no direct pull with the Divine, but having them owe him a
favor was hardly anything he was going to turn down. Each to his own.
What exactly are we supposed to be doing? he asked without judgement. And if
you say join a Host and slaughter an opposing general or something, I am not going to be
very happy.
Mithar is considerably more forgiving of the duties of mortals and what mortals
should be taking care of, Warren answered gratefully. These are search and recovery
missionsone of them very old, and one of them that it seems he just became aware of
as a peripheral fact investigating this corruption of the Ban.
Errant just sat and waited for him to go on.
A thousand years ago, a temple to Aru was sacked in Corix, and many of its
treasures carted off to Strife by raiders summoned from that plane. Champions of the
Temple were girded in many of the greatest weapons of the Diocese and set off to recover
them. By magic, we know that the fiends and their master were slain by the Champions,
but that the Champions themselves were slain in turn. The tower where they fell yet
stands in an isolated and valueless section of the plane, shunned and cursed for those that
fell therehe would have us recover the remains of the fallen champions, and that which
they both sought and bore, and return them home.
A noble task, assuring their souls peace, Errant agreed without batting an eye.
And the other?

Two others, but one is my duty to discharge. The first deals with a company of
Eske lancers, caught by a powerful and sorcerous puppet of the Dramojh during the
expansion. He worked a mighty spell by sacrificing the lives of some of his demonic
servants, and managed to consign the company to Strife, where they were quickly slain
by a wandering warband of Devils.
Errant studied Warrens intent expression. Mortals. Consigned living to Strife.
They cannot die on Strife, Warren.
Nor, once they die, can they leave, Warren agreed solemnly. The circumstances
of their consignment have bound them in an endless circle with the Diabolic warband.
Every day they rise anew, and every day they are slaughtered again by the Devils. Every
day, for hundreds of years.
Errants eyes narrowed, muscles flickered around his jaw. A good deed to do. We
will see it done. And the last?
It appears that a third member of the Circle of Scalefolk has been foundand he
dwells in a Citadel of Iron on the Burning, atop a portal to Sequester. Errant wanted to
sigh again, did not. This is the Firenewt, a warrior-mage of great power with designs as
a Warlord that are much more ambitious then adhering to one Plane. It seems he has
recovered a fell artifact from Sequester, a great axe forged by the Ifrit more then a Great
Age ago, and is remaking it as a symbol to assemble a great army and lead it on a
conquest of other worldsspecifically, ours. He intends to exit the Burning through the
Arch of Fire and bring flame and ruin to all the lands at the head of an elemental Host.
Your task is to stop himmine, is to redeem one of his servants.
Errant just blinked at that. Good enough for mea little excitement never hurt
anyone. Warrens wry smile conveyed his gratitude about understanding all the little
side errands they were going to be doing for the Divineerrands, Errant thought to
himself, that were as much about reigniting the souls of a Warder and Armsister gone
domestic as about providing succor to the damned and vengeance to the wicked.
But the little ploys of the Divine werent his concernalthough stopping an
invasion of the Prime in the bud might be a nice feather in his cap. He reflected on how
much running around in other realms, other worlds where a Source didnt really belong
was going to annoy himand how much he was probably going to miss Trencher being
at his side.
Which was likely the entire reason Trencher wasnt coming on this portion of the
quest. He had to get used to how his Bondmaga operated, and this would be a trial by fire
for her. He wondered if a mistress of intrigue like a Night Rose was truly up to the task of
what would likely be some extremely deadly slugfests both magical and otherwise, and
shrugged to himself.

Shed wanted the chance, and he had given it to her. Now was her time to see if she
could deliver. Shed had the chance to talk to Trencher at length, find out what was
expected of herit would be interesting to see how she would adapt. Underestimating a
Night Rosenot something done by the wise.
-------------------------------If there was one thing the Children had, it was supplies for a long trip. If that meant
going off-Planewell, there were probably more Eternals per person among the Children
then any of the other races, and even retired Children tended to be extremely skilled.
Finding disposable gear and magical items wasnt hard, nor even particularly expensive.
It was quietly known that they were embarking on a quest of profound and divinelybacked importance, and little things like gold werent going to stand in their way. Warren
had credit for years of spellcasting from his duties on the Warding Wall, Errant had the
full resources of his Clan to draw on, the faithful of the varied Churches of Haxan under
Aru were all intensely interested in stopping this plague of the soulless being born, and
Trencher as a Master Geomancer had access to resources of his Clan, People, the
Weirhold, and the Order of Eternals.
Rorg just grinned when asked about money or credit, and politely put the question
aside. Like Errant, it wasnt something he had a great concern aboutnot the least
because the Children tended to pass down invisible fortunes from one generation to the
next to draw on, and even their Elders kept at important tasks long after giving up
swords.
The children of the Waryns were tearful and crushed and fearful of their parents
going awaylike as not, they had probably never seen their mother outfitted fully for
fighting, or their father girded for true battle. They watched her lift her bow down off the
wall from where it rested at virtually all times other then the Devotions, and knew their
world was going to change.
And then there was Errant, looking like he did when he walked up, a hero out of the
newest legends, the slayer of the dread Demon Khan, the leader of the adventuring band
their own parents had belonged to, the holder of the Clansword of Longstead, now one of
the most famous blades in all of Haxan. Someone who had proven over and over that
even the mightiest had to fear what one Man could do, given the will and the conviction.
The Night Rose were not, of course, going to let one of their own accompany him
without making a good showing, especially since she had beaten out Aurorans in
claiming the status of Bondmaga to a Source Eternal! Errant was definitely amused at the
mysterious ways things that Dame Kavva needed materialized abruptly, the way at least
three Sable Mistresses of the Night Rose School popped up to advise her and console her
and give her a crash course in battle magic unlike anything shed likely ever had to
dowith the assistance of a few scarred Halvyr Battlemads and him watching and
waiting on the sidelines as she got used to the sensation and power of pulling mana
directly from him via the Sourcebond, and then regaining her power with breathtaking

speed as he recovered the direct energy she took from him steadily, and then was able to
draw on his Presence to recover her own.
Being the curious sort, he inquired about it as she lay exhausted in his arms, having
spent the day casting literally dozens of spells, many of which she had never cast before.
Purity of the Source, yada, yada, but what did it actually mean for her?
She was hardly too tired to prove her intellect to him.
Pretend a spell is a weapon. A dagger slid into her hand, balanced on one elegant
finger, and then vanished. The basic spells are like the small weaponslacking power
and force, but simple, easily made, somewhat flexible, coming in many different forms
and styles. More powerful spells are like wielding larger and stronger weaponsa set of
Wings, a broadsword, a longsword, a bastard sword, a great sword, each with its own
styles, but becoming more and more specialized. Perhaps a longpike is the equal of a
greatsword, but both are wielded completely different.
Your Source mana is like turning those weapons into magical weaponry of their
own. A dagger enchanted to fell strength is a more dangerous power then any mere
greatsword. In essence, your Source mana drives up the threat level of each and every
spell in my Valences from the bottom up. It is like hurling greatswords with finger flicks.
The potency and threat level of each and every spell defaults to the purity of the mana
you derive, not merely from the complexity of the spell or the power it derives from my
Valences. It is like a well, pushing the power of the spells upwards, ever upwardsbut it
means even my simplest spells have a penetrating power that I simply did not have
beforethat only true Magi could actually enjoy. She laughed softly and snuggled in
closer to his chest, drinking in the power he put out so steadily. Ive been told there are
many ways I can employ the purity of this mana, but it will take time and practice to
master them all.
Practice you are going to get a lot of, he reminded her without rancor.
I may not be a Battlemad, but a fool I am not, either. I will do my part, just wait
and see, my Source. With a contented smile, she promptly fell asleep in his arms, and
Errant sat there on the Waryns couch, before the crackling fire, and decided that he
could probably get used to this.
----------------------One entry point to Strife! Kavva proclaimed proudly.
This was on the far side of the Wyrmbreak Wall, the massive killing grounds before
the First Wall, where traps and massed magic had once been the deaths of millions of the
Thralls of the Wyrms over literally generations of battle. The echoes of their deaths yet
hung into the air, driven forever into the earth and stone that had risen up time and time
again to slay them, been purged with fire, and then slain them again. Probably no greater

monument to the foolishness and pointlessness of those who waged war existed then this
killing ground of barren rock and stone, destroyed and cleansed time and again by
Geomancers.
This naturally gave the plain a strong bias towards Strife, the realm of Endless
Conflict, where Hosts of all Profound alignments, Causes, and Elements gathered to do
battle. Here Celestials made war on Fiends, Fiends on one another, Fire and Earth and Air
and Water clashed over mindless transgressions and struggles for supremacy, Law and
Chaos were in conflict, Light and Darkness vied alongside Life and Death for dominance
with armies of Deathless and Unliving, Freedom and Beauty sang themselves into battle
against Tyranny and Despair, and the primal dominance struggles of a hundred Races
were born anew in endless territorial conflicts that had neither beginning nor end.
It was a Realm of polarized factions making endless War for whatever reason they
needed. Perhaps it was pointless, perhaps it was necessary. What was known was that it
was Eternal, and there was no section of the plane untouched by warwhich hardly
meant the whole plane was at war.
Like islands in the sky, continent sized land masses floated, and upon each of these,
a different war could rage between different factions. Sometimes these masses touched,
and Factions spread, merged, warred with new vigor against a new foe, were annihilated
by greater powers, were absorbed, or greater Causes fractured from within under the
stress of differing Beliefs.
Once, this had been the sole purview of Hurn, He Who is War. From endless battle
he had drawn endless strength, one of the eldest, most primal powers known. But
whatever the Dramojh had done had isolated the God in his uncaring Realm and home,
and though he perhaps drew power from Strife, he showed no power in the Prime World
of Hlaeth that seemed to feed the endless conflicts.
Bardic Planar Lore 101. Watch your ass, in fancy terminologyaint no one
watching things there now.
Transit was remarkably painlessDame Kavva actually was the one to open the
portal, using his Source power to do sowhich enabled him to pass the portal before his
own presence closed it behind him. The passage was an arch of banners, all flown over
battles before (something the Rockborn had a great supply of), the spell woven into the
wood and cloth by helpful Halvyr, and then given strength and power by the magic
Kavva gathered together with Source mana.
It opened with the clang of weapon on armor, the biting hiss of blade into flesh,
hollow screams of pain, and breaking steel. The air was filled with the smell of rusting
iron, spilled blood, and the grit of fear on the tongue as the scarlet and gray light billowed
out of the portal like a thing alive, seeking expansion from this wound in reality where
existence itself had been redefined.

Errant was the last one in. With a snap, the portal closed behind him as reality sealed
itself in his wake.
Duty was out, and everyone was in battle formation, looking for a foe. There was a
great deal of imprecision dealing with planar travel, especially if you wanted to avoid
fixed planar crosspoints which were almost always held by one Faction or anotheror in
the process of violently changing hands. Strife was a crossroads, but one of the most
violent typegenerally, it was better to rely on your own devices instead of employing
fixed transit, unless you wanted to walk out every time into the middle of an armyor a
battlefield.
Nothing, Kavva reported, sweeping earth and sky with enhanced vision. She
lowered her new Mask, artfully carved of black silk and embroidered delicately, adhering
to her face perfectly while revealing no features below her eyes, especially her mouth.
They all paused to consider the hanging Void above them, where dozens, if not
hundreds, of massive landblocks of all shapes and sizes floated in some irregular pattern
in the sky. Some were larger then the moons of Hlaeth, and you could see weather
patterns, the light of massive fires (or perhaps camping armies), oceans and mountains
flowing here and there, icy ranges of chill, and the bright plains of deserts.
The light seemed to be formless, coming from nowhere, and the temperature was
cool, but not unreasonably sovery close to that which they had left behind, which is
what they had been told to expect. Gravity seemed to be likewise, and except for the grit
of rust and fear in the air, and the constant distant sounds of battle, the air was fairly still.
We are on the primary landblock of Strife associated with our homeworld, Warren
stated firmly, eyes narrowed as he confirmed their location. While aligning yourself to a
Cause can jump your location to the nearest center of influence aligned with it, including
other blocks, this is where conflict associated directly with our Homeworld of Hlaeth gets
played out. His glowing staff tapped the ground underfoot, and rebounded with a clang
of metal on metal, despite it looking like stone. We are where we wish to benow we
have but to determine where we wish to go.
Are we assuming any manner of real world correspondence with the targets of our
quest and our current location? Errant inquired calmly, never stopping his scanning of
earth and sky. If so, then weve a distance to hoof it.
Possibly. Ascertaining the precise location of something across worlds is not
exactly a simple thing to do. I was informed that there would not be much detouring on
our path, however. He closed his eyes and began to chant under his breath, the akastar
tipping his mithral stave glowing softly in the crimson-gray ambience surrounding them.
The plan was to find the locations of the side items requested of Warren on their
way to this Planes analogue of the Arch of Fire. This was a gaping and open portal to the
Realm of Elemental Fire, once the High Dragon King Firestorm himself had had his

realm in the great valley between the volcanoes which formed it. Errant had seen it only
from a distancethe land still seethed with creatures of elemental fire, drawn through the
uncontrolled vortex and spit out into the ruined lands where once a lake of lava miles
wide had been crowned by a castle the size of a small mountain where Firecrown lived.
With the Crash of the Crowns, the Wyrm-King's Palace of the Fireheart had come
tumbling down as well, and later the legendary adventuring band called the Vault of
Heaven had plunged through his defenses and finally put the mightiest and last of the
Wyrm-Kings to True Death.
Yet the Arch survived, and Trencher had told them it was far older then even the
Wyrm-Kings. It opened in the heart of a volcano, stretching leagues into the sky, arching
down and plunging into another volcanos heart, which shunted the pyrhic energy to
Strife. Upon Strife, another Arch formed, and the energy again rose and fell, through an
open Gate to Firethe simplest means of access to the elemental plane knownand of
course, a place of endless conflict between Earth and Fire and Air.
They did a good job with the illusory representation of this place, Kavva noted for
them all, the eyes on her mask a bright white against the black silk. Even the Axiomatic
influencethe landblocks are put together in sections, like the great, vast toys of gods or
titans.
The better to mark a claim and territorydoubtless the hexes change to reflect the
mastery of what holds influence over them at the time, defaulting to this fairly flat and
unbroken expanse about us. Warren opened his eyes, and pointed unerringly. The
Tower we seek is in that direction, some fifty leagues. Beyond it, the Arch is another two
hundred more, and somewhere between them, Damned souls await release and
redemption.
I miss my Canter, Cheri murmured quietly, but the idea of bringing Beasts to other
Realms had been quietly considered and rejected. The Beasts were champions of the
natural order of their own world, not that of others. Although doubtless willing to try the
trip, Errant in particular had been unwilling to countenance what would probably end up
being a death trip for them, even such a redoubtable Lion as Butter.
Rides for us all, Kavva said, murmuring quick words with care and precision, and
winds swirled around them. Horses screamed and neighed and poured forth their death
cries in distant battlesand then rode out of swirls of rust and iron in the air to stand
trembling before them.
They looked like ghostly rust and steely gray warhorses, each bearing an open
wound in its spectral form where it had been slain in battle, sometimes with the weapon
lodged there still. Errant just shook his head as the other four picked mounts appropriate
for them, slinging their gear on and each mounting with the ease and skill of practiced
horsemen. Errant, of course, would be unable to ride a lesser magical beast, even one
summoned with his own Source mana, more then a minute or two. He tossed his bag to
Kavva, who slung it behind hers on her saddle, and set himself for a lot of running. A

mount summoned with his Source mana might prove uncomfortable for the other
spellcasters...and so he got to run.
Warren pointed again with his gleaming staff, the winking crystal sharply visible
against the drabness of the air. Shall we ride? he smiled once, and tapped heels to his
mount.
Waveskating smoothly, Errant went after them.

The Planes get an introduction to more Independents.

Epic Errantry IV
Errant doffed his hat and slowed his lightfoot down to a trot, then to a halt next to
Warren. The spectral Strife horse-spirits shuffled uneasily and edged away from him,
perhaps sensing Duty, perhaps because he was a Source. He didnt concern himself with
it.
Overhead, the nearest continent had just rippled into fire across a front that had to
stretch a thousand leagues, an advance of black stone moving into an area of green and
gold, black clouds rising to cover the sky. Errant imagined he could almost see the two
armies locked in their conflict over some Cause. He didnt really want to be part of any
conflict that had a front larger then all of Haxan
Happily, the fighting ahead looked like it would be on a more manageable scale.
About a klik ahead, in a shallow depression that rendered it unviewable from a distance
on this flat landscape, rested a single dark tower, dim and gloomy in the crimson-gray
light.
Land hasnt changed, Rorg noted professionally. I take it that means there is no
Cause at work here?
Correct, from what I know of Strife, agreed Warren, studying the building.
Theres certainly something going on here, because stragglers should have seized it as a
strongpoint and started to build
Just because theyve had a few centuries to find it? Errant mused aloud. We
dont have Wings for an aerial recon. Go airborne and do a sweep, and dont let down
your defenses. We dont know if weve been spotted already.
Ill do itmy specialty. Dame Kavva murmured the words deftly and vanished
off the back of her horse in seconds. The visual powers of her Mask would obviate the
need for casting optical aids.
Errant contented himself with studying the landscape. The land theyd been moving

across was almost universally flat and barrenalien flat, right out to the horizon, with no
curve of the world, no vanishing in the distance. The oily gray clouds spotted here and
there were a blanket that went out and out and out, and he could see mountains in the
distance despite the gloom in the aira weird mixture of long range detail and short
range shadows.
See the army coming, but not the scouts, he guessed. Anything to promote a fight.
The detail for the lands hanging overhead was astonishingit was almost as if the further
the things were away the better you could see, relatively.
Feh. Plane-walking. The test of rust in his mouth was going to take a long time to
get out.
Lets see. Average flight speed of a Maga, say a minute to get to the tower, twice
that if shes studying the landscape for signs. Rotate around the tower, studying defenses
magic and mundane and look for signs of inhabitants. With no weather because of the
lack of a Cause, signs should stay a long time, which could be good or very misleading.
This hole hadnt been dug outlooked more like it had been sheared. The top of the
tower didnt come even with the landscape, meaning you actually had to get remarkably
close to see the tower, and the gloom meant the angle of the hole wasnt visible from low
level aerial viewing, either. Clever. A nice base of operations. What had Warren said, the
hidey-hole of a lich, out in the middle of nowhere? Lose yourself in the middle of a
continent of distressing sameness
Something black burst in the air ahead. Errant narrowed his eyes, and eased his
crossbow off his back. He didnt know what had just happened, but that looked like a
spell to him, and there was only one thing theyd be shooting at out here.
Hissing streams of black beat the air in an arc and a line, threads of power at this
distance, only visible because of the weird visual acuity.
Something is casting at her. He racked the action of his crossbow, and a gleaming
bolt worked itself up from the compressed magazine fitted into the stock, expanding to
normal size as the sliver left the protection of the magazine and was exposed to his
Source aura. One of Trenchers little innovations, normally restricted to Watchers on the
Wyrmbreak Wall.
Dear, I think they can see that staff of yours. The light is very alien to this placeit
probably stands out like a lantern. Warren glanced sharply at his Warders staff at his
wifes observation, and murmured an apology to all present. Too late to conceal it now.
A minute later, Dame Kavva reappeared above, descending gently from the sky. She
looked none the worse for wear, although by her body language she was plainly irritated
at something.

Theres something using necromancy in there, she informed them. And a very
large hole in the roof of the tower, with similar destruction around the main doors. Id say
something flying and something land bound.
Waiting for something? Errant wondered aloud. Anything on the approaches?
Theres some very subtle gulleys and clefts worked into the landscape, blending
with the natural delineation of the plane. Something could be hiding in them. I didnt
move low enough to make certain. Meaning into the threat range of whatever might be
in them.
Wonderful. No Cause, however, means no devoted extraplanars. What kind of
native lifeforms we have here, or mortals from elsewhere? he inquired of Warren.
The Warder frowned. Strife could have any manner of creatures. Too many portals,
escaped warbeasts, and so much area. Nothing truly dies here, unless you impose Final
Rest or more to kick the spirit on its way to the proper afterlife. He tapped the horses
they rode for meaning, doubtless summoned some time between their rebirths.
A hole in the roof either is the result of a magical strike, or something wants to
leave a hole for a lair. We can assume theres at least one sublevel where ground entry is
important. Errant rolled an eye at Warren. You and Kavva have a go at whatever is
casting spells from inside there. Ive no sympathy for necros out here more then
anywhere else. Rest of us are going to see just what exactly is going to try to surprise us
on the ground. Ive got point. Weapons out.
Without another word, he strode ahead, while Kavva and Warrens mounts rose off
the dark rust-gray of the hard ground and moved off ahead.
-----------------------------It was bigger then a bull, it looked like it was made of metal, and it moved with the
grace and power of a tiger.
And its scream rang in the air like a thousand metal razors.
Cheris mount kicked straight up into the air ten meters instantly, and the second
leaping creature missed an agile swipe at her.
The third smashed into Rorg and his shieldand bounced.
Watching a ton of alien predator get smashed aside by Rorgs shield was impressive.
His own leaper had a bolt stuck in its mouth - a jaw that had no teeth, only razored ridges
of living metal the exact same hue as this unCaused landscape. The creature smashed its
jaws together, which cut off the scream, doubtless wondering how it could have missed
him, as he let the crossbow slide away and brought Duty out with a whisper of motion.

It lept for him again, again with that scream that tore at the air, ripping it into solid
knives of sound. He saw Rorgs spectral mount shudder and then fly apart as if shriven
by a hundred blades.
Unfazed, Rorg hit the ground with a clang of adamant, and set himself as the second
creature came mauling for him.
Errant ducked aside as a fourth decided to join the show, now pairing two on two,
and the beast screamed as Duty ran along its side, peeling open the unmetal hide and
spraying oily blood. The first one rose to maul him, claws and flanges bared
He drove in and under the left side, which not incidentally put him on the backside
of the one that had been trying for Cheri, just as she drove her third arrow into its topside.
Behind him, the first creature screeched anew as it lost its front leg, oil-blood gushed out
its neck, and strange muscles and innards bulged at a meter long cut down its side.
Looked like tendons there, Errant thought, Duty shearing in and out, and a rear leg
crumpled. With only the slightest shift in stance, Rorg held the one trying to get past the
barrier of his shield, lashed back as the third beast tried to spin on Errant, and nearly took
off what would be the creatures brainpan with Shrek. The creature clawed at Errant
wildly, and he used the opportunity to complete the shearing slice Rorg had started, not
stopping his motion and suddenly back to back with the Urkhar.
Noisy bastard, growled the Urkhar, and proceeded to hurl the thing off his shield
with an impressive display of strength. Their feet exchanged places, and they spun as the
fourth one piled in, suddenly finding the big Urkhar in front of it as Duty came around a
full arc and took off the third ones lower jaw with a rippling blur of motion. Rorg took
the impact with a grunt, heels locked to the unyielding ground beneath them, lifting the
beast off the ground as it tried to claw around his shield, claws sparking and raking
loudly on his armorand drawing yowls of pain as suddenly the Urkhars adamant
skinplate sprouted a thistle-nest of blades and spikes. Errant left his backside, Duty a
torrent of laen blazing a glowing trail of ripple waves, frost, and crackling lightning. The
creature tried to leap backwards, and only seemed to pull him along with it as Duty cut in
and across and down in seemingly the same motion. The creature landed and bounced
and went into twitching convulsions as its equivalent of brains began to leak out the
gaping wounds through its skull.
Shrek pounded in once, twice, thrice, more like a Golems strikes then a flesh and
blood warriors, and a foreleg flew away from the awful precision of the blows. The
creature screamed and tried to get away, and then three gleaming arrows drove down
from above within the space of an open palm, spitting the vaguely feline skull rat tat tat.
It convulsed, and Rorg expeditely removed its head with a single sweeping blow of
Shrek, and a sound somewhere between chopping wood and breaking iron.
Go. Errant was moving to where hed dropped his crossbow, sheathing Duty as he

did so, and Rorg started heading for the tower still a few hundred meters away, each step
lengthening as he built momentum with the Avalanche lightfoot of the House of Stone.
Errant was off and after him, Skating the Waves and focusing into pure speed to catch
him and get into the fight.
Something exploded out of the top of the tower there, obviously not happy with the
way necromantic energies had been flashing into vivic wards, and at least one attack
looked to have been returned by Warrens stave, unwhite fires licking at a hide that
looked spun from bad dreams and stuff that makes you go puke in the Dark.
Nightwing? asked Rorg uncertainly, as Errant drew even, his shield folding down
over his arm and out of the way with a snapping, crystalline synchronicity, and he pulled
his hefty crossbow off of his back, more of Trenchers work. Neither of them had
actually seen a member of one of the greatest of the unliving, denizens of Mortis itself.
From two sides, the sun opened up, lashing beams of purest radiance stabbing into
the beast with unerring precision, and earning a silent, psychic wave of agony that
smashed everyone like a tangible thing as the rays cut through it like razors of solid light.
Id say soWarrens not holding back. Errant glided to a stop, while Rorg simply
planted and stopped instantly from a dead run to nothing, his momentum continuing on
without him to scatter dust and stones beyond him. Both focused on the beast, aiming and
tracking in tandem, and picked the same moment to let off.
So did Cheri, and all of them focused on the right wing joint. Bolts and arrows
glowing with power stabbed deep into the dark mass as it charged at Warren with great
beats of shadowy pinions.
That was a mistake, as Warren simply held his ground, and drew his staff across in
front of him. There was a flash of white light that left spots on the eyes as the nightwing
realized what was about to happen and tried to veer off, swaying drunkenly as its
wounded wing smashed squarely into the Warder and was nearly blown off by Warrens
defenses.
No, not a good idea for an undead thing to charge a prepped Warder. Another beam
of light lashed out like a living thing from the Warders stave, focusing on the other wing,
and arrows and bolts sped out to join him. The creature started to tumble in midair, trying
to catch itself as its wings both began to burn, and Errant slapped his crossbow into
Rorgs hands as he went to meet it where it was coming down.
Lightning across the Hill.
Riding the surge of Wave and Storm, he was there as it hit the ground, ignoring the
vile cold it was emanating, the psychic screams, plowing into it with the Waveslicing
Stroke. Vivic fires tore through the massive body with greedy abandon, driven deep and
true, and he opened it up again as it writhed, sending white fire the whole length of its

body as it tried to lash at him with claws and tail that were almost instantly ablaze.
He kicked off and away, out of range as vivic fires exploded out of every wound,
letting True Death do the work. He landed ten meters away, sliding easily an extra pace
or three, Duty poised and ready for more activity.
None was forthcoming. Strife was at least as friendly to the energies of life as to
those of death, and the creature burned merrily.
Thats a pretty weird alliance of creatures, Rorg noted, trotting up next to him
with a heaviness that was all noise, not reality. Errant accepted his discarded crossbow
back as the rest of the team came down to join them.
Kavva had also lost her mount, as had Warren. Cheri climbed down from hers,
patted it for its service, and they all watched it fade away into the gloom of the rusty air,
said gloom not affected at all by the vivic energies having a field daynor was the
ground crystallizing as it would back home.
Tolerating living beings so as not to signal its presence. Doubtful it could prey on
them anywaysmost extraplanars are resistant or immune to soul-sucking. Errant spat
once, sniffed.
Metal-eating scavengers. They probably wanted your metal, but werent able to
chew on the enchanted adamant as readily as they hoped, Warren informed them
blandly. He turned his attention on the tower. Doesnt bode well for the durability of the
artifacts we are looking for, unless the creatures couldnt reach the lower levels, or cant
otherwise reach them.
We are here for the remains more then the toys, I believe. Errants tone was nononsense. Lets bring them home.
=======================
The alpha male was at least four times as massive and heavy as the other scavengers,
which didnt help it much with four glowing arrows jutting out of its skull in different
directions, no lower jaw, and both legs cut completely away. The rest of its pack was in
various pieces about it, body parts hissing with the acid from the assaults the Dame had
let loose on them at Warrens advice. Rorg frowned at the mangled top of his shield
where the big one had managed to get its jaws on it, then shrugged and watched it fold
down to less then the size of a buckler as they studied the place.
Warrens stave brightened and lit the place up as brightly as daylight back home,
banishing all gloom and shadows.
Bones, noted Kavva promptly, pointing off to one side. I can still see the
necromancy on them.

Look there. A massive dark silhouette, horns still visible, seared into the reddishgray Strifestone. At its feet, a pair of ivory mounds.
Scattered bones here. Rorg stepped over to a scattered array, many crunched and
shattered by weight or metallic jaws. Looks like two more.
Broken wizards staff. Warren had moved up quickly to investigate the remains of
the one Kavva had spotted. The lich. Someone got him with Final Rest. Ribcage is
pulverized, skull cloven.
The scavengers would have eaten any armor or weaponry laying aroundwerent
all of the sacred items metallic? Kavva pointed out carefully, not wanting to upset the
clearly depressed Warder.
Not if they were moved to safety first.
Cheris bow was nocked and aiming before the voice, reverberating with an odd
crystalline hum, stopped speaking. Kavva and Warren were both tensed, spells on their
lips, as they followed their ears to the ceiling over fifteen meters above.
A softly glowing light edged in crystalline iridescence hovered in a niche there. A
sword, spinning softly in midair, a classic broadsword in a style probably two thousand
years old, if not more.
The Iris of the Eladrin! Warren proclaimed, recognizing it instantly.
I see you know of me. With a strange dignity, the animate sword left its niche and
dropped smoothly down the wall, stopping at shoulder height above the ground before
moving precisely and smoothly to hover before Warren. The floral pattern of the guard
was extraordinarily ornate and beautiful, the living Runes woven into petal-like patterns
that seemed to grow and change with every shift in position, the blade done with the
Angelic perfection worthy of its name, and the edge caught the light with the ambiance of
rainbows.
I am Warren Waryn of Mithar, Warder under the grace of the Silver Queen, and
these are my companions Rorg, Errant, Dame Kavva, and my lovely wife Cheri Waryn.
He held out his arm, and his mate slid into her husbands arm easily. I have been tasked
to recover you and the relics, and the bones of those slain here, and return you home.
Indeed. The point of the sword rose with precise calm, reaching out to gently
touch the Sword and Staff crossed over the Silver Shield bearing a Crescent Moon, mark
of the Warders of Mithar. It has been long since the faithful fell in battle here. It will
be good to return home. Apparantly satisfied as to his authenticity, the Iris spun and
pointed to the niche in the wall. You will find Argives Plow, the Covenant of
Meracles, and the Potentium of Saint Cradle above. I regret I could not gather the

bones of those who bore the relics, but I can aid in separating them from the vile
remnants of those who slew them.
It would be greatly appreciated. Warren bowed to the animate sword. There was a
flash of whiteness as Errant tapped the intermixed remains to one side with Duty, and a
bone fell to dust.
Sir Manwell and the death knight Krossjaws fell there, the Iris related calmly,
floating over and dipping lower to examine the Clansword in more detailprofessional
interest, as Errant paused in his task. Duty! I have not seen this blade in more then a
millennium, and still it endures?
As does the line of Longstead. I believe Charles Longstead did battle alongside Sir
Giles Whitehammer at the Crypt of the Tasharan Legion? Errant replied smoothly,
startling everyone.
Indeed! A formidable swordsman, the Haxan. It seems Duty has seen several
improvements since last we met] The bright starmetal clinged against the dim laenwork
of the blade, and then withdrew a pace, conveying surprise. It spun slowly as it rose until
its hilt was eye level with Errant. And I see its wielders are as strong as ever, as well.
We get by. More amused then impressed, Errant let his gaze move off. Kavva,
get the relics. Warren, containers for the remains. Rest of us, lets gather some bones and
get out of here.
The gleaming blade spun slowly as the party moved into motion, taking note of
where the real authority was in this band come to rescue it and those who had died.
Clearly, the power that it felt coursing through Duty had not been false.

=======================
Warren held up his hands. My oath forbids me the use of blades, Iris. I would be
proud to wield you, but you are not meant for me.
The light on the glittering blade dimmed slightly as Warren finished up his Focus.
You are engaged in a great quest on behalf of Mithar and Aru, and there is none to
bear me on such a task after so many years of waiting to do righteous battle?
Dame Kavva smiled behind her mask. I could bear you, Iris, but Ive a feeling you
would want a somewhat more devout wielder then I. And Lady Cheri would take every
effort to never use you at all. Cheri just smiled at that accurate assessment.
It is my duty and honor to see you all returned safely. Warren was preparing to
shift across the dimensions, possible with some accuracy now that he had established a

Focus to return to. He swept his hand over the carefully boxed remains of the martyrs, the
sacred shield, reliquary and covenant atop them. Would you not accompany them to
their final internment in the House of the Sun after watching over them for so long?
Of course. Yet
Correct me if I am wrong, but you were made to fight the powers of the diabolic?
Errant interrupted the dejected blade, which spun on him quickly.
I was indeed! It was I who had to finish the battle when valiant Erasmer fell to
the vile flames of the Fiend that slew him and Jaggral the Bear! The sword lifted
slightly in remembered pride.
Devils. Errant looked past the blade at Warren, who pursed his lips. Id almost
call that mighty convenient, Warren, but I think we both know how the Divine work.
Warren opened his mouth, closed it in consideration. There are times I am
reminded why Mithar is the God of Battleskill. He truly does not miss a trick. He
considered the array of relics beside him in a new light, half smiling at a lesson learned
anew.
And dont you find it funny, that on a plane where mortals cant truly die, that the
martyrs did die? Errant went on, an observation that made all of them blink. I rather
dont think Final Rest came into play.
The Covenant, breathed Warren, realization dawning. It acted to save their souls
from being bound to Strife
And so they are with us, still. Errant looked meaningfully ahead, in the direction
they had been heading. And why do I have the feeling they still have a good battle left in
them, also?
Rorg swore under his breath. This is why you never mess with the Divine, he
mumbled to no one in particular.
The Iris of the Eladrin spun in joy. It would not be left out of this battle after all.

These are some of the better stories I've written, and why even bastards like Errant can
be heroes.
Epic Errantry V
The ground here was not the faux iron and grit of the most of the landscape theyd

traversed. It was hotter, for oneErrant felt the difference in air temperature
immediately. The landscape was no longer featurelessstalagmites with no source thrust
randomly into the air with preternaturally sharp tips, looking made of obsidian. The land
broke into the occasional jagged shear or sharp hillside, almost mazelike at times, and
you could look down a crevasse and see a dim red glow far below
Diabolic influence, Warren confirmed, as they moved towards the center of the
area, sniffing an area beginning to fill with more and more the stench of brimstone. It
doesnt seem they are attempting to Claim it
Do their deed and depart for another battle? The huge continent-wide war above
had seesawed and shifted fronts, areas changing their nature and colors in reflection to
who had established control of them. A dance of endlessly renewing destruction, looking
like a grand and slow cycle of death as the two forces circled, giving up what they had
held to take what their foe left inadequately defended.
Strife
Likely. I imagine even the Diabolic get rather bored with fighting the same battle
over and over and winning every time, Warren replied to Errants question.
Errant paused at the top of the next hill, surveying the land before them. Looks like
this is it.
The others reined in beside him, and with equal parts disgust and grim resolve
looked over the scene before them.
It looked like some monstrous children had decided to play with a great number of
human corpses, impaling each and every one on the deadly stalagmites jutting forth from
the ground, often three and four deep. Sometimes a horse was nailed atop the whole mass
for a change in scenery. Broken weapons and scattered armor covered the area with the
residue of battle, and a terrible smell of blood and death all out of proportion to the few
hundred dead here filled the air with a carnal stench. Hundreds of years of dying again
and again, and being unable to stop it.
I imagine they arent going to be in the best of moods when they are reborn,
Errant noted calmly, studying the despair clearly etched into the face of the nearest foot
soldier impaled in classic fashion from the ass upwards, looking almost as if he were
sitting resignedly for the next hopeless battle.
He could almost hear Warren grind his teeth at the scene of casual carnage and
painful death. The tonal chime of the Iris, riding on his back, echoed sadly as the blade
slid part way out of its makeshift scabbard for a better look.
The Warders hands fell to the relics bound to his sides, drawing strength from
whatever sacred power he could feel in them. We will give them two things they have

not hadhope, and allies.

Then best prep yourselves for a battle against the Diabolic tomorrow. We have no
way of knowing how many or what manner we have to fightonly that they casually kill
these men over and over, with no losses I can discern of their own. Errant started down
into the battlefield. Ill see if I can find any sign of the DiabolicI doubt they bother to
clean up after themselves.
============================
Morning was more a sensation then a change in the condition of the sulphurous air.
Something moved, and the magically sensitive lifted their heads as they felt the powers of
Strife at work.
All around them, the slain were vanishing, the rubble and carcasses of battle
evaporating into less then mist as the power of the plane took them away, leaving only
the stains and scars on the landscape behind.
A horse whinnied in shock and pain out of nowhere. A moan and a groan reflected
from a hundred throats answered back with bleak despair. All around them the air seemed
to roil and churn on itself, and then the ground seemed to vomit them forth.
Around their camp was suddenly a full company of Eskelev troops, in armor and
gear hundreds of years out of date, back to when the Seven Archdukes had ruled a great
realm from their great port city. The Dramojh and the Beastmen hordes had claimed that
realm with all their northern neighbors, a battle that might actually have been a stalemate
had not the southern thrust of the Dramojh overrun fair Corix and met up with their
brethren in the North. The Eskes had fought bravely and well, along with the refugees
who had fled there from their own fallen lands, but in the end for naught. If they had not
made it to Haxan, they had been either massacred or enslaved.
But things were different this time.
The air smelled of flowersthe wildflowers of the heartland of Eskelev in the
spring, abloom with life. In their midst a golden light glowed, steady and pure, punching
through pain and misery and the despair of death coming again.
Heads came up in shock as the difference was slowly realized. Heads turned in
disbelief, minds given over to resignation struggled with madness as they beheld a
miracle in their midst.
Many times had the Diabolic played mind games with them, things woven of
illusion and desire and temptation, anything to make the eventual death and despair the
greater. Souls grown hard and cold with the slaughter of hope regarded the shining,
glowing box of plain wood carved by loving hands with fragile psyches hammered into
submission unprepared to believe again.

Warren laid his hand atop the Covenant, and closed his eyes, ignoring the shocked,
stunned men about him. The sacred light inside the Covenant pulsed like the living thing.
Know, and believe.
Glory came to Strife and the souls of mortal men, flaring as a newborn sun, driving
deep into the heart and souls of broken soldiers, a feeling no Diabolic magic could
emulate, driven by a Warder whose eyes streamed tears as he called on the power of Aru.
Long have you done battle, he whispered deep into their souls, feeling the pain
and agony of eternal damnation in the whimper that escaped their lips as they fell to the
ground as one, staring into the salvation of that light. Strife has claimed you for its own,
and so you think yourselves damned and cursed.
Cursed you are, but never Damned, unless you surrender to them when hope is
before you. And now, now is the time for Justice.
The golden glow sharpened to harder then steel, more then silver, sharper then
razors, the light of Harses Truth shredding the fog of slaughter to reveal to them exactly
what had been done before them.
It is the right of mortal life to grow and evolve to overcome that which threatens
them and they do battle with. This was your curse. Never to recall the lessons of war,
never to recall your thousand small victories, never to study your foes and discern their
weaknesses and exploit them, and grow to be their equalsand more!
And more!
Stars blazed in the depths of the Covenant as the power of the Silver Queen laid bare
the winding power of the curse winding through the souls of the doomed men, a tendril of
inky darkness, seizing and keeping from them their proper fates.
YIELD WHAT HAS BEEN STOLEN! Warren thundered, and the symbol of
Mithar at his throat flared with the light of four Gods.
What is the sensation of a soul on fire? With absolute and terrible wonder, of
enlightenment and the wrath of the Divine? That expression was on the faces of all about
them as the thread of the Curse seemed to shake, ripple and tear apart, and their fate
returned to them on wings of holy fire.
With a quiet almost-sigh, the Covenant closed, and slowly lowered itself to the
ground, a humble thing of lovingly carved wood without adornment save for the marks of
the faithful.
About the camp, the ground was now thick with green, and above the sky blazed

blue and clear. Armor shone as if new under the light, fatigue and despair vanished in the
afterwake of the breaking of their Doom.
Rise, Men of the Sixth. Warrens voice was proud, pulling them to their feet as
their faces streamed with tears, and their hearts burned with feelings buried under
centuries of death. Their eyes fell on the new figures in their midst, men and women not
of the Company, waiting for themincluding four more ghost then flesh, smiling
understanding at all about.
Today, you feast!, the sepulchral voice of the fallen aasimar priest Erasmer
proclaimed, waving his glowing, incorporeal hand, and swirling motes of sunlight
resolved into tables laden heavy with food fit for the Divine. And then, it is time for
Justice to have its day!
For the first time in centuries, bright blades sang from scabbards, and the men of the
Esklevi Sixth cheered.
=========================
Where were they?
Chardoom gnashed his teeth loudly, eager to get this business over with. Called to
slay these mortals irresistibly by the initial act, he was bored and ready to go onto bigger
and better things. Some of the lesser members of his warband still enjoyed the slaughter
of the hapless, Doomed fools who had been consigned to Strife. Resistance had been
beaten out of them long ago, as had any thoughts of life. They did not even beg anymore,
taking the last scraps of fun out of the killing. He had other battles to fight,
elsewherethis Doom was an obligation that rankled him.
So, where were they? They should be here, too despairing to flee, waiting to be slain
as they had been before
Something was strange. Did the air smell different? Look different? The landscape
still showed the casual Claim of centuries of Diabolic domination, but this was nowhere,
unlikely to be seen and contested.
A horn sounded. A horn like celestial thunder, sending Devils roiling in shock and
clasping at their ears as the world shattered around them.
The sky was blue. Grass beneath their feet, the air filled with light and love and hope
hope! Chardoom reeled as he tried to process the sight of the company of doomed
mortals charging, a line of silver that was flaring with holy power, and something else,
something else!
No fear. He felt no fear, only wrath, the wrath of the Divine!

The initial charge slammed home on the shocked Devils, lances tore a wedge into
the scattered front of the casual ranks of the Diabolic troops. Despite the shock, the
soldiers of Hell quickly closed ranks, just as the footmen came in hard on the heels of the
cavalry.
They were singing!
The first ranks of Hellborn went down with shocking, horrible speed. It was like
trying to fight shadows. Like they could read every move, every thought and action of the
Devils, tearing into them with blades moving with impossible surety and skill
And there were newcomers with them!
Holy light was searing the eyes and filling the air with stifling power, warring with
desperate attempts at casting magic. A spectral warrior bearing a great bladed shield was
plowing a path through the closed ranks of Devils twice his size, and behind him slashing
blades were taking an impossible toll as the mortals followed. A phantom knight wielding
a very real sword was hacking and hewing a shining path through his Barbazu lines,
leading another thrust.
Into the center of his Malebranche smashed the leaders of the mortals, and Chartooth
found himself recoiling in fear as he met the eyes of Captain Grassmore.
For centuries had he tormented this Man. Always, the Captain died at his hands, and
his alone. Torture, mind games, soul-breaking grief and pain, he had inflicted it all on the
once-honorable soul, breaking him over and over and driving any and all hope for him or
his men away.
And now the eyes opposite him were full of wrath, full of power, and in his hand
was a fabled blade wrought singing from the essence of Paradise, and it was coming for
him!
To either side of the coming Captain, great Horned Devils went up in pillars of
white fire, screaming in a horror only the Eternal could know as they were consumed
consumed! True Death! And a sword in the hands of a Man whose merest glance made
the Diabolic general flinch back in fear.
Golden arrows raced over the legion of Devils like bolts of sunlight, and where they
struck, Devils reeled and Men struck them down. The screams of the Diabolic warred
with a choir of Angels and valiant souls exacting retribution, and the Doomed came for
him.
He tried to unleash sorcery, hellfire, mind-ripping assaults he hoarded for other
battles, other times, and failed utterly, eyes turning wide to where a Man stood with two
hallowed souls, their hands clasped together on a staff and a chalice shining with more
Divine power then he could believe existed in this time and place, and making of this

battle a mere battle.

And the Doomed Men were winning, winning as if all the lessons of centuries had
finally been learned and unleashed, as if they knew their foes better then Chardoom could
believe possible.
They rolled over the Legion with zeal and wrath, and the soldiers of Hell died, died
in disbelief, and died screaming as the vivic fires of True Death spread and began to
claim them.
An Urkhar warrior, cleaving Devils with movements more mechanical then a golem,
soul ablaze with appalling might. A woman weaving spells tirelessly, healing magic
surging and playing across Men and mending them when they might fall, bolstering and
reinforcing, occasionally lashing out with a bolt of radiant light or pure force to rip open
a strongpoint for the seeking blades.
And then Chardoom was alone.
His bodyguards had been swept away from him by the Man by the Archdukes, a
Source Eternal was walking Strife! and the Urkhar, and the officers of the Sixth.
Captain Grassmore lifted the Iris of the Eladrin to the creature who had killed him
thousands of times, and the sword sang a terrible, beautiful song of the wrath of the
Heavens. Chardoom lifted his massive dark scythe, filled with a fear more profound then
any he could remember, and his victim came for him.
-----------------------------------------------------The dead arose from the thick grass, drooped in wildflowers, and this time their
comrades were waiting for them, assuring them that it had not been a dream, and that the
end of their Doom was near.
Captain Grassmore shook the hands of each of his men who returned to him,
wearing the seared scars of the final blow of the Pit Fiend Chardoom with pride.
Centuries of pain and agony, and now redemption and just one death in returnbut that
one was True Death.
Men of the Sixth, it is time we took our leave of this place. His voice was tired but
proud. Grasp the hand of your brother, and hold it tight. We are going home at last.
Home was fallen centuries ago, but the home they spoke off was the home denied
the Doomed. Quietly, the soldiers clasped their hands to those of the men beside them,
laid a hand on the shoulder of those before them, as the Captain did to the spectral priest
before himself.
Duty glowed in the earth before them, the runes that defied mortal understanding

promising only rest now. A soul once called Erasmer looked about with his eyes deep
with the light of the sun, nodded once, and reached forwards to clasp the hilt of the
Clansword with his comrades.
Vivic fire rose, but somehow gentler, less feasting on the defiant then invited in to
purge that which did not belong. Unwhite fires billowed up with a speed and cleanliness
unlike anything which had claimed the Devils the day before, and raced down the lines of
waiting soldiers, their mounts, and the very ground and soil that had seen so much of
their blood.
Three hundred souls went up in True Death, and as they did they sang gently the
fighting song of a Nation fallen five hundred years prior. Errant stood back and watched
their souls leap free into the skies of Strife and what lay beyond, bound for their final
reward, following the first to leap free of this life for the Hereafter.
A Duty fulfilled, and now, finally, at an end.

Epic Errantry VI
Impressive, isnt it? Errant ventured, letting Warren and Cheri take in the sight
before them.
This section of the plane was not uncontested. The ground here was scoured,
blasted, burned, jagged, craggy, broken and molded by incredible forceselemental
forces.
Huge elemental forces.
On the horizon towered an Arch of Fire. Two volcanoes, dozens of leagues apart and
miles high, spewing a massive holocaust of flame out of the mouth of one, bending in a
grand and mighty arch and plummeting down into the hungry maw of the other one.
Theyd been able to see the thing from hundreds of leagues away, despite the wildly
changing elevation of the land hereabout, due to the sheer height and brilliance of the
effect. It quite literally dominated this continental chunk, just as the Arch of Fire at home
dominated the whole of the Southern Wyrmlands.
Grand elemental armies roiled in endless battle about this Arch, the egress point
from their own Arch on their homeworld of Hlaeth, and a passage to the realm where the
band would find the passage to Sequester. They simply had to ride the heart of a volcanic
inferno thru the heart of elemental armies that spanned dozens of leagues.
Earth elementals made the ground heave and ripple with their passage. Lines of

flame kliks thick and leagues long reduced the land to seas of molten magma where they
passed. Overhead, cinderstorms and pyroclasms warred with sandstorms and dustclouds.
The land rippled and shifted with a grandeur and power on a scale unthinkable on their
homeworld, reflecting the ever-shifting claim of the rival forces doing battle on and about
these huge and mighty vortices of power. Literally billions of elemental creatures
engaged in grand and glorious battle, attempting to exert their control upon these loci of
earth and fire magic.
I imagine that somewhere theres a Maelstrom where Air and Water engage in
equal battle murmured Rorg in fascination, eying the sweep of lines of combat, surely
death to any merely mortal creature which made the mistake of venturing therein. And
exactly how do we pass these armies to attain our goal?
Both armies rely on vertical envelopmentFire from above and Earth from
below. Warren indicated the moving hillsprobably actually low mountains being
shuffled around by uncounted numbers of earth elementals. Its not as if earth
elementals are going to be using subterfuge to pass into the Arch. A well-woven illusion
should let us pass most of the battle simply by keeping to altitude. From there, locating a
portal to the Burning should not be difficult.
Except some of us just arent going to be able to survive in a land of Elemental
Fire, Errant noted with some amusement.
Sources carry their home realm with them. Imposing that on other realms takes
only will and appropriate foci for a Source Aura. Errant lifted an eyebrow at Kavva as
she held out an armband for him, wrought of well, something, he wasnt quite sure
what alloy. Very intricate runework, layered on one another, like winding knots. It felt
alive in his handsand when it shifted under his fingers, he realized it was.
A crystalline symbiote? he asked, holding it up to the Archs light, where the
unmetal of the thing suddenly looked more transparent, and the runework spiraled
through the creature like veins would a normal being.
Correct. Supposed to use your Source Aura to adjust your environment or you to
something that can survive thereIm not quite sure which. He lifted his other eyebrow,
to which she just smiled.
Irritated and not exactly enthusiastic, he nevertheless uncoiled the creature, and
wound it around his shield arm carefully, under his sleeve. It seemed to hum happily, and
the runework arteries glimmered slightly to his eyes.
Wonderful. And I imagine youll summon up a flying mount out of Source mana to
give me a ride.
How did you guess? she smiled more widely. He shook his head as she began to
weave a spell, and Warren began to concentrate on a concealing illusion of enormous

subtlety and power to ward off prying eyesof which there would be many.
=======================
It took enormous power to stave off the superheated, ash-choked wind that could
literally flay skin from bone. Subtle magic wove about them a glamour of smoke and
shadow, coils of dark vapor suddenly coalescing and flaming and dying out in
spontaneous reaction to the superheated, elementally saturated atmosphere. There were
fumes so toxic as to slay a normal man outright, the air was hot enough to char the flesh,
and it only got worse as they came sweeping in over the center of the conflict, leagues
above the earth, heading towards the Arch.
To the eyes of the spellcasters, this place was a violent, seething nexus of raw
elemental power. Here the power of fire was continually focused and channeled by the
eternal strength of earth and stone, the war a struggle to burst free of such constraints
versus the desire to choke it off entirely. Hundreds of square leagues devoted to a war
longer then a Great Age of Men, and likely to continue for another.
The flaming legions were less then concerned about an attack from on high, where
their land-bound enemies could not go, especially one closing on the emergent end of the
Arch, where Fire was at its strongest. Warren was as good at evading the piercing eyes of
seekers as he was at seeking them himself.
The sound of the Arch was like the heart of a thunderstorm, a rumbling force of
flame beyond apocalypseyet laden by so much elemental power that the same spells
which warded off its effects were also enhanced by the proximity to so much raw magical
power. What passed for air here was literally shaking with the force howling
heavenwards past them as the party swept into the vortex of rising heat generated by the
Archand were drawn inexorably into the heart of the inferno.
Errant couldnt see a bloody thing, but since they were literally riding something
moving faster then a hurricane wind, he decided that wasnt a bad thing. He felt
incredibly hot, but wasnt uncomfortablewhich, of course, made him very
uncomfortable at the contradiction in sensation. The phantasmal horse he rose was like a
creature of solid ash and smoke, eyes like cinders as its magic fed off the pyrhic energy
all about to twist the spell from the misty original form. He just sighed and waited in the
saddle, careful to keep his seat at all costsgetting lost in this firestorm would quite
likely be something he couldnt make right
His sense of distance and relativity was shot all to hell, which was much less
comforting, as he had no way to establish his bearings, tell how fast they were going, or
how far theyd come.
This wasnt a storm on the terrestrial scalehe was pretty sure they were moving
faster then Dragons did along the white road, and that could be very, very fast. Lets see,
the volcanoes of the Arch here were about 24 leagues apart, a semicircle would be, um,

about one and half times that, 36 leagues or so, estimating a speed conservatively at two
hundred leagues an hour if what the windmages said about the inside of tornadoes was
true, possibly faster
Of course, it would help if gravity had stayed a relative constant. That was annoying
too
The others could communicate by telepathic linkhe was literally riding along
blind, his steed keeping with the others by Kavvas mental control. He could, of course,
sense her relative distance and direction, somewhere over there out of sight in the middle
of the pyroplasm all about.
Bah. He didnt belong here, this plane-travelling stuff was for bloody magos who
couldnt keep their feet on the Land
And for mothers out looking for the unborn souls of their children.
Errant felt a growl start deep in his belly as he considered the sheer abomination of
that fact, that profound messing with the natural order. Striking at the very fountain of
life, before any attempt could be made to defend oneselfthis was beyond striking at the
young, the innocent
Someone was going to pay for what they were doing. Some bitch of a Dragon Wyrm
supposed to have been dead a thousand years
-------------------------------Kavva shuddered at the surge of emotion coming through the Source bond. She was
experienced at mind reading, plumbing the depths of secrets men liked to keep hidden by
any manner of defenses and stratagems and trickery. But this Source bond was not like
thisErrant hid a hurricane of emotions beneath that veneer of calm he carried, a wild
surge of emotions stronger and more primal then any merely civilized man had a right to
feel. He wasnt trying to hide anything, or suppress what was inside himhe merely
channeled it this way and that as the need took him.
And what she felt now was a disgust and wrath so powerful it made her heart
tremble just to know it was out there.
She had been told that managing a Source bond was all about emotional powerher
own emotional strength was so far below his that he probably hardly felt it. It would take
all her sense of will and self not to be swept up in his overwhelming sense of purpose and
work it to her own goals and objectivesand keep those goals separate from his own.
All her life had been emotional control and misdirection. There was no such subtlety
hereonly power and the discipline to make of it a weapon.

And make a weapon of it she would.

She had taken a crash course in magic on more levels then she had believed, and
knew her understanding and awareness of magic was far, far below that of Warren, who
was not even a true Magus himself, restricted by his own holy oaths on what he could and
could not do. She would have to be much, much more to manage the raw power a Source
could supply.
A huge step for a Knight of the Night Rose. Despite herself, she smiled. There was
no situation a Night Rose could not handle, if properly prepared. And she was among the
best of the Night Roseshe would not fail at this task, as she had not failed at any other
she had been set.
Errant gave no sign he had noticed any of her own emotions. Likely they were
simply lost in the maelstrom of his own thoughts. Aware of himself, but not the most
empathic of people. Usable and unusable all at once.
A challenge. She had never failed at a challenge.
The exit vortex is approaching. Bring them in closer. Warrens firm voice was
incredibly reassuring on the telepathic link. Warders could be distinct pains to deal with
in more subtle situations, although they made superb distractions, but for straight up
dealing they were by far more reliable then most magi. Cheri had made herself a fine
catch landing one for herself, and having a Sacred Mage watched over by a minimum of
two Gods couldnt be a bad thing.
He could obviously plumb farther ahead into this seething mass of pyrhic energy all
around them, this holocaust of literally coagulated elemental mana. It was a skill she was
going to have to develop further, obviously.
It was good to have goals.
---------------------------------------------------Okay, that was a big vortex, if even he could see it. Glowing right through this soup
of fire stuff all around them. Rorg grinned despite himself, bawling out a half-formed
song he would have to have some Halvyr wordsmith fine-tune for him. Riding down the
throat of an Arch of Fire to travel to a distant fiery realm, merely as the first step in a
grand and glorious journey, a great adventure. Oi, but theyd be telling tales to his
younglings of how he dove headfirst into a pool of fire a league across-!
He couldnt help shouting out in pure glee and excitement as they plummeted into
the portal to the Burning.
Blah! Errant spat and tried to clean out his mouth, and that certainly didnt work.

There was an ocean of lava below them, bubbling and seething with the inflow of
the vortex, but the plane was obviously absorbing the force of the elemental energy and
dispersing it through this horizon-wide sea of magma. A fountain of burning droplets lept
hundreds of meters into the air, and it was out of this churning mass of substitute water
that they were ejected and flying free.
The air smelled like brimstone and tasted worse. He hated planar travel. At least this
place had gravity, even if he had not the slightest clue which way was north. Hed have to
establish some kind of bearing, probably based on this vortex being fairly static.
Feh, Warren would cast a spell and find the way. And hed get to be towed around
like a cub on a string.
He really, really wanted to kill something. And get back home. Something was
going to be quite dead when he found it and it got in his way. Pity he couldnt feel as
enthusiastic as Rorg obviously was, grinning madly and waving his hands around like a
fool, and singing something he couldnt hear over the constant roar of burning flames and
churning lava and howling winds blowing around with cyclonic force.
There, Warren was pointing, out over the sea of lavatowards what looked like a
massive hemisphere of fire that covered about half the horizon. Errant wondered what it
was as his mount turned and followed the others, and shrugged, taking the time to take
out his crossbow for some ranged punchjust in case.
----------------------------Eh, looks like hes trying to get together some sort of army. Errant studied the
layout of the camps below, laid out with unnatural neatness on the smoking landscape.
He had learned to ignore the spontaneous gouts of fire and hot gas that belched out of
tiny craters in the ground with the aplomb of a hunter. I see salamanders, fire-dwarves,
fire Jotuns, hell hounds, and what looks like an Ifrit with a few Devils or something for
bodyguards. Theres a couple really big golems by the main doors to that keepIm
assuming made of iron, so the ambient temperature heals them. He glanced at Warren
with an arched eyebrow. Not a bad personal armydidnt you say this thing was a
Firenewt?
Yes. I would have to assume that the creatures below are mercenaries. I cant
imagine anything but the salamanders as personal followers Warren frowned. Where
would he keep the striders? Theyd be out playing in the flames, wouldnt they?
Swimming in that lava moat, or out in the pool there, like crocs. Not much chance
of a random elemental manifesting there. His personal newts are probably inside the
keeplooks like he could barracks a couple hundred, depending on how deep the insides
go. Errant paused to rub his chin. Id rather not be fighting through all of that.
However, that has to be a fairly expensive set of mercs, which means cash going out,
which means this snake is under time pressure. Im assuming those big chimneys are for

the subterranean forges hes using, and the fire-dwarves

Azer, Warren submitted mildly.
Azer, then, are being used as smiths. If we can get over the walls, I doubt those
Jotuns can even fit insideand the Ifrit will doubtless sit and wait to see what develops.
A single Genie is most likely an envoy, yes?
Most likely, Kavva spoke up from his other side. Those bodyguards indicate
some importance, but without a personal force alongside it, the Ifrit hasnt been trusted
with risking his masters forces.
So the task is getting inside. Made a bit more difficult by the presence of the hell
hounds. Errant cracked his knuckles. Im sure Rorg is up for hacking on some Jotuns,
and cold magic is in supply. Kavva simply smiled. Time to lure a few dogs up to be
butchered, sit back and wait for the rest.
Axiomatics? Warren asked sharply, suddenly realizing the meaning of the tooneat camp.
Yeah, smiled Errant, hand on the pommel of Duty. Theyll know something is
wrong, just not whatand come streaming up to get killed. I imagine the rest of the
mercs will sit and wonder whats happeningthey arent getting paid to avenge dogs,
after all.
And how do you plan to lure them?
Well, they may be sentient, evil and fire-breathing bastards, but they are still dogs.
Howzabout a simple cantrip making something that smells just mouth-wateringly good to
them and blow it down towards the camp? Errant ventured with a hunters easy calm.
Freshly smoked, burned Faerie, or something.
Both Kavva and Warren wrinkled their noses at the idea, but the wicked light in
Errants eyes hadnt changed. I think we can manage that, Warren supplied, turning the
idea over in his mind, and seeing nothing wrong with itit wasnt as if they actually
were roasting a Pixie or something.
Good. Lay the trap, prep for the Jotuns to come up and find out what their dogs are
finding so interesting, and lets get to removing a few obstacles.
======================
Fully two dozen pits-black hell hounds lay in bits and pieces over the scorched
landscapeliterally, because most had been flash-frozen and shattered by their own
movements. The ice was melting with great speed in the oven-like heat, but that didnt
deter the five as they liberated the obsidian and ruby collars of the beasts for posterity.

The other Jotuns know something is up, but arent pressing the attack, Kavva
reported on the telepathic bond, which Warren repeated aloud for the benefit of Errant
and Cheri.
Good, Errant grunted. Theyll be angry about the dogs, but those are the breaks.
Evidence of use of cold will be gone in minutesall they know is something out here
butchered a bunch of hell hounds and two of their ownif they want to split forces, more
power to them.
Rest and let them wonder, then? Rorg asked easily, several jewelled collars strung
over his arm, adding another after calmly chopping the head off another dead hound.
How do we get past the golems? Cheri inquired calmly, runes on her bow glowing
a pale blue in the sulphurous light.
I dont imagine those Jotuns will sit in place too long. Some are going to come out
here carefully and make sure whatever is doing the killing is goneand if its not, they
are going to be ordered to drive it away. Errant considered the thought. We also want
the Firenewts in a tizzy. How about summoning up a magma elemental and having it take
down the striders one after another? That should get things rolling
=========================
They look excited, Errant noted, as they watched the third party of Jotuns milling
around the bodies of their dead.
Could it be they never saw one of their own beheaded with a single stroke? asked
Rorg archly.
Id be more impressed seeing one of those breastplates split in two with one blow,
Warren interjected easily. I imagine they think something very big and very strong is out
here and waiting for them.
Disinagrating the one was a great ideathey probably think he was dragged off for
dinner. Errant tipped his hat to Kavva, who bowed once. How long before the wards
you laid go off?
All five bodies have to be turned over, and it looks like they are grabbing them
right about now
Pale white light, almost an affront to the eyes in this world of reds and yellows and
blacks, blew up and outwards in five overlapping circles of cyromancy. Four Jotuns fell,
frozen instantly to the bone, only one managing to stagger away from the circle of effect.
Cheris arrow slammed into the Jotuns skull from two hundred paces, and dropped

him instantly, detonating inside his skull with an icy flash of light.
There now. I think the rest of the Jotuns will be leaving soon, now that half of them
are dead, and they still dont know what they are facingor the master of the place is
going to start summoning things to come out and investigate. Errant cracked his
knuckles. Tomorrow we go in.
========================
The wards in place around the keep could be used against the enemy as well as for
them. The Devils that were at the front of the bridge couldnt teleport away as the magma
elemental reached up and dragged one downand Errant came up off of the heavy liquid
stone that felt no warmer then a hot bath, and sliced Duty through the second. It blew up
in a column of hungry vivic fire as its companion vanished beneath the lava.
The golems animated slowly, great iron giants with furnaces inside, shells of iron
nearly red-hot as they drew on the ambient power about.
Rorg came over the edge of the bridge beside the first one as it stepped forwards,
and Shrek hewed twice.
Hollow iron rang in protest as the legs were cut through, and the golem pitched
forwards almost at Errants feet. Duty lashed a long split along the rivets of neck and
back, and tore the animated construct open.
The second one was still focused on him, and he hopped back a pace as a monstrous
axe came down and punched right through the drawbridge. It turned to regard Rorg as the
Urkhar stepped over, and Shreks curved blade cut screaming through the metal it was
forged of with two monstrous blows. A casual shoulder shove as it fell apart sent it
toppling into the lava, and the Urkhar smiled winningly.
Cheri and Kavva flipped up over the edges of the bridge, and Warren levitated up
calmly behind them.
Illusion is in place, he reported calmly, turning his enhanced vision on the doors.
Standard gatewards, nothing spectacular. He held forth his staff and closed his eyes,
more feeling then seeing now. The magic has the taint of Hell upon itthere is a great
deal of the Diabolic about this place.
Thats news, Errant coughed, earning a wry smile out of the Warder as the light
on his staff flared, once, twice, thrice. A ring on his hand gleamed, and on the other side,
something lifted off and out of the way.
With casual flare, Rorg pushed on the iron doors, and they swung effortlessly open
on marvelously engineered hinges.

Time to meet the maker, Errant stated with real expectation, and moved up beside
the Crystal Breaker expectantly.
=================
Fool! Deceiver and liar! Slave to the betrayers!
Hearing an Angel crying out such words was painful. Seeing a black halo illumning
his Aura was worse. Grimly, Warren parried every blow of the dark sword lashing at him,
trying not to see the blackening wings, the fire of hellfire inside the Angels eyes.
I lie to no one, he replied, his staff spinning, and then snapping out to punch into
the Angels belly with surprising grace and speed. I know of your story, Herald of the
Heavenswhy do you think I am here?
You are here to complete my betrayal! hissed the Angel, rising once more to his
feet and lashing out for the Warder. I would have paid them back for the dishonor, for
the treachery, for all the empty lies fed to me over all the millennia of service! They
could not let it happen, and sent you to stop me!
Warren burst out laughing despite himself, and the infuriated Angel had to pause a
moment at the undisguised mirth in the humans voice.
Look at that Man butchering your fiery masteris there the slightest thing holy
about him? Warily, the Angel glanced at Errant, who was driving back the great
Firenewt who called himself the Scorchlord with energy, enthusiasmand obliviousness
to the magic the firescaled creature was attempting to whelm on him. Or that Urkhar
taking it to the Fiend that has been whispering in your ear? Or my wife, or the Maga,
slaughtering the newts and Azer who attempt to come to the aid of your associates? No,
my friend, they are not here at the behest of great powersyour little scheme is but a
bump in the road of our journey, a sidestep to a greater purpose. You just happened to be
in our way.
The expression on the Angels face at the pure truth of his words was indicative of
the hammerblow to his heart. I do not I cannot believe
That Man is a Source, as is my wife. Warren did not press his attack, instead
taking a careful step back and returning his staff to guard position. Not even the Gods
can predict where and when they go and what they do. Which means, no action has been
taken against you. Your masters are doubtless aware of what you have done and planned
to dobut you are not, are you? You have forgotten.
Eyes flaming with hellfire spun on him. I have forgotten nothing!
You have forgotten everything, Warren corrected firmly. A Fiend has whispered
in your ear, and his poison has found his home. You know, in the depth of your soul, that

Good, True Good, never, ever abandons its own. You had millennia of experience to see
that this is true, true beyond the lies of Fiends. While Good may sacrifice themselves,
they do not sacrifice others. You were not sacrificedyou chose to sacrifice yourself, did
you not?
The Angel tensed, warring with memories and lies within himself, trembling at the
fury of emotions. I was used and abandoned by my superiors! he sneered, but there was
now a hesitation in his ringing voice. Cast away so that they might save face and not pay
the price for their own errors!
And you know that if you had not chosen to take the blame, they would have.
Warrens voice was gentle iron, shaking the resolve of the Angel even farther. And yet,
you have forgotten. Forgotten how it is that Good works. You let yourself be seduced by
the lies of how the Fallen see what the Heavens do, instead of what your lifetime of
service proved over and over.
The Good always offer redemption. And where Evil uses trickery, unscrupulous
tactics, anything that will work, Good retains its power through foresight and the
willingness of those who follow it to sacrifice for others.
The Angel hesitated again, sword poised like a stinger, but unable to strike. What
are you speaking of?
You did not Fall, Herald. To Fall, Hell must open to you and embrace you. You
merely seemed to Fall. Do you not retain your celestial powers, twisted by the Hells as
they may be? Is not the home of your spirit still the Heavens? You were merely made to
seem to Fall, so that you might make of yourself your Redemptionand to be put into
place to avert a great Evil. And in their arrogance, the Fell Powers took the bait, and
ushered you into their fold, and brought you to the place where you might forge yourself
and your duty anew.
The Angel was trembling now, trying to maintain composure, trying to consider the
ramifications of what he was being told. I do not understand, he whispered, hollow and
weak; unconvinced but in desperate need to believe.
Look about you, Herald. Warren swept his arms out to encompass the forgeroom.
You are in the heart of a great Evil, the one perfect place for an Angel to be to do the
right thing. Do you think that you are here by accident?!
The Angels expression shattered with that Revelation, total awe and wonder
replacing completely the bitter fury and bleak despair which had empowered him. Wide
eyes turned, to take in the whole of the room, to look upon the great dark forge at the core
of the Fortress, fairly seething with the energies of fire and death.
Warren watched the Angel fall to his knees, and at last the tears began to come as
the sword fell with a clatter to the basalt floor, and the healing began.

Opposite him, Errant drove Duty through the open jaws of the Scorchlord and out
the rear of its skull, ignoring the fiery breath being vented on him. A glowing arrow
punched into the nose of the looming dark mass of the pit fiend, who reeled just in time
for a mighty blow from Rorg to open it up from collarbone to groin. The main floors and
entry passages were thick with ice and the frozen figures of the servants of the
Scorchlord, the air temperature almost down to normal human tolerances by the sheer
amount of cyromancy Kavva had laid down on the massed forces.
Warren stepped aside, and the assassins blow hissed past his backside, sending the
half-Devil stumbling forward and past him. His staff inserted between legs, and sent the
slayer sprawling smoothly, at the feet of the fallen Angel.
Look into the heart of this creature, and see if its soul truly matches what you want
your own to be, he stated calmly.
The twisted snarl of the killer faded as flaming eyes turned on him, pinned in an
instant by the power of the Archons gaze. Black teeth worked soundlessly in the cruel
mouth as the Angel looked deep, deep into what passed for a soul of the creature, and
took measure of it.
The blow of the wing was dismissive and abrupt, sweeping the killer away from the
angel with true power and a flash of renewed spiritual strength. Warren turned to watch
the shadow-killer bounce off a wall and slide to the ground, stunned for a moment, before
regaining his feet.
And against the true servants of Darkness, knowest thee no restraint nor bounds
upon the Wrath of the Heavens that thee might lay upon them, he recited calmly,
bringing his staff down to bear. The assassin had only a moment of shock before the
whole room filled with the holy light that blazed off of the silver symbol hanging upon
Warrens chest, and the scream of a dark soul consigned to Damnation echoed a final
time in the hallowed light.
Warren brought his staff back up, turning away from the white outline charred into
the black basalt where the killer had died. His eyes fell upon the still kneeling Archon
with both the fire of belief and the power of compassion.
I do not serve the powers that you once did, as I am sure you know. But He whom I
serve serves the greater power that they do, and the great Powers of Good do not abandon
their ownever. He held out his hand to the weeping Archon calmly. Come. It is time
for you to see that as well.
And with shaking hand, the Angel reached up to grip the palm of mortal Man, and
be lifted once more.

And to Sequester.
Epic Errantry VII
The portal to Sequester was buried down in the keeps lowest portions, tucked away
in a dusty corner where no one went. Folk who lived on the Planes had better means of
traveling then using portal networks, and there were certainly more convenient ones to be
had if you had connections.
If you didnt have connections, then this one worked out just fine, as forgotten and
dusty as the name of the place implied.
Of course, arriving there once Kavva triggered the thing was something a little bit
different.
The first thing was the howl of the windlike a zillion or so forgotten souls wailing
to be heard, to be remembered, a sound that went right past the ears to grate on your
temples and forebrain like an energetic and demented harpsichord. Then, of course, was
the wind itself, racing through untold leagues of tunnels carved out of the rock or
whatever this Plane was made out of, alternately an irritating breeze that seemed to pluck
at any loose element and try to carry it awayon up to a hurricane-force gale driven by
the screams of banshees, quite capable of picking THEM up and carrying them away.
Someone has a very poor sense of humor, groused Errant, rubbing at his ears. The
air here tasted stale and old, for all the motion it kept indry and gritty, like an old tomb
best left undisturbed. And that was the whole pointthis Plane was used to bury things
better left forgotten. Warren didnt have much problem dealing with most of the ambient
noise or wind, encircling them in a pair of spells that defied bothbut Errant could still
hear the screaming at the edge of his senses, and it sent hairs up his neck. This place was
going to be bad for his paranoia, especially since there was absolutely no light to be
found.
We need to go that-a-way, the Warder stated matter-of-factly, the light from the
akastar on his staff bending like a living thing and plunging ahead to illuminate the
unbroken darkness. Its more then a few leagues, but you cant summon creatures to
Sequester, so well have to hoof it.
Errant didnt mind that news much at all, although the others groaned aloud at the
Warders words.
They had left the angel behind to secure the keep, having stayed long enough to see
the reforged weapon destroyed instead of remade, and the Ifrit who had left and
thoughtfully come back with a force of servant salamanders and a few more Devils
destroyed with equal thoughtfulness on their part. It had, of course, attempted to bribe
them with Genie-granted wishes after they butchered most of its force and sent the rest
fleeing in fear of the seemingly never-ending cascades of ice assaulting them, but Errant

had just looked at the Genie, shaken his head once, and taken the Ifrits with Duty. Like
his Diabolic bodyguards, the Ifrit would not be coming back.
The Herald had promised to stay long enough to make sure the weapon was truly
useless, and then transport the remains to a safe location. Errant had openly wondered
aloud why they didnt just take the thing back into Sequester where it had been hidden
and dispose of it there, been thumped solidly by Warren muttering things about
obligations, duty, doing the right thing, and shut up as the Herald Archon went about his
tasks with new zeal, the blackness and hellfire almost burning out of him as he
discovered a new power within himself. Errant wasnt about to get into moral and
religious aspects of servants of the Higher Powers.
The trip was mostly boringa lot of walking on wind-carved tunnels that even over
the eons had not managed to smooth much of the stonework down, which only cemented
Errants opinions that it wasnt stone. There were way too many jagged edges about the
walls, looking more like shredding blades designed to slice apart hapless fools trying to
ride the wind, and the stone drank up light like a starving man did water.
There were, of course, things here. Perhaps they had gotten free, perhaps once they
had been guardians, perhaps idiots whod stumbled in and didnt find the way out.
Whatever, they were largely umbral creatures, woven of darkness and well past the point
of sanity, come streaming out of the wind and the darkness to attack them.
Duty had set them free, flashes of white searing into the unstone of their path,
hewing with grim vigor and power through the packs of creatures as holy light ate them
away, and bursts of power straight from the sun encompassed and devoured them.
Debris being impelled by the winds was a different matter, but the Winds Ward
Warren had erected dealt with most of those, almost like whirling blades of stone hissing
through the air for them.
And lastly, there was a pack of Demons whod found their way in, and couldnt find
their way out, and had naturally been driven totally bonkers by the screaming wind.
Theyd attacked savagely, almost mindlesslynot all that different from normally,
thought Errant, as he split a vulture-demon in two, took off the head of a skeletondemon, and hewed down a pair of ghoul demons who thought the spellcasters looked
tastier then the two warriors ripping them apart. Warren fairly blew them away with a
spell that looked taken right from the heart of Aru, dissolving the vast number of them in
a tide of light that was like a warm balm to the souland merciless judgment to the
Dead.
=====================================
Angels.
The party regarded the Celestials warily, and were regarded in turn. Warrens staff

was leading directly to them, no doubt about it, and this chamber off the tunnel was
mostly out of the wind, and secured by magic against the screams and things of the plane.
Not servants of Mithar or any God we know, I bet, Errant went on, studying them.
He hadnt seen many Celestials, of courseexcept Sylunes Handmaiden, which had
been quite the treat. But if what he remembered was any guide, the golden-skinned,
silver-winged female was a Solar, and a right nasty customer. The darker-skinned fellow
with bronzed wings and silver ornamentation was some variant of a Planetar, with stars
for eyes where the Solar had suns.
Two Sources and a Night Rose with me, Warren sighed despite himself. I
wonder if they will even talk to me.
Arent they supposed to be even holier then you, paladine? Rorg asked carefully.
He had been anticipating guardians of what they sought, of course, but been expecting
ancient constructs or something, not servants of the Higher Powers. He was not prepared
to do battle with Angelsthat would be a very bad thing to have in the tales of his name,
unborn souls or no.
The Celestials have millennia to contemplate the whys and ways of Good, and tend
to think in terms and references mortals dont understand. He squared his shoulders up
and started forwards gamely. Remain here, please. I dont want to offend them any more
then I have to.
Errant smiled despite himself, meeting the gaze of both Celestials easily. They were
champions of their kind and Cause, and he had no doubt they recognized him as a
champion of a Cause much more primal then their own. Go to it, holy man. I dont think
any of us want to carve up Angelslets find a way around it if possible.
The Warder politely and carefully picked his way over to where the two Celestial
beings were standing, shedding their gold and silver light and towering over him as he
bowed before them. Errant heard them start to speak, in the ringing, pure language of
those who hailed from the Heavens, not a language hed ever bothered to learn, and
simply waitedwhile Kavva, somewhat more informed, listened closely for all of them.
They are indeed the guardians of the portal to the one we seek. It seems they serve
for several centuries at a time and then yield the post to another. Their instructions are
quite clear and explicitthey are not to allow anyone passage to the fallen God, period.
And they are more then willing to fight to insure that it stays that way, she reported
carefully.
Errant lifted an eyebrow as Kavva slowly relayed the very diplomatic, but very firm
and stern gist of the conversation. They are posted here? Posted by whom? he inquired
off-handedly. And does Mithar have any pull with them?
Kavva glanced at him, considering those words. Warren is not getting anywhere

with arguments about them helping further a great Evil by doing nothing. Their orders are
very clear and firm, and they are not ones to challenge the rulings of Higher Powers. You
are sayingto go over their heads?
They are just minions, Errant answered, without batting an eye. The situation has
changed. Now, their post is not to further punishment upon a transgressor, but to allow
others to take advantage of what the transgressor has done. Their post is now without
purpose or causethat which they were attempting to prevent is taking place now, and to
stop it requires passing them. Errant cracked his knuckles. Ill balance the lives of two
Angels against uncounted unborn souls any day of the week. And I think the Celestials
know it too, if Warren has been erudite enough to explain it, and they are listening to us
yammer on.
Kavvas brow furrowed a bit as she relayed the idea to Warren telepathically. The
Warder didnt even pause, but went off on a different track immediately.
Their master is indeed unknown to us, but they do know of Mithar. Ah, divine
politics, you have to love them. They seem very interested in current happenings, which I
imagine they dont know much of. They are sympathetic, but again, unwilling to
contravene their orders in the face of greater wisdom. Up the chain of command well
have to go. Kavva rubbed her hands together. I think it is a very good thing we brought
a Warder along, dont you?
Warren bowed and retreated from the presence of the two magnificent beings, who
continued to watch the party warily.
Their lord is a God unknown to me, but with knowledge of Mithar I believe I will
be granted leave to speak with him by virtue of their obedience to similar virtuesI need
merely get an introduction. He smiled despite himself. I had no idea Angels were in so
many places.
Get to your communing with the Divine, and well make camp. Assuming we can
gain entry, weve a fallen God to roustand maybe, finally, put an end to his
punishment. Errants eyes held a dark spark in them. The very idea that he could be
facing a God, even a former, fallen one, in combat, was a tantalizing prospect. He
wondered how much different it would be then facing a fallen Jytan Paragon endowed
with the power of the Taint and darker Gods then dwelled here.
======================
Seeing surprise on the aristocratic, too-perfect features of an Angel was amusing.
Obviously, the pair of them had not thought that a band of mere mortalsand two
Eternalscould possibly command the influence and be involved in a situation dire
enough to require the contravening of their millennia-old duties and post.
But that was obviously exactly what was happening. The greater Angel conferred

hurriedly with her companion, who was as astonished as she, but plainly unwilling to
gainsay a direct order from the entity which commanded them.
It appears that your mission is pure, even if your hearts are not. Errant just met her
eyes of judgment with a frank opinion of his own, which made her look away sharply
after a glance. He didnt know what she read on him, but it was plain to see that it wasnt
something going to be swayed by the opinions of a celestial minion. I will form the
portal to enter, but be warnedthere is no way out of this prison for any who enter,
unless the need for the prison itself is done.
Meaning we have to kill the poor bastard to get out. Always handy, the high morals
leaving themselves an out, just in case. Errant just shrugged, Duty at hand and the grim
gray blade drawing more then a few sharp, startled glances from the angelic guardians.
The runes on it were politely quiescent, but that still didnt disguise the make and
material of the weapon, as something that might have come from the forge of the angelic
forges themselves.
With a sound like a thousand cymbals shaking with crystalline clarity, the Solar held
up her hands and began to spin. As she did, her golden body began to flow and shift,
expanding outwards into a glowing circle of empyreal metal carved in runes taken
straight from the highest of Heavens, much too profound to be comprehended, let alone
used. Silver and gold and rainbow light blurred together in an iridescent disk of power
within that circle, humming with ominous yet gentle purity as the spinning came to a halt,
facing them.
Always showy, Errant noted to Kavva, who stifled a giggle as she followed Rorg
and then Errant through the portal to the prison of a forgotten God.
-------------------------------Distressingly simple. I imagine after a few Eons this place would get pretty
boring. Errant peered at the cartoonish, child-like drawings on the walls, scarred and
defaced in frustration or ennui. Any idea who the denizens of this place are? He looked
ahead to where light shone, blades and bows and spells out and ready and prepped to
rumble.
Personal servants who stayed faithful. Beyond that, we know nothing. Warren
gripped his staff more firmly. I will note that there was no indication that the God we are
about to face was an evil God. From what Trencher related to me, it seems more that he
overstepped his bounds, not that he was madly pursuing power.
Six of one, shrugged Errant. I imagine Gods grasp power any number of ways,
and justify it even more inventively. He started forwards, shield up, Duty ready, and
walked towards the light.
--------------------------------

They died so gladly it was almost sickening. Once, they had been Lillends, the
Bards of the Planes, creatures of song and music and beauty, bringing delight to the
courts of the Gods, Inspiration to mortals, and Enchantment to dreamers and poets across
a hundred realms.
Now they were listless mockeries of their former selves, bereft of anything new and
different to draw their own Inspirations from, trapped in a featureless chamber of stone
from which they could draw nothing to whet their own fires of creativity. The colors of
wings and scales were dimmed and grayed, their instruments pieces of rubble strewn
apart in the corners of the room in frustration and madness, and the wild, deranged hope
in their eyes when the Rune blazed upon his sword and offered them a Release Pure and
Final was hard for even Errant to take.
One after another, they came for him, shadows of pride still clinging to them, and
real skill moving the blades that cut at him. They would die singing, be killed, but not
without a battleand as honorable a battle as their foes cared to make it.
One after another, his eyes as grim as set as anyone had ever seen them, he killed
them, and the vivic flame took them away. Rorg did battle with the last pair, and Errant
finished both off as the Urkhar crushed them, both of them familiar with serpentine
attacks and undeterred by foes able to fly.
The others watched in horrified sorrow as these travesties of Celestial Muses were
finally Released. Warren in particular was grim, for to command the loyalties of such
creatures was to not be a Dark God by any stretch of the imaginationbut once a God of
Creation and Music, who had probably thought that safeguarding the Well of Life was
one of the highest and noblest goals He could aspire to.
They found Him in the next great chamber, resting on a chair of stone, eyes closed
as if dreaming. He was easily ten meters tall, and not even the passing Eons could hide
the divine beauty that only those who had the spark of godhood could truly possess. His
armor was worthy of the Heavenly smiths, and at his side rested a warhammer whose
head had to weigh in excess of a hundred kilos, carved with Runes of power that
obviously had not stopped those who had placed Him here.
Had He heard the fighting, the cries, the valiant and final screams of release? The
five of them stopped and considered Him, and it was Warren who pointed out the
shattered part of the disk upon His chest.
That is what we seek. Awaken, Elder! his voice rang out. Your release is at
hand! His voice seemed to swell and rise, and echoed for long, strange moments in this
last Court of a Fallen God.
Slowly, great eyes opened from dreams and passing thoughts that stretched across
the ages. As if confused, they moved here and there, finally coming down from the

throne-like height to rest on the mere Humans and Urkhar who stood before him.
Visitors. In My prison? He whispered, shaking His great, youthful-seeming head
to clear it of the cobwebs of centuries. My captors, they have reconsidered My
punishment? As He said it, He obviously knew it to be false, for His hand fell upon the
great hammer at His side.
Not Your captors, Warren answered, holding forth his staff. The trail You blazed
to the Well of Life has been seized by those of the foulest sort, and all that Those Who
Bound You feared has come to be true. A cancer sits upon the Well of Souls, feasting
upon the Unborn, and it must be removed forever. The purpose of Your punishment is
done.
Punishment. To be bound forever in a place where nothing is new, nothing created,
where time itself is the greatest enemy. Slowly, the titanic Fallen deity rose from His
crude throne, His hammer in His hands. But you do not come to release Me, little ones.
Eyes that held the haunting horror of ages studied them almost reverently.
No. Your punishment is done, and far worse it was then Your destruction. Your
followers have already been released, in the only way allowed, and Fate willing, will be
once more Reborn to serve the Muses and All That Sing. It is time for You to follow
them, Sir, and be Reborn, and not repeat the mistakes which brought You low. Warren's
face was set with the most startling contrast of grimness and mercy Errant had ever seen.
Impossibly noble features twisted with a wracking show of emotion no mortal could
fathom. Reborn? I? I was a God, little Man! I was beyond Life and Death, Beyond any
such pitiful thing as you offer Me! A great chest heaved with a loss heavier then they
could comprehend. And you come to me, and offer me Death as My Release? If such
were so simple, I would have slain Myself ages ago!
No. Errant stepped forwards then, and his eyes met those of this divine being
squarely. Suicide from fear and despair is the way of a coward, not the way of a God.
He lifted Duty, and True Death blazed along the heart of the blade. You would have
failed, and You know You would have failed. If You are to Die, You will die as a God,
and from You Your Death must be wrestedthis we know and are prepared to grant
You. Then, and only then, will Your soul be free to be Reborn somewhere, sometime,
and once again begin the long journey back to the Heavens. He brought his shield
around, settling into Classic Mitharn. That which You wear on Your neck, we need to
excise this rot from the Heart of Creation. A great hand clutched at the broken medallion
possessively. In this, we have no option. So before us is battle, and a God who can,
perhaps, be at peace.
Are you ready to die the Death of a God, Elder?
Slowly the too-noble head bowed, as magic flared and arose around Warren and the
women, and Errant and Rorg started forwards with blades out and arrayed against the

titanic being.
My Name is stricken from history. My faithful are ashes and dust ages gone. None
live who know Me and My Name, not even Myself! Great tears formed in His eyes as
He lifted His hammer. Who will remember Me? He screamed at them, setting His feet
in readiness.
The bards will sing of the Nameless God who gained His Peace at last, Rorg
promised calmly, his stride more mechanical then a golem, and far steadier. This I swear
to You!
Then let Us see if you are worthy to deliver a God His Peace! shouted the
Nameless God, and massive hammer swinging, He came for them.
----------------------------------There was no portal out. Quite simply, the prison simply faded away around them,
its purpose done, and they were standing before a very surprised pair of Celestials,
clutching at a broken medallion the size of a small shield that hummed with the last
vestiges of power of the Nameless God.
Of course, they stank of ozone and lightning, Rorg was limping and not using one
arm, his fluid armor wrenched and deformed; Errant had his shield arm strapped across
his chest, quite obviously broken. Warren and Kavva had the frazzled look of
spellbinders whod used a tremendous amount of power very fast, very hard, and Cheri
was simply wide-eyed and saying nothing, clutching the medallion fragment
possessively.
It was something to see a God die, and there was no bard or muse who would ever
be able to do true justice to what they had seen.
There was a red edge along one side and the point of Duty that had not been there
before, and along the edge of Shrek, as well. These were blades that had tasted the blood
of a God and triumphed. The Angels backed away from them astutely, and the mortals
and Eternals passed by them, uncaring and unmindful.
It was time to go.
Home, and thence to the Center of Creation itself...
Epic Errantry VIII
This amulet has 3 parts. They are both linked to one another, and more strongly to
the place where they were once forged. I sense a great amount of divine power wrapped
up in this fragment, incomplete but waiting to be rejoined. I imagine it contains the
crucial essence that the Nameless God lost when He was reduced from His true Divine

state.
Trencher sighed and set down the fragment, feeling instantly the loss of residual
power as it separated from his grip. This is indeed our guide to wherever in the Font of
Creation we need to go. Doubtless our Dragon Queen has another of the Fragments,
gained thru the bargaining with Demons? The location of the third will not be long hiding
if two of the pieces come together.
We have a Demon Prince on the case. Its viable to assume it has gained possession
of the last piece, Warren agreed, regarding the wedge of divinely forged metal intently.
To what purpose? Sabotage of the Well of Life? Trencher wondered aloud.
Does it matter? was the quick reply. Trencher thought over that rebuttal, and then
shook his head in agreement. So, if it has dispatched agents, they must have the last
piece with them.
Not necessarilyonly on the initial trip. They both looked at Errant, watching
them quietly. Blaze a trail, and then its fairly easy to find your way back if someone
lights a signal fire screaming for your attention.
Warren nodded agreement slowly. Perhaps it is for the best. We would not like to
have the amulet rejoinedit could draw a great deal of attention, and would serve as a
guide to the Font his eyes came up as he realized what he was saying. Thunder and
Silver, we have to hunt down the third piece, or this is all for naught!
Errant nodded grimly as he looked over the pair of spellcasters. Best hope its still
there, or we have to go searching. Snuffing the signal fire isnt going to be enough.
And then what do we do with it? Warren asked uneasily. There is profound
divine power herenot meant to be dealt with by mortals.
Im sure we could find an appropriate caretaker in need of a smidgen of divine
powerunless one of you wants to take a stab at deityhood. They both just blinked at
him. Didnt think so. I imagine Mithar will take it off our hands if we just beg him to. I
trust he could use a little boost that the Dark just isnt expecting.
Warren thought that over, then whistled long and low. Thats pretty subtle thinking
there, Errant.
The Source grinned a nasty smile. I imagine the Dark thinks that the Gods here
have expended a lot of power and are not ready for another big push any more then they
are. We could swing a lot of balance with a portable source of power being ushered back
and forth among the Gods and put to use. Wouldnt it be amusing if the medallion was a
way to get the Gods back to their rightful positions and break the Fall?

Warren and Trencher considered the implications, above and beyond the need of
rescuing the souls of the Unborn. Truly, this quest of theirs was taking on massive
implications.
How long before you can get us moving? Errant asked, nodding at the fragment.
Tomorrow. Trencher was firm. Ive got us the protection we need to function at
the Font. Supply up, prep for Dragon and Demon killing.
And any natives who might not like us being around? Errant asked with complete
irreverence for the hallowed nature of the place they were going.
Warren and Trencher both looked at one another. Well, theres not much
information on the lifeforms of the Font, for some reason, the Warder coughed, hiding
his discomfort.
And that surprises me, truly, Errant lied with a calm face. I trust youve the
magic needed to discern their nature when we meet them?
Certainly. I will hazard that an incorporeal status will be common among them,
being as it is the source of souls
Covered there. But if were talking stuff that is supposed to feed on souls, wed
best be about looking after our own.
Trencher and Warren considered that, and began to confer again as Errant left to get
ready in his own way.
=======================
This is very patient of you. Thank you for helping me out. Kavva made another
wrist-flick of a gesture, and streams of magical force, quicksilver and crystalline, flashed
away from her hands into the distance. Errant grunted, ignoring the thin trickles coming
out of his nose and the corners of his eyes and tracing scarlet lines down his face. Like
the broken arm hed gotten taking a shield-slamming blow from the hammer of a God,
they would heal.
Practice makes perfect. I see no reason why that shouldnt hold true for magic as
well as martial skills. He watched a cluster of prismatic light-lances flash out and into
the distance, ignoring the knife-like pain as she drew power from him to power the spell.
You didnt use offensive magic much before hooking up with me, by how much you are
practicing with it.
Correct. Subtle stuff was far more the orderillusions, glamour, shadowplay,
divination. Warren has that coveredI have to be the one to bring the power. Even
Trencher is limited on how he can manifest his power by the Earthfire Bond. She

hesitated as she glanced back and saw the mask of blood trickling down his face. Do
you need a rest? These are simple variants of existing spells. I can pseudo-cast them
I am assuming that wiggling your fingers and not doing anything is not much more
effective then practicing swordplay without a sword. How does one go about making a
practice sword for spellcasting? he inquired, clearly undeterred by the power she had
drawn away from him.
She considered the problem. Well, if I were to create a sphere of mana, I could
contain the power to charge a spell within it, and have them all manifest with show, not
substance, and recycle the same energy over and over.
Practice swings? Errant asked easily.
As long as I recycle the same spells. If I change the nature of the imprinted mana, I
will have to draw in more. She thought about that. The concentration of mana tends to
be pretty perceptible, so it is not done often
And if its drawn from Source mana, instead of the ley? he asked, lifting an
eyebrow.
She blinked, and then smiled despite herself. Of course. I wont have to pull on the
ley to weave a sphere of them. It will take a somewhat larger amount of mana then I have
been drawing off you, however
One of the reasons I am doing this is to get used to the sensation. Go ahead, he
said, without batting an eye.
The amount she drew did manage to draw a surprised grunt from him, and she
looked back out of the corner of her eye, shivering despite the singing power in her blood
as he spat out a mouthful of blood onto the ground behind her. The power he gave her
was so clear, so strong, the things that could be done with itbut she was indeed taking
it directly from him. That he could put out so much raw, such pure power over time was
still shocking to herhe could supply the needs of several Archmages over the course of
a day, without difficulty.
Clearly, the Favored Sons of the Land was meant to mean something. The Land
must truly love such a fountain of life energy spilling over into its fold and aligning itself
where it was most needed.
Resolving to let him recover, she began to cast the spells she believed she would
need the most, and hollow, illusionary mockeries of them trailed from her fingertips and
flashed out into short oblivion as they manifested, broke apart, and were reclaimed. He
watched impassively, clearly studying everything she was doing with the professional eye
of a fighting man. And seeing that, she began to explain what she was about as she would
talk to another magi, and found him replying with the keen insight and terse brutality of a

lifelong combatant, challenging the need for each and every observation she was making,
the usage of every spell, the need and the application.
She was surprised by the breadth of his knowledge. He gave little indication of
interest in esoteric philosophies or unrealistic uses of knowledgeshe knew his math
skills were considerably worse then hers, although his practical knowledge of engineering
might very well surpass hers greatly. Finding out he could hold an interesting
conversation on applied magic was a good thing, and if he wasnt interested overmuch in
background theory, at least he didnt change the subject when she began to get
enthusiastic at subkintineal etheric matrix warpflows and bivalenecial standard axioms
and chaos/probability akasic interplay with mana formations.
---------------------------Cheri picked up her Hollow son, so tired and listless, bereft of the energy epitomized
by all of her other children. In his mothers grasp, the infant managed to move feebly,
responding to the life energy her own Source field thru off, grasping at it instinctively.
She was not a great Source, not a Matriarch, a Queen among Women, as Errant most
certainly was a King among Men. She took the benefits of a longer life and good health
as the rewards for a life of danger watching the back of Men too full of themselves to
know better, and she knew it was this intangible thing that had attracted Warren to her as
much or more so then their similar natures to protect. Her Man was a mighty spellcaster,
a holy Archmage, one of the great servants of the Gods, and she was fiercely proud of her
husband and her own status as his wife, and the only woman he had ever had.
The child she held in her hands was an abomination by all her beliefs. Ripe for
demonic possession, cursed without a soul to know no joy, no true emotion, his death
would be a mercy. She had not even allowed herself to give him a name. If they failed,
the Halvyr had promised to come and take him in the night, and show him Mercy.
Still the tears came, trickling hot down her cheeks as she clutched her youngest.
That this could be done to her offspring had lit a rage in her she had not known she
possessed. Finding out this was neither a curse nor an accident of the Land, nor anything
random, but a deliberate infliction on the heart of creation had made that rage a burning
wrath that simmered in her heart and waited to explode.
She could feel the Heart on her back, the sign of a lineage going back eight hundred
years to the greatest Source ever to live in Haxan, a winding scarlet passage, the echoes
of the power of a Dragonheart ripped from a Dragon Queen. It was burning now, coming
to life as the fire in her soul ignited old power passed down from generation to generation
of the men and women of Haxan. She had traced the lineage of the Heart back to the
Hiken warrior woman who had been among Lone Ruins consorts, passed thru her to her
second son by Lone Ruin, and thence back and across bloodlines in the manner of wildblooded families, not even by direct lineage. Never had there been a sign of any of the
primos who inherited it ever exhibiting power from itit simply came and was a mark of

distinction and lineage to be proud of.

But then, theyd never had the need to make use of any power of the Heart. A gentle
beating radiated from the Heart now as her wrath stoked a slumbering power.
Cheri cradled her Nameless son and promised him that one way or another, his
suffering would be over soon, holding him long, long into the night.
---------------------------------------The light expanded from the medallion, a Light they knew from before any of them
had been born. There was no mistaking The Light. And despite themselves, they were
awed as the world of life and death seemed to fade away into meaninglessness around
them, and the world of True Life replaced it.
About them, nothing but The Light, reaching out into endless infinity, with neither
mark nor trace to guide them. The air seethed with raw, pure power, unbridled, elemental,
Life unruled and unruly, unconstrained, the power of all creation waiting to be molded
into lesser, baser forms with purpose.
It was magnificent, and it was lethal, for this was a realm where only energy and life
existed, not base matter or lesser forms of energy. Here could spirits cavort freely, but
living beings? Not without cost and eventual loss of physical forms.
Trencher had not been idle, and the rings they all wore, save Errant, stove off the
effects of the plane with its own power, taking the energy about them and weaving it into
a defense for flesh and steel and spell. Errants symbiote shifted uncomfortably for a few
minutes, and then literally began to work off the excess energy by proceeding to start
carving Errants arm into bloody ribbons, ribbons that healed themselves with startling
speed and no scarring. Errant studied the process, any pain sensations blocked by the
thoughtful symbiote, and feeling a strange field of force flowing from the symbiote as it
used the excess energy to generate some sort of kinetic field about his arm. He grunted
and looked to Warren.
From the medallion Shard, a thin filament extended out into infinity. Grasp my
staff, the Warder instructed calmly, and they all laid hand upon the weapon as he
extended it out level, aligning everyone. Everyone concentrate on following the thread
of light, and we shall make excellent time, indeed.
Errant wasnt sure if he was helping or a drag on the whole of them, but he figured
his and Cheris eyes would make up for their lack of contribution to the effort. Certainly
the other four didnt seem to notice as the staff surged in his grip, and they began to
move.
Errant was quickly aware that Warren had not been exaggeratingthey were indeed
moving at a very high rate of speed. The lack of air wasnt deterring them in the slightest,

and he doubted theyd need to eatand so nothing was slowing them down as they raced
headlong across the Font of Creation, seeking something in the middle of the infinite
expanse.
------------------------------------Hold! Errant ordered, and slapped both hands on the staff as the four engines
promptly concentrated on slowing down. Cheri actually slammed forwards into her
husband while Errants feet wanted to continue on without him.
Rorg squinted. I think I see something.
The incredible emptiness of the expanse had impressed them all. They could feel
how empty it was of anything they considered normaljust The Light, in all places,
everywhere, and the pure and deadly power of Life.
And something is more then anything else weve seen, Errant stated, also looking
ahead. Ahead slow. If we can see it at a distance, I imagine its pretty big.
And so they moved ahead, towards what became a black speck in the distance,
perhaps a klik or two ahead, certainly large and floating motionless and
Redfangs Tusks! spit out Rorg in amazement, abruptly bringing them to a halt as
the real object unfolded from the background of the plane before them.
It was Bigat least a klik across, and formed of crystal so perfectly fractured and
aligned it brought tears from the eyes at the impossible, perfect beauty of it. How they
had not seen a huge structure from leagues away was astonishingand doubtless one of
the great mysteries of the Plane.
A Well of Creation? Warren asked with a whisper, clutching his staff more
tightly. If they can only be sensed at such close range, in this limitless expansehow
long must the Nameless have searched to find even this one?
Errant considered that Warren probably had a much better of the relative distance
that they had covered then he had. A task for a God with great ambition and patience, no
doubt. A masking illusion, before we are noticedand amplify the sight of whatever the
dark speck is.
Warren obligingly drew up a wall of phantasm that would mask them as part of the
background Light, and then the screen of illusion before them rippled and seemed to leap
forwards and put the creature floating beside the structure before them easily in front of
them.
Retriever, Warren said after a moment, studying the cleavers attacked to the
forward legs, the four glittering eyes. This one is truly massivethey are usually only

the size of elephantsthis is more akin to that of a whale. Constructs of the Abyss, used
to hunt down those who earn the displeasure of the Princes there
And that looks like a hatch in the crystal shell, Cheri pointed out, directing their
attention away from the beast. With something next to it.
Errant leaned in closer to the screen for a better look. Vulture-demon. Shock troops
of the Abyss. A strike force from our friend the Prince?
The Retriever has a fifth eye. Warren pointed out, and their eyes came back to
where a wedge-shaped gleam sat in the middle of the thing's jeweled eyes.
Piece the Third! Stick it on your intelligent transportation. I imagine it opens that
portal inside, also. Trencher noted as he spun Forge readily. That big fellow is going to
go down really quick. Rorg smiled wolvishly as he met the Rockborns knowing stare.
We cant use transport magic, so this is all about sidling right up onto the stupid thing
and ripping it apart before it knows we are here, is it not?
Lead the way, Trench, Errant smiled as Duty slid out soundlessly, the True Death
promptly flashing to life at the ambient power with a parafire that was not at all out of
place in The Light.
Still holding Warrens staff, the six swooped down and below the construct from it
floated, splay-legged, in the The Light, doubtless protected by the Medallion embedded
in it. Rorg, Errant and Trencher launched themselves forwards, Shrek joining the others
as the Rockborn took point, Warren letting the illusion pass forwards with them as the
other three continued forwards behind the pair.
Trencher gave it no warning, only a singular hammerstrike roar as he drew power
directly from Creation, and manifested the stone-shattering force of the Land in its most
direct and brutal form with a full power strike against the abdomen of the creature.
Fracture lines exploded across the artificial mass of the creature as it was Riven, and
guided by the exposure of the weakest points, both Rorg and Errant struck with Crystal
Breaker and Flowing Waters. Stone sliced thru like butter, and the spider-construct
shattered like a clay toy, spinning away in all directions as the force of the triple blows
ripped through it in an instant eruption of terrible power.
They covered their eyes as promptly the shattered parts began to explode with hot
white bursts, raised once again to the pure force of Creation. Within a minute the last leg
blew into white Light, and left only a single floating piece of the head, upon which
floated the wedge of the Nameless Gods medallion.
Warren calmly glided forwards to claim the piece, by the expeditious act of touching
their part to the embedded wedge. There was a flash of light, and now they were in
possession of a two-thirds complete amulet, about the size of a kite shield.

Cheri carries it from this point, Errant stated, in a no-nonsense tone, startling all of
them. Warren opened his mouth to question, got a look in response that had him handing
the piece to his startled wife. She took the leather straps, adjusted the loops, and slid it
onto her back under her quiver with a few minutes of work.
Trencher tried the portal, noted the fact that it seemed almost melted into the crystal,
a marring of perfection. Looks like a God had to make his own entry, he judged,
nodding at Cheri. She nodded understanding and glided forwards, to be stopped by
Errants intervening hand.
A retriever outside the portal. What do you think is going to be on the inside? he
asked calmly. Weapons raised quickly. Thats better. I think we can all assume that they
have protection from positive energies just to survive here, so dont try anything like that
unless you have to. He took Cheri by the arm, spun her around, touched the medallion
on her back to the door, and as it was opening pushed her gently aside to go in, shield
first.
=========================
Rorg had a nice hold on the Babau Demon, the slick, skeletal fiend missing both of
its arms and one leg after judicious application of Shreks edge. He had the hooked skull
pointing firmly in the direction of Errant as the Source strode up out of the crater
heralding the destruction of the commanding Balor, covered in white dust from the power
of the vivic explosion that heralded the annihilation of the Abyssal general, but otherwise
completely unharmed. He was also clutching the broken remnant of the great fiends
twisted sword, sheared in twain and the stump seething with happily feasting vivic fires,
causing crystallized grains to drop off it with great speed.
It was quite an impressive sight for any Fiend to see, especially one so completely
disarmed and rendered helpless.
Hi, there. I seek information on exactly what youve been fighting, what other
forces are here, and some of the native denizens, if any. Errants smile was distinctly
unfriendly. In return, I offer you the option to die via this, he waved the stump of the
Balors sword, a painful but not permanent death, although it would mean eternal
consignment to the realm of its rebirth, or by this. He fondly patted Duty at his side,
and the Demon flinched. Be quick. Im prone to using my sword on just about any
Fiend, and I really dont value you very much.
The skeletal jaws of the creature almost fell off in the struggle to be helpful and
choose damnation over annihilation. It succeeded enough that Errant let it burn rather
then be Fed, even if he rather wished otherwise. At least, the thing wouldnt have any
memory of what had happened to it, and the Abyss was none too friendly to the reborn.
----------------

Dusting himself off, he rejoined the others, Warren and Kavva poking through the
ruins of the Demons base with professional thoroughness.
Hah, written orders! Kavva flinched at the sight of the Abyssal language, and
passed it over to Warren, who grimaced, but read the unclean tongue with considerably
more sanctity of spirit then she might bring to the task.
Creative interpretation of orders is a byword of being a Fiend. Secure the portal
against all comers. Wait for reinforcementstheyve been taking some heavy losses. It
appears the native predators are unfriendly and like how they tasteand the Wyrm has
brought along some powerful children of her own," the Warder dutifully interpreted...and
then the symbol at his throat flared as he looked away and blew the loathsome script into
less then dust.
Surprise, surprise. Errant took the time to survey the vast landscape sprawling
about and below them, vast crystal arches rising into the heights, rolling forests of
chiming crystalline trees or something extending away around them. This place is bigger
inside then outside, he noted without surprise.
Infinite the amount of souls that must arise from herewe can assume size is
simply a matter of perspective. If more room is needed, then it simply is. Warren
stepped up beside him to consider the vaulted chamber of the Fount. How do we
proceed?
Two more Balors and their elites trying to hold a tower against incorporeal souleating predators, and incidentally do some damage to the children of the Dragon Queen.
Seems to me like a nice place to start. Keep your hands on your souls, and lets do them.
-----------------------Company coming through the forest, Errant! Cheri called out, her bow tracking a
monstrous serpentine form winding among the chiming crystalline trees. Warren said the
gleaming jewels hanging from each one were ripening souls, although it was hard to tell.
Regardless, they were taking care not to disturb them, unlike this huge worm-thing
making its way towards them.
Probably attracted by the vivic flares. Kavva stood up next to her and pointed out
where more flitting light-shadows were circling in. Even the ambient energy must taste
nice, probably like smelling your wine before you drink.
Not very encouraging, Cheri noted, taking aim at a flutter almost two hundred
yards off and releasing smoothly. The shaft sped outwards at a speed greater then mere
physics could justify, and the creature reeled and veered away, obviously stung.
Errant lept down from the exploded top of the tower, wherein he had slain the Balor

commander, and incidentally four other Demons, in a vivic explosion that had blasted the
crystalline stone of the tower's top to bits, and atomized the rest of the Demons.
Then we retire and let them battle over the smell of fresh meat. This way. He
loped away, plainly following a trail the Demons had blazed through the forest, fallen
trees and faltering lights leading the way. Only one coiling manta-ray got too close to
them, and without preamble was completely obliterated by a razor-wave of force blades
by Kavva, tearing it into spectral bits that rapidly faded among the trees, winking brightly
as they disappeared. Within this landscape of dawning souls, the energy of Life was
endlessly recycledeven those souls eaten before their time would in time be recycled as
new and different souls, and dispatched to find their fates in mortal life. There was no
death herewhich did not make the slowly dying lights winking on the fallen trees any
more comfortable to behold.
--------------------------------------I think this is the body of Groma Morth, Warren said after a long pause. His finger
knowingly traced the diamonds mounted in the prominent tusks of the Urkhar skeleton.
The Holy Tusk? gaped Rorg, bending forwards for a better look. Nothing has
been heard of him for two generations! He fell here, of all places?
And that would make that sword there Errant pointed, having heard of the
rather unusual and certainly great Urkhar paladin.
Dragonhammer, Rorg breathed, reaching forwards to take up the blade of
shivering mithril and crystal. Groma had been a student of the Crystal school like most of
his warrior brethren, although his devotion to Mithar had always come first. The weapon
was a true Paladins weapon, devoted and Holy, but cast in the ferocious rakeblade
pattern of an Urkhar warrior. It certainly was much more picturesque then Rorgs own
weapon Shrek, and made for the Crystal Breaker style.
When it comes time to deal with the Wyrm, that blade will be very helpful for you
to have, Trencher judged calmly. Until then, do your own blade the honor of
continuing to wield it. We can salute the soul of Groma at the right time by completing
his quest.
Indeed. Respectfully, Rorg unclasped the belt and scabbard of the weapon from
the fallen Urkhar hero, and slung it carefully over his back. Warren murmured a simple
command, and the body and gear of the fallen paladin was shrunk down to a size suitable
for scooping into the pack slung over the Warders shoulder. It would be returned to his
descendents in honor.
That means the Wyrm has been here at least forty years, murmured Errant,
looking in the trees and thinking aloud. But only recently has the loss of souls become
epidemic.

Like her false Heart, the Well of Souls is failing her? Kavva asked calmly, also
keeping watch on the trees.
It seems her time is past, and nothing is stopping it. Obviously, not a true Dragon
Queen. Warren turned and looked about warily. A secure place to camp will be
important. I will probably have to screen us with a field of force to forestall any
surprises.
Lets find a clearing with some visibility, and then we can worry about camping. I
dont think any of us are that tired, anyways. Errant pointed, knowing of the potent
elixirs the others had drunk to sustain them on this final portion of the quest.
Spells, lad, spells. They take time for some of us to get back, you know.
Errant turned an eye on Kavva, thinking. You know, Kavva, this place heals just
about any injury as fast as I can take it, which means you can be drawing a lot of Source
mana and it will just get healed up. Can you figure a way of transferring it to Warren and
Trencher?
Eyebrows went up all around at that startling observation, and Kavva considered
holy Magus and Geomancer carefully. Well now, if we form a spellpool that I keep
adding magic to, it divides the magic evenly among all participants when we back out
Warren whistled under his breath. Thats a very nasty, very powerful idea, Errant.
Youll be Sourcing all three of us at once.
Errant just shrugged. No, Im not. The Fount is. Enjoy it while you are here.
------------------------------------So visiting all the areas adjoining the central area where the true Font is how you
align yourselves to it? I gather they dont get visitors mucha colossal waste of time.
The individual realms are infinitely largethey have no middle, and the creatures
within shun moving from one realm to the next, the red-scaled Satyr told them, tearing
into the bottle of wine with reckless enthusiasm and yet a connoisseurs appreciation.
You can move along the borders fairly quickly, but you will meet my mothers children
in the next realm if you continue about this place. The half-dragon satyr nodded
unceasingly, sighing and tears of joy coming to his eyes as he downed the Gold Branch
wine, a thirty year vintage old off the south slopes of the Black Hills. They are a
dangerous assortment of odd creaturesshe has experimented with many forms in
attempts to lengthen her life, and breed willing servants. The Drac Satyr waved at the
glowing forms of the angry soul-beasts streaming fruitlessly about outside the forcecage
Warren had erected about their campsite...including beneath them.

She tried being a Fey? Errant was amused despite himself. I cant imagine shed
like to bond herself to a tree
She did. Corrupted it completely, and the forest about it. It was on a Plane far from
here, but still the forest swarms with creatures possessing attributes of Dragon and Fiend,
yet tied to nature. The forest she was bonded with literally slew much of the plant life not
tied to its own life force, and planted seeds of its own in their rotting trunks. They grew
quite quickly
Trencher was agog. Half-Dragon Demonic trees? What manner of a Wyrm Queen
is this? He did not want to consider the implications of a bloodline (sapline?) of
creatures like that spreading to other places.
Desperate, now. Errant calmly handed him another bottle from Trenchers stock,
this one Graybarrel Ale. The Satyr thanked him effusively and proceeded to begin
downing it with even more raves on its taste and composition and smell and other effete
nonsense. Her Demonic Heart fails her. She has to sit in the Fount at all times to sustain
her life, when once a sip was enough for a month. Her time comes, and her desperation
knows few limits. But she cannot leave, and the wound to her Dragonheart means she
cannot steal another body for her ownwithout her Dragonheart, she cannot sustain
herself in new flesh, even of her own blood. Yes, she has tried that too. He shuddered
slightly.
Everyone carefully avoided looking at Cheri.
Well, I will tell you what, minstrel Fey. It was Warren who spoke now. In return
for your information on your half-kin, we will agree to return you home
Drak! No, please, not home. Someplace much more fun. His smile was extremely
toothy, but charming nonetheless.
Warren nodded slowly. I think we can find somewhere moreappropriate for you,
with Fey to chase and dryads to seduce.
Well, then, for one more bottle of these unforgettable vintages, my throat will
quickly yield to you news of how our Mother wanted a pet, and so begat a great bear that
fawns upon her and yet is even stronger then she is
==============================
Errant had to admit hed never fought a kobold quite as strong as this red-scaled and
horned fellow, nor as skilled, using a longsword two-handed like a greatsword and
actually knowing how to wield it. Not that it did the Drac much good, even if the little
sucker was probably twice as strong as he was. Errant cut him in two in under thirty
seconds.

Kavva had the huge Drac bear pinned inside a forcecage where Cheri was carefully
driving some glowing arrows into the hapless creature, each one drawing a roar of agony.
A Pyre Dragon with rider had been Earthbound by Warren, and then Dragon and rider
were mercilessly pummeled by Kavva while Warren kept the dragon at bay. A red-scaled
Centaur attempted to flee on her draconic wings, and instead Trencher Earthbound her,
and smashed her flat with a storm of ripping crystalline rocks and shards. Rorg was
happily tearing apart a Drac Ettin, of all things, taking the hits it was dealing out and
Dragonhammer pounding it with terrible power. Errant smoothly came in from the side
to sweep off both heads as it started to back away from the armored Urkhar with the
pounding blade that hurt so bad, landed calmly, and watched a volley of frozen force rip
the brittle scales of the Dragon right off its chest and neck as Kavva took it down.
Without wasting time, she turned her magic on the pinned Drac bear, and rapidly
completed the work that Cheri was doing on the truly massive creature.
The camp of the Wyrm Queens children was theirs. Before them lay the most
common used access point to the Font of Souls, and there they would be heading shortly.
Epic Errantry IX
MORTALS!
Errant flamboyantly reached up under his helm and cleaned out his ear with his
pinkie. That had been louder then even the Nameless God.
Shes got good ears, Rorg said conversationally, as they trooped forwards past the
glittering crystal walls of the central Font.
I think its a hereditary Dragon thing, helps with the eavesdropping on private
conversations, Errant replied blandly. The floating brilliance in the air was foglike and
restricted vision somewhat, but sound carried pretty well.
Let her talk. Makes it easier to kill her. Rorg didnt much mind if the Wyrm heard
themit was what they were here to do, and Dragonhammer was vibrating in
anticipation in his hand.
Yer just overeager cause you dont get to see a hundred dragons every generation
like your ancestors did, Trencher snorted at the Urkhar, who bowed his head sadly.
Alas, there just arent as many spawn of Tiamat as there used to be. Such a pity.
He took a theatric breath as the party stepped around the corner.
And they were in the Font.
The air cleaned up nicelywhich, they sensed, was not a good thing. The
supercharging taste in the air was dulled and blunted, as if being drained away. The sheer
white walls seemed to rise in infinity overhead, at the same time plummeting down and

drawing all eyes to the corruption nested in the heart of the room.
That IS a big Wyrm, Warren mused aloud, gripping his staff tighter, fighting off
the power of the Wyrms aura with resolute faith. His steadfastness centered everyone
else in the party, who also shook off the effect, even as the Great Wyrm rose to her feet.
She was bigreally big. Her wings opened up and snapped out like a set of dark
scytheswingspan approaching a hundred paces. Head to tail, she probably measured
almost the same length.
Her scales were a crimson so dark as to be virtually black, broken here and there by
old wounds that seemed to be heated from within like magma. Her eyes were still full of
fire, the scars crisscrossing her scales only made her the more impressive, teeth as large
as greatswords, claws bigger yet, her head the size of a small hut and higher off then
ground then a Titan.
She was standing claws-deep in a bubbling pool of golden Light, or maybe it was
golden Life. Whatever, a gentle rain was falling up from the pool, ascending towards the
infinity abovebut catching on the hide and wings of the monstrous dark blot in the
pool, and being soaked in eagerly by that blackened hide. Cheris eyes especially
narrowed as she saw this, and more.
I see the third part of the amulet about her neck, she reported calmly on the
telepathic link. Errants eyes focused on the piece hanging on a metal chain as Kavvas
interest drew his eyes there, but he felt her readiness to handle the fact and instead
focused his eyes on the Wyrms back.
Riders. Two. The Kobold Bard that was mentionedand that looks like another
Balor. He said it aloud, not caring if the Wyrm fifty paces away could hear him.
Nice heartwound. Look at that scar, mused Rorg silently, directing their attention
to the ill-sealed, massive wound over the breast of the Wyrm, seething with fiery heat and
gathering in more of the golden energy then any other part of her.
And thats what the lass is going to be shooting at. Trenchers eyes were steadier
now then ever.
Shes been energized by demonic powers. Demonfire in the eyes, spiked scales and
hornsshed be dripping with Taint if this wasnt the Font of Life. Warrens voice was
grim. A number of spells up around hershes ready for a fight.
If she wants to spout a useless, thundering bunch of empty words about justifying
what shes doing sitting in the Heart of Creation, let her do it while we cut her to bits.
Errant started forwards, and Duty slid out, ripples of Flowing Water ki following the
Clansword as he walked/glided away from the others. He distinctly saw the Wyrm tense
as she saw this, and then the crystalline shimmers of Dragonhammer in Rorgs grip as the

Urkhar strolled mechanically in the other direction.

DRAGON HOUSE WARRIORS OF HAXAN. The pure unreviled hate in that
statement might have sent whole armies fleeing.
Errant, of the Clan of Ruin, he introduced himself, as the spellcasters and Cheri
came forwards somewhat more slowly, spreading out into an arc.
Her roar of outrage shook the chamber like thunder. Errant ignored it as he stopped
at thirty degrees off center, less then thirty paces away from her, and Rorg did likewise.
Her eyes were blazing with hot red demonfire, focused on himbut, he noticed, she
wasnt making the slightest attempt to leave her pool of gold.
Look at that. Shes afraid to leave the Fountain, he observed aloud, and earned a
massive, serpentine hiss in reply.
Cheri stepped forwards, an arrow nocked and shining with celestial brilliance. I am
Cheri of the Clan of Ruin, blood of Lone Ruin, who took your Dragonheartand your
Heart knows you are weak! It Is Time For You To Die Forever! Her voice rang with
power, certainty, wrath, clearer and more forceful then Errant had ever heard.
Ah, the drama of epic quests, Errant mused. Even demure Cheri wasnt immune.
The Wyrms head snapped around with incredible speed as seething Dragonfire
burst from the scar on Cheris back and wrapped her in power and fury. The first arrow
went singing out, and the Wyrm screamed in horrified comprehension that she had been
looking at quite the wrong spot and person.
Or maybe not. Errant moved, liking the distraction.
Thirty paces was nothing. The Wyrm saw him coming, but was too busy screaming
as the first arrow struck the wound on her breast unerringly, and exploded in an unearthly
blaze of Holy and Draconic flame. She lunged forwards, head extending out, and
breathed on the four.
Adamantine would have flowed like water in the Demonically-charged Dragonflame
that swept over them, but Trencher was waiting calmly, and Forge slammed down like
the hammer of a God on steel.
With a roaring sound like an inhaling furnace, his athame sucked in the slaying
inferno before it could do a bloody thing, and woosh-crump, it was gone.
Rays of sparkling power slammed past Errant as he came in, a double dispelling
salvo from Warren, and protective spells ignited and blew apart in a wild frenzy of
magical power, momentarily illumining the Wyrm and her riders in a kaleidoscopic array
of ripping, tearing magical energies. But Errant was already coming up off her leg, onto

her back, and making for her riders, naturally unfazed by all that.
The Balor rose to greet him, bursting into demonfire, horns more pronounced, more
reptilian, stronger, scaled then a normal Baloranother wayward child, perhaps. Errant
flowed around him smoothly, spinning to deflect the lashing blade, and was on top of the
startled Drac bard, whod been fairly certain that Errant would choose to mix it up with
the big threatening Demon instead of the innocuous little musician.
Who had access to healing songs and magic.
Errants first blow ripped the Dracs lute into strings and splinters, continued
onwards to drive into his chest. His shield smashed into the little Dracs mouth, and Duty
came back one more time as he slid past and cut back, and took off the musicians head
smoothly, spinning around to face the Balor with fluid steadiness on the shifting, scaled
back of the Wyrm.
Kavvas first spell smashed the chain about the Wyrms neck to shards of flying
metal, and the next instant a telekinetic pull whipped the falling shard of the Amulet back
to her, barely avoiding a desperate lunge from the Wyrms massive jaws. Without
missing a beat, it whirled through the air to the rest of the medallion on the back of Cheri,
and fused instantly and eagerly.
The snap of light as the medallion fused into completion was now a transcendent
blaze of glory, the united power of the Amulet fed right into the scar on her back. Cheris
whole being was lit up with Divine radiance and Draconic power now, and her arrows
were speeding out like shafts of the sun. The Wyrm was screaming, and howling spells
laden with energies never meant to be formed in this place came raging for the bearer of
her Dragonheart, fueled by ancient Draconic power and Demonic vitality.
Trencher and Warren met those head on, the master of wards and the master of
flames expending their own power freely in direct challenge to the magical power of the
Wyrm. Kavva was more offensive, as she wove a subtle and damning field of ill luck
about the Wyrm, building on the condemning power of the Dragonhearts blazing scorn
for the one who had birthed it.
And then Rorg came up out of the Fountains golden waters with Dragonhammer
beating, and cut.
Once.
Cleaving the Diamond.
The ancient blade tore the ravaged scales of the heartwound wide open with
impunity, exposing a flaming black abyss within. Golden arrows plunged unerringly into
the opening, flaring into explosive counter to the dark force embodied within her.

And then the Balor on her back blew up.

It was likely rather surprised at how fast it died, but Errant wasnt in the mood to
play, and it wasnt expecting a mere magic-lacking human to be able to reach it in midair.
Rising Winds lightfoot had him literally running up into the air as it turned to add its
magical assaults to those of the Pyre Wyrm that was either mistress or mother, and he hit
its winged backside with the full Wave-Slicing Stroke, Duty neatly cleaving the bastard in
twain.
The resultant vivic explosion drove the Wyrm down into the Fountain, sending
waves of gold splashing everywhere as it tore into her top and back. Raging madly, she
lunged back for Errant, echoes of a long ago battle playing madly in her head, but hed
been tossed clear by the eruption and hit the ground almost thirty meters away, sliding to
a stop and immediately coming back around with the fluid Wave Skating steps of a
Flowing Waters Master.
Rorg got back calmly to his feet, and ripped open the wound to the Heart even wider
with another blow, directly in front of her.
Kavva laid a hand on Cheris nearly translucent shoulder, and cast a spell.
The air seemed to crystallize and collapse on the arrow that Cheri had nocked.
Frozen air fell to the ground from the tip. The archer released the shaft, and behind it the
air froze and fell in a long line of icicles that plunged directly into that gaping opening in
the chest of the Wyrm.
She had died once by ice, and now she died again.
Her breath froze in flaming lungs. Scales supposed to flex and bend literally
exploded like brittle china as she moved, raging up her neck towards her head.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, Rorg calmly smote the frozen mass, and
watched it fall away in great bloody, hissing shards of scales and meat as it spread up to
the massive head while the Wyrm tried to scream.
There would be no second chance this time. She saw him coming as her eye froze
solid, half-leaping, half-running up the air, and behind his blade was an ocean of purpose
and desire. Duty plunged hilt deep into that frozen eye, the sheering force extending far
further, and True Death came to her.
She flew apart. At least, thats what Errant was thinking, as white and golden light
flared around every scale, and burst free as Light from a cage and prison. Things were
moving in kind of slow motion as he fell backwards, thinking how much the explosion
looked like a Truly Dying Balor going up, ripping along from head and skull down to the
Heart, and when that went up, hooo boy.

Golden Light flared and a veritable river of it sang upwards towards infinity in an
eruption of glory. The air blazed with blinding whiteness as the consumed souls were
restored and sent shining on their way to their final destinies. Little bits of Wyrm were
falling all over the place, burning away as they did so, and then he hit the ground and
reflex caught him and turned it into another sliding stop after skidding another ten paces.
Hed seen souls released to their destiny before, but always Undead or Unliving,
sent finally onwards to restnever onwards to their proper lives. And this display, this
was something.
Ah, what would the bards do? The Halvyri would be screaming at having missed
this event too. The thought made him chuckle to himself, and then his suspicious eye
noticed that there was still a big hunk of something really black and unnatural floating in
the middle of that golden pool.
And it was moving.
It heaved itself upright, attracting more eyes, and Errant started forwards, making a
face as he saw what looked like a great, malformed, steaming heart, the size of an Ogryn,
writhing and warping as the unclean runes carved into it shifted and reformed the pulsing
organ into something that looked likewell, it might have been a Demon once. It had a
head and eyes and veins were spasming into mighty arms and legs and what not, and it
opened its mouth and let out a scream of triumph and rage at its release.
Right, right, the demonic Heart, he murmured to himself, completely missing
whatever speech it was shouting as he didnt speak the language and its telepathy was
wasted on him. His motion caught its eyespeed tends to do thatand with a shouted
word it was holding some god-awful unbalanced demonically-forged weapon from the
pits of blackness or whatever, and some spiked three-tailed whip burning with the soulsucking fires of perdition.
Rorg came to his feet by the expedience of planting his feet in the pool, and simply
straightening his legs, pivoting upright like a childs toy. Golden Life/Light flowed
skywards off of him as he took exactly one step, and Clove the Diamond on the rather
astonished heart-demon-thing.
It blinked as most of its right side, including the whole arm holding that whip, fell
steaming away into the Fountain. Then it looked back just in time for Errant to juke five
feet out of position with the slightest flex, avoid the monstrous blade crashing down, and
Duty sheared it in two across the chest.
A third monstrous vivic explosion resulted, and more golden Lights poured
skywards as the Demonheart died and released the souls that it had fed upon during its
stay. This time, Errant didnt get his feet under him, and went sliding to a stop some
distance away, rather irked at the whole thing. He bounced up easily enough.

Rorg got up in the Fountain, his dark armor blasted half-white by the explosion, and
calmly waded out, unperturbed. Dragonhammer was beating steadily, even happily, in
his grasp, the mission of the Holy Tusk finally complete.
Trencher had dropped Forge on the floor of the chamber, sighing as he eyed the
pitted and corroded metal, infused with so much vile, Demonic energy he didnt dare
even touch it. Where it lay, the crystal was turning black and bubbling slowly.
Errant, hold this, Warren said calmly, lifting off the softly glowing medallion
from Cheri, who staggered as she lost contact with it, and nearly fell over. Errant took it
and swung it over one shoulder atop his shield casually.
Sorry about your cudgel, Trencher, he said, Duty still in hand. The Clansword
prodded the pool of black and it spat flaring unwhite flames.
Always knew youd end up busting my favorite weapon somehow, Haxan, sighed
the Rockborn, letting a single crystalline tear fall from his eye unbidden. Lets get to a
safe distance before you clean it up, eh.
Thats likely a good idea. Errant looked around once. But, you know, the crystal
here is some pretty tough stuff. Might make a nice athame, you know.
Trencher took a look around thoughtfully, as they made to depart the Font.
=====
The shards were working themselves out of him, and the wounds mostly closing, as
he stepped out of the Font, and paused.
That was a lot of glowing, translucent light-thingies, including some types he hadnt
seen beforeand which looked vaguely humanoid. They seemed to be talking to Warren,
and paused to look at him.
A whole lot of them pausing to look at him.
Warren turned as Errant pulled a four-inch gleaming metal sliver out of his jaw,
dropped the thing on the ground, and yanked another out of his bicep. They seem a bit
concerned about the power of the united medallion, Errant.
Typical Warder understatement. There was a bloody army here.
Damn thing is attuned to the symbol outside the door. Erase the symbol, no link,
and we can move the thing. Otherwise, they are just asking for troublethe power in it
will make it a beacon in and of itself to those folks who can track divine power.
Warren turned and relayed that, obviously agreeing with the concept, and the glowy-

flutter guys fluttered some more and agreed too. Had to love negotiating with
Pureheartsso hard to be disagreeable to them.
We are free to go, and they would like it much if we were never to return, Warren
smiled as negotiations concluded.
Mmmm. Can they sense this thing? Errant chucked a finger at the shield-sized
medallion.
Warren frowned. Of course.
Then let em know that if theres a problem, Mithar is going to be holding onto
itand hes got some mortals around who might be able to solve said problem for them
if a hands-off approach is needed. Its always good to have friends, yes?
Warren lifted his eyebrows, turned back to the head floater, and relayed that. There
was more fluttering and posing and flickering lights from the spectral crowd, although the
more monstrous creatures were flow-fluttering away now in numbers.
They hardly think they need the helpbut agreed in principle. Errant just looked
back at the Fountain area, lifted an eyebrow, and made a rude noise. Trencher snorted and
Rorg harrumphed loudly. Cheri and Kavva hid their smiles, but not their shaking heads.
Whatever. Trench, you pick up something useful?
Wood from one of the crystal trees. Cleared it with the natives, he responded
promptly. There was no sign of what was probably a log sized piece or nine of soul tree,
and by pure uniqueness likely worth a bloody fortune. Stuck in his pack, most likely,
after being shrunken down.
Then lets get Cheri back to her son, and this hunk of dead God to better hands.
=====
His name is Enshar, beamed Cheri, holding up her son for all to see. He was
awake and aware and glowing with good health, beaming nearly as brightly as both of his
parents.
Errant cocked an ear at the name. Not a traditional name, he noted curiously,
keeping a careful distance. The medallion was still over his shoulder, and all had agreed
that it was best if he were to deliver it on foot, and let no other know of its
presencewhich meant leaving quickly.
It fits him, Cheri tossed back, attention on her son and missing the look in her
cousins eyes.

Ill be back as soon as I run the mail. He gave Kavva a kiss on her forehead,
waved to the others, and was out the door before they could protest and have him waiting
for dinner.
He was ten leagues away inside an hour, before he paused and unslung the
medallion on his shoulder. Without missing a beat, he turned the faint, rune-scribed
surface over, the one that hummed with power, and contemplated the backside.
A flick on his knife, and he smeared blood across that empty backside, letting
patterns and molds to subtle to see or feel come into alignment.
He shook his head at the name revealed on the back of the medallion of the
Nameless God, and slung it back over his shoulder after rubbing the blood away. Hed
seen it after a nice wedge of burst Forge had blown through his shoulder and splattered
the thingbut it didnt hurt to be sure. He had a lot of running to do, and he likely was
going to meet at least one God that was Fallen a very different way, and maybe more,
before he was done.
Talking to Mithar himself. That would be something. He wondered what Cheri
would feel like being mother to a Reborn God, shrugged, and headed off with a tireless,
leagues-eating pace, carrying the future of the Divine with him.

Overmagi.
Wherein Errant is tasked to deal with More Loose Ends...
Overmagi I
You know, I thought that life as an Eternal was considerably lessbusythen life as a
mortal. Having all the time in the world and such, like the Feymore downtime to
pursue interests, and then occasionally having to go out and save the kingdom or world or
whatever.
Darran Lone laughed at the much younger man as they sat atop the southern peak
that framed the Wyrmbreak Pass, the peak beneath which lay the heart of old Delvun, the
Throne of Thrones of the King of the Kings Under the Mountain.
The wind howled madly about them, and it was bitterly cold. Neither man really
noticed such discomforts now, and indeed the winds seemed to steer away from their
presence, draw back in respect and acknowledgement of the primal power the two
represented.

Errant, one thing you learn over even centuries, time and time again, is that there is
never enough time to get done all you wish to do. I could spend a decade in nothing but
meditation, trying to unlock the secrets of the Seven DragonsI am lucky if I can snatch
a few weeks here and there. To do such fun things as to explore, to travel, to visit old
friends on a regular basisno, there is not enough time. Not at all.
Errant grunted. He couldnt believe how busy hed been kept doing this and that. No
Council of Elders now, nojust other Eternals grown older and wiser and staying out of
mortal affairs, delegating to him minor things that they just didnt have time to do.
Like the whole affair of unborn souls. Hed been told that what the damn Pyre
Queen had been doing had been felt across many worlds and realms other then Hlaeth,
and doubtless there were many others searching for the cause and pondering the
falloutbut it had been this world where the Queen had been born and it had been their
right and responsibility to deal with it.
And new Eternals had to arise somehow. Best to send some Mithrals to seize the
chance while they could.
Errant scratched his chin. Are there Eternals who do nothing but go around looking
for opportunities for mortals to become Eternal?
Darran burst out laughing again. I think some of the Diviners do that, making
themselves feel more useful. One thing Divs tend to develop is way too much knowledge
of how much dangerous stuff is actually out there, and they suddenly feel the urge of
getting off the active playing field. Of course, when they actually have to walk the walk,
they tend to be really, really nasty and very well prepareddesperation shows its face in
odd ways.
And the Void Brothers? Errant asked, curiously.
Darrans smile faded, and his eyes rose to consider the hostile weather about them.
Blessed, cursed, forever impelled to serve. Perhaps some of the truly great Eternal
Masters have an inkling of the ultimate force that drives them on, but I am not one of
those.
I expected a great deal more organization among the Eternals, seeing the benefits of
amassing knowledge and sharing skill in pursuit of common defense of our world.
Errant frowned. Instead I find a very loose organization of people knowing people to
send to people to learn from people.
You were expecting a meeting hall and a secret handshake? Darrans smile
returned at Errants droll expression. Such a place would be nearly indefensible,
especially if it was actually of importance. Devoting Eternal energies to reinforce a
hardpoint is a waste of time and energyEternals are driven individuals, the essence of

being proactive, and have a thousand different paths and ambitions. Our enemies would
destroy such a place if it existed, if an argument among the tempermental didnt do it
first
Errant was not buying it. The Weirhold is a hardpointan immense one, if you
consider it as the focal point of all Haxan, and the home of the Dragons young. The
nation of the Children is essentially one large breeding ground for Eternals, and home to
dozens. Perhaps we are more decentralized in Haxan because of the nature of Sources to
rovebut I refuse to believe that there is such a thing as the Order and no central place
unless it was by very deliberate design.
Correct, agreed Darran, without batting an eye. Such a repository of secrets and
knowledge would make a target too tempting for any to pass upand so a place to waste
a great deal of time and energy to guard. Our knowledge tends to be far more
decentralized, hidden in many places rather then one, and we focus on people instead of
objects and the like.
It gives the enemy no central point to kill a large number at once, but also makes it
difficult to present a massed frontexcept there is no front, is there? The enemy can
come from anywhere. Errant sat back thoughtfully. The best defense is basically an
unending offense.
Our best defense is keeping the Land mighty, Darran said calmly, eyes closed
now. The very existence of the laws of our reality and world are a mighty barrier in and
of themselves. The wise Eternal wages war so as to Feed the Land, and make the efforts
of the enemy make the Land ever stronger. Hence True Death, potentially a dreadful
power, passes into common usage, for good or ill, those who die forever at its hands
strengthen the Land. The Land can speak to us through the Void Brothers, in its own
way, and see to its own health thereby.
And more grand adventures result. Errant sighed, and the Master of the Storm
Dragon chuckled again. No wonder my progress has been so pathetic. I am getting hints
from the Weirhold that I should be about tracking down the rest of the Serpen Overmagi,
now that Ive seen to the death of one of them. The Eggers think I might be able to help
unravel the very runic reality they brought to our world if I do so.
Sounds suitably legendary a task to devote to an up and coming Eternal, Darran
said slyly. Especially a Source who doesnt have to be so worried about the magic of
thousand year old Serpen spellcasters on their homeground.
Errant spat acknowledgement of that point the spittle cracked in midair as it froze
solid before hitting the ground. Well, I had best be about it, then. No sense trying to
learn another Form before I use this latest one a few times and get a feel for the Storm.
They both got to their feet together, and saluted formally, student to master and
returned. Race you down, Darran smiled, and Errant rolled his eyes.

My lightfoot is good, but not that good. Nevertheless, he picked up his pace. No
leaping off the mountainsides with that Rising Winds Ascendent stuff!
Darran laughed again, and the winds swirled about them as both swordsmen took off
down the mountainside, one flowing along like an unleashed river, and the other hurtling
down on the wings of the wind.
=========
For better or worse, his companions in Eternity had already been chosen, and he
devolved to them for the tasks ahead.
Kavva was becoming, by default, the most essential. The breadth of her gifts and
support of her Order complementing her Sourcebond meant he didnt truly need any
other being as a companionthey were just extremely handy to have around. She was
more then happy to flit around on the wings of magic and get things done, to set up the
next series of tasks for them to engage in.
Warren and Cheri still had their family to care about, but Warren was now getting
involved in things on a greater and grander scale, and Cheris blood would be fired again
in another generation as she sought to inspire her children and grandchildren to greater
things.
Rorg was in it, but he a hundred Eternals to accompany hither and yon if Errant
wasnt busy. He was keeping busy, Errant knew, taking up Planeswalking for fun and
profit.
Trencher was also starting his own clan, having somehow managed to acquire a wife
or two that Errant had heard precious little of, and wee ones being raised as much by the
clan as by the Master Geomancer. His family ties were incredibly proud, but unlike
Cheris, didnt interfere with martial occupations. They almost demanded his
participation. He was Rockborn, he had no downtime. Time not spent smiting the
innumerable enemies was spent smiting steel, and harder stuff.
Odd to consider these things, he thought, as he bent over the papers Kavva had
acquired from the Halvyr. The Children were the scouts, spies, explorers, and delvers of
the Order, ranging far and wide across trans-infinity learning new things and bringing
them back for their allies to learn and grow. They trod places he had no concept of,
outside the realms he had been brought up to believe existed, for threats didnt come just
from the places told the children in cautionary tales or in the books of the faithful.
The Children were also snoops, and trackers, and little escaped them if they needed
to find it. Thus, they had been at work the last decade, locating the Serpen Overmagi in
their far realms; some the Serpen had built themselves, some theyd taken from others.
He had accounts to read and descriptions to consider, and paths and shortcuts to ponder.

Exactly like being a bloody Independent again. Errant shook his head, wondering
where his own ambitions had vanished off to over the course of his life, then smiled
despite himself as he considered the symbols and signs the Overmagi were using.
It was not a pleasant smile. It was the smile of a Source seeing a threat, something
that thought itself bigger, stronger, smarter, wiser then him. Something that had managed
to form something that was threatening the whole world he called home.
Something making his blood beat now, intent on the kill. Suddenly very focused
indeed, Errant bent to his task, a hunger for battle in every pulse of his heart.
Life was good.
===========
One thing about popping into Strife, you never knew what you were going to see.
The Halvyr were really, really good about not dropping you into an area overrun
with a Causea nice recipe for a quick death and possibly an extraplanar invasion. That,
of course, often left you hundreds of kliks from the portal you needed to attain access to,
which meant relying on Kavva for a phantasmal ride. It was irking, and something he
determined to do something about. Find a flying mount he could agree with, perhaps.
Below him roiled a living forest. Well, forests were alive, but this one was animate.
The thunder of marching trees was deafeningthe air below was a haze of pollens and
whirling leaves. There were creatures moving among the slow-moving treesall animate
plant-life facsimilies of animal life. What they were advancing on and doing battle with
he couldnt see, and didnt really want to, all things considered. Watching a hundredmeter forest of redwoods slowly and ponderously marching in lockstep, while behind
them came a countys worth of even taller weirwoods crackling with the magic of the
Greennope, he really didnt want to know.
But he was going to, because there was another portal located in that direction he
had to use, later.
The portal they needed was in one of the few stable locations of this moving army of
growing thingsa tree the size of a mountain. Well, part of a tree, and that part was as
big as a mountain. Some celestial plant-form so huge that its branches and roots extended
through realities. Possibly it was as large as a suna thought that would have impressed
him, until a Halvyr showed him a model of some distant realm with a giant turtle
crawling around the edge of some gargantuan sphere, and upon its back grew a tree that
had entire worlds hanging from its branches like colorful fruit, and the hearts of stars
birthed like flowers on its branches.
Perspective. The Halvyr had actually been there, giving him close-ups of several

worlds, and the society that had sprung up on the shell of the turtle itself, larger then any
planet in and of itself. Its dominant population had been Gargantua; average height,
something like twenty meters
The Worlds-Tree had a single branch thrusting itself up from the soil of Strife,
seemingly oblivious to the endless raging conflicts, extending leagues into the airand
the fanatical central point of the Cause of the Green on Strife. From the raw power that
pooled about the Worlds-Tree arose uncounted numbers of animate plant life, and like all
such beings here, they did battle with all unlike them.
There were plants about themthings floating on internal gas chambers, feeding on
cloud vapor, drifting in huge mats across the sky. They werent exactly quick, without
much visual range, and so fairly easily evaded. The smaller life-forms that mimicked
birds and the like were likewise simple to outrunusing illusions to conceal yourself
against plants not being the most useful of moves.
He was struck again by the resourcefulness of generations of Eternal scouts, finding
out about these routes to and fro, passing them on for the use of those who needed them.
Taking these little baby steps out into the multiverse was annoying but
necessaryalmost as annoying as having to chase down escaped Serpen Eternals fleeing
something and spreading across transfinity while the results of their collaborations
threatened his entire world. Yeah, that was annoying.
The one they were tracking down was the Naga of the covenant, an ancient and
mighty creature at least as old as a Wyrm, grown to monstrous size and power. It was
also the most solitary of the creatures, which would be useful. Research into its past
yielded an appellation, the Foresworn, and the ego that it was the precursor of a race that
would take over and replace the Dragons that had formed its race. Doubtless it had
contributed heavily to the invention of the Dramojh, seeing in them the perfect successors
of the Dragonsuntil, of course, they had proven too strong to control and broken free of
control.
Like the Overmagi, it had fled the Wake of the Wyrms, gone out into the multiverse,
and found a home, one of a collection of demiworlds labeled as the Timelost Worlds,
home to creatures that had largely vanished from much of the universe, primitive and
primal, where it could grow its plans in privacy and plentitude, and master a realm with
precious little sentient opposition. What it had done there in the intervening centuries was
unknownthe Halvyr who had found the Plains Primeval hadnt been trying to track an
ancient Naga, and encountered only the most primitive of civilizations, none of them
mammalian save in the coldest locations.
Fortunately for them, they didnt need to go thru the painstaking years of exploration
just to find a random portal to step thru that the Halvyr Explorer had, and even better,
they didnt need to land. They just needed to follow a specific branch of this off-shoot of
the Worlds-Tree thus and so, and the reality of the tree itself would warp and take them to
the place, a mere twig punching its way between planes into the old, old realm that was

their destination.
The Green could talk amongst itself fairly quickly, but reaction was slow, especially
to creatures that offered no threat and thus triggered no responses. The more aggressive
plant life reacted to them hostilely, but generally they were far out of range before an
effective response could be mustered from such violent (and massive) creatures, and the
rest of the plants did little more then stir and sense them go past before turning to the
more distant struggle.
The spectral steed he rode followed Kavva unerringly as she homed in on the correct
branch of the Worlds-Tree, and Errant was thankful that the raw riot of Green seemed to
not be trying to feed on the life form that had birthed it allor perhaps, could not.
Indeed, as they swept in closer, and closer, and closerdamnation, this thing was
hugehe could see actual birds in the air about it, oblivious to the massive conflict that
poured slowly and endlessly away from the trunk. A trunk at least a klik acrossthis
thing had to be a forty kliks highjust the tip of a branch, eh
They swooped in on the main trunk into a vertical, and Errant resisted the urge to
curse as gravity started aligning itself to the tree trunk and limbs they flashed past.
Sighing, he held onto the saddle and let himself get hauled around as they hurtled through
the air with speed a Dragon a-wing might envy.
Kavva was enjoying herself mightilyhe heard her delighted laugh as they
swooped and circled and shifted course, could feel her somewhat smug delight in the
whole scale of the massive plant about them.
Here we go, a limb dominated by leaves like thirty-meter palm fronds. Apparantly
the Worlds-Tree grew so slowly and across such time expanses that it evolved even as it
grew, and different sections of the tree could look very different depending on where they
led and how theyd grown. It made a certain immortal logicErrant sighed again and
shook his head, feeling his head ache in the way that assured him that reality was
rearranging around him, the air was acquiring a different flavor and tang to it, one that
made his hair stand up and his predatory instincts rise to the fore in response
And then they were shooting up into a weirdly blue-green sky, the air so clean and
pure it made his skin shiverjust as they started falling, because the spectral horses
werent under them any longer.
And while the tree behind them was probably three hundred meters high, their
momentum was carrying them well past its limbs and to the golden grasses waving below
them. He sighed, and started pushing on the air to slow his fall. He wasnt able to Walk
the Wings of the Wind yet, but he could slow his fall considerably, and if a wind came up,
almost indefinitelynot that landing wasnt going to be extremely painful.
Kavva grabbed his belt with a grimace and a grin all at once, at once ashamed at her
spell failing and eager to make up for it with a quick recovery, and turned their fall into a

swooping glide towards the ground below.

A minute later they were falling through four-meter tall long-grasses that proved to
be edged like swords to his careful test of hands. He promptly flattened everything
beneath them with a Tidal Palms thrust, and they hit the ground on a mat of broken
razorgrass.
Ah. Kavva dusted off her hands delicately as she looked around at their
surrounding walls of razorgrass. Not an auspicious beginning.
No. He looked back at the towering twig of the Worlds-Tree, huge palmlike
fronds hanging down from it, looking extremely primitive despite the many, many
branches. I dont imagine it will be hard to find our way back to this. The question is,
where to, and how do we get around?
Kavva was performing a quick set of magical exercises, attempting to suss out the
magical nature of the area she was inand see why her spell had failed.
Her brow furrowed. Magic isnt refined here, but its more then strong enough to
support a simple summoning. So what
No horse spirits in the Plains Primeval? he guessed reasonably. She glanced at
him with a bit of a glower at the simple logic.
Well, I could fly around, she ventured with false perkiness. Can you run across
grassblades yet?
He sighed. Okay, lightfoot was going to the very top of his learning curve. Not this
kind of grass. Theres a difference between making yourself nearly weightless and just
being light of foot
Excuses, excuses. She rose into the air again, taking a look around, and was a bit
startled when he calmly lept up past her and settled down smoothly on her shoulders.
Surfing a Sourcebond, however, I can do quite easily. He spun smoothly on her
shoulders, ignoring her instinctive wriggling. Mountains in the distance. Obviously not
all plains, named for the entry point, possibly the major landform. Ambient temperature
still tropical, and note weve got visitors below us.
She looked down, swore, and promptly rose another ten meters as the raptor lunged
up at her, jaws snapping shut well shy. Another half-dozen of the striped five-meter
dinoforms came gliding effortlessly through the swordgrass, looking up at them hungrily.
I imagine we can be seen from a good distance if you are tall enough. The raptors
below straightened up, necks extending just over the grass, looking in all directions
before turning their eyes back to the meals hovering above.

Kavva rolled her eyes. These things are going to be following us all over the place,
arent they?
We are just the right size for a quick meal. Probably. We need to find a river, and
probably trace it back to the mountains. Its pretty doubtful theres going to be much
building in the plains with the number of dinoforms around to eat sentientsyoud need
broken terrain with less prey to get on an even footing.
Or a very large wall? she pointed towards the west, instinct telling him that was
the way the sun was moving. His eyes narrowed as a line of what seemed to be rolling
hills took on sharper contours.
I think we can both agree that was not there before.
Empire building, doubtless. If they can raise herd dinos in safety, they can support
a larger population, more worshippers she trailed off, considering the implications.
Serpentfolk can reproduce very quickly with the right food supply, and hes had
centuries
Indeed. But we are here to kill him, not his Empireand given the savagery of this
place, I doubt his Empire will survive his fall intact. Our job is to find his lairthats a
good place to start.
He wouldnt build down hereup in the mountains, closer to stone and the ability
to carve monuments to himself, Id think. More secure, too.
And the Worldwalker did report ruins to the West. Nagai love old ruins
West it is, around the Wall?
I doubt theyd see us, but they might scent something amiss. Around the Wallthe
Walker would be hurt indeed if we didnt update his records at some point, however.
Without preamble, he sat down cross-legged on her backside, keeping his seating
effortlessly as she spun and started off. Below them, the pack of raptors formed a flying
wedge thru the razorgrass after them, but rapidly fell behind.
Comfy? she asked, looking back over her shoulder with sparkling green eyes.
He could feel her mood and raised an eyebrow. While an interesting concept,
probably not the time or place.
Spoilsport. She returned to focusing on her flying, and trying to ignore the very
warm sensations coming up from her spine and hips from where he was seated.
=====================

The roar was completely unexpected, powerful and primal enough to make Errant
shift ever so slightly, and stop Kavva cold in her tracks.
The wall had been much further away then theyd thought, mainly because it was
much taller then theyd figured. A minimum of fifty meters along the entire length, thirty
and more thick at the base. Watchtowers with smoldering flames of bronze billowing out
of vast serpentine sculptures atop them dotted the wall intermittently at a klik or two
between them, and numbers of bipeds moved along the tops of the walls slowly.
Theyd been engaged in surveying the lands, Kavva carefully recording the
landscape as she might, while Errant instinctively catalogued the massive array and
numbers of dinoforms below.
Entire herds of herbivores, numbering in the tens of thousands in the massive
marshes extending out of the wide river below. Some of them were the size of whales and
more. Hunting packs of tyrant raptors, two score and more strong, were going after the
herbivores like hunting wolves. Smaller raptors merely the size of rhinos swarming over
the smaller herbivores. There were verme in the waters, great flatfish, larger then a decent
merchantman, and aquatic dinosaurs every bit as large.
The sense of massive, uninhibited life was everywhere, savage and cold and primal,
predator and prey.
No oversize flyers, Kavva observed after their first hour. Given the amount of
predation, we should have seen clouds of scavengers at the least, or packs of
huntersfish hunters, if nothing else.
And just after that telling comment, had come the roar.
Errant oriented in on it immediately, since a whole section of the herds below
promptly panicked away from the source of the sound.
Three black dots below them, looking up at them. Glasses, he said shortly, and she
dug them out of her purse and handed them back to him.
He focused quickly on the bounding forms coming down under them, wedge shaped
heads pointed skywards at them. He saw the intelligence burning in their eyes, the
hunting glee, and a primal power and strength in the huge leaping bounds of their
motions. Great claws tore at the trampled ground, and their jaws opened and bayed their
bloodlust to the skies again, full of an ancient power reflective of the heart of a dragon
and more.
He passed the glasses to Kavva without comment. She trained them on the beasts a
couple hundred meters below them, and observed them silently for a long minute.

Siruush? she stated more then asked.

I believe they have a massive instinct relating to hunting flying things. Like
dragons, wyverns, wingdrakes, great insects Learning about some of the things you
could run across in timelost worlds was something hed done very carefully. Notice they
are collared?
She swore and looked again, but his eyes were better then hers. Ill take your word
for it. Pawns of the Naga?
Those things hunt Dragons. Im inclined to think theyd be of great use in
disposing of threats to the Naga itself, and carrying out its agenda.
And theyll follow us around night and day until we have to rest and try to kill us
when we land, in the meantime alerting anyone and everyone to our presence. She
sighed, and they began to rise. How high?
Couple hundred meters, then turn us invisible. We should be out of range of their
visual abilities. If we have to, we can take it up to a klik or more. We dont want them
following us.
They might very well be reporting on us, too. This suddenly got a lot less easy,
Errant.
Whoever said being an Eternal was going to be easy? he answered back calmly.

Re: Overmagi.
Where Errant gets to stop riding his Bondmaga, and gets to ride the Runt of a litter...
Overmagus II
Ever seen a fifty meter centipede? Kavva asked over her shoulder, as they came
down from altitude. Theyd lost the bounding forms of the Sirrush many kliks back, and
changed coursenow they were moving over an area of low scrub, and the dust this
monster kicked up had been visible from some distance away.
Cant say as I have. Errant looked down from his perch on her back curiously as
they came down within a hundred meters of the ground again. It was definitely a
centipede, and absolutely massive even from this height, with its hundred legs moving
madly as it raced pell-mell across the plain below, single-mindedly following after a
much smaller lunch. It was moving faster then any horse could run, but still the white
blur kept it at a distance, moving with great loping strides that bespoke tremendous
strength and endurance.

Thats a mammal. It was the first one theyd seen upon arriving. Correct me if
Im wrong, but thats a bull-sized wolf with white fur tinged in red. Sound familiar? He
was very interested now.
Bracheraii, or something?
Wolf Primal, he shortened the fancy term some Egger had doubtless thought up to
something more understandable and poetic. Pack hunterwhats this thing doing out
here solo? Especially here?
They are intelligent, as I remember. We could go down and ask it, Kavva said
non-chalantly.
Perfect timing for a conversation. Got that armor-rending spell you were talking
about in memory?
Er, yes. She blinked down at the megapede rampaging along beneath them, an
army on the march all by itself. Hit it in the head?
That should work. Without shifting her a bit, he rose to his feet, and Duty slid
noiselessly out of its scabbard. Maybe the Wolf will appreciate a meal while its at it.
You understand these things so well, she commented coyly, as the strangely light
pressure of his boots found her buttocks and the area between her shoulder blades.
Only fitting. Get a little closer. I doubt the bug will consider us a threat until its a
wee bit too late.
Ah, the famous Source thunderbolt-from-above. Who needs a bolt from a blue
when youve got a Source Eternal around?
I imagine what you are about to do to it will hurt a lot more. Mine will just make it
dead.
The things we do for fresh bug. That made him muffle a chuckle despite himself.
She caught his amusement, and took that for what it was worth.
The bolt of rending force she wove quickly and surely. It was an old, old spell of
Halvyr origin, used very specifically for Dragon-slayingand other big things with lots
of thick armored scales. It exploded out of her hands in a vibratory pulse of incredible
force, making the very air congeal and ripple as it went smashing down on the massive
head of the creature.
The ancient bug had just a second to wonder what was going on before its carapace
literally tore itself off the first ten meters of its body, ripped apart by the vibrations of the
pulse, and sent flying in all directions in a bloody spray. Its mad rush ended in a

squealing shriek of pain as it instinctively began to curl in on itself.

Errant came smashing down from thirty meters above, transferring the full force of
his impact into Duty, and letting loose the Wave-Slicing Stroke in full measure on the
vulnerable beast. The force of the stroke blasted cleanly through the revealed whitish
flesh and torn ganglia and spurting blood of the megapede, ripping out of the far side of
the beast with enough force to divide the head in two for the first five meters of its length,
and send dirt and sand spraying into the air.
He was bouncing off it as it began to writhe and curl in on itself from muscle reflex,
but the threat was over. The multiton body went tumbling over the grasses, convulsing
like one of its smaller cousins, albeit with enough force to crush anything smaller then a
rhino in the path of the massive segments of its body.
Kavva kept her demure distance in the air, waiting for it to settle down, while Errant
waited on the ground with detached calmand very aware of the fact that the Wolf had
stopped in its tracks and was watching the activity with keen interest.
Male, hungry, scared. Obviously not up to the task of taking on the megapedeor
not confident it could take one. Strangea Wolf Primal was invested with what Halvyr
called a Heart Primeval, an Elder Power of the Animal Realm. Hurting it with mundane
weapons would be almost impossibleeven something as strong as the megapede should
not have been that great a threat to it. Errant sniffed at the air, curiously, and could feel it
slowly circling back, curiosity and hungerand a pair of much smaller
creatureshelping it regain its courage.
Not too concerned, Errant waited while the megapede stopped writhing and the treetrunk sized legs stopped twitching. Then he started forwards, Duty waiting in hand.
----------------------------The first five meters of the creature was all headsmashed and broken chitin,
cloven in twobrain more a mass of nerve tissue then anything used for thinking. After
that, muscle and body tissues began to open up, and that naturally meant bug meat.
He turned sharply back to meet the eyes of the Wolf, and stopped it cold. It was a
Beast of Eld, time long past on Errants world, but it could recognize him as a predator,
too, and a dangerous oneone that did not consider a megapede a threat. The Wolf
started to growl as it stepped back, but it sensed no threat coming off the smaller
predatorjust a ready danger that was not going to tolerate a threat of its own. It looked
at the blade in the Mans hand, and retreated a step more as it sensed and smelled a blood
unlike anything it had ever seen seared into the edge, a power as old and as mighty as
itself, if not moreso.
That wet scarlet edge slid into the thick chitin and peeled it aside like butter, opening
up more area. With an easy cut, a mass of white meat was sliced free, lifted up like a slab

of plenty.
Errant could hear its stomach rumble from where he was standing. He looked back
at the Wolf as Kavva calmly set down on a still-armored portion of the carcass.
It was body language and scent, predator to predator, and this Wolf was smarter then
virtually any Man. It was surprised to see that it was being invited to eat.
Cautiously it approached, surprisingly light afoot and ready to flee at the slightest
provocation, golden eyes alert for the slightest sign of treachery. It sniffed at the air,
strangely clear of the scent of the monkey-like biped Male, if not the Female, who was
possessed of strangely conflicting, almost masking odors.
Errant calmly slung a ten-kilo length of bug at the Wolf, who snatched it out of the
air with fantastic speed and accuracybut did not retreat. Oversized fangs bit in, flipped
the meat over smoothly, and with three great gulps swallowed it down.
Eat your fill, Kavva said smoothly. Great golden eyes turned on her in surprise, as
much that it understood her as that she could actually communicate. I think there is
enough.
Tail higher, more confident as it studied her, it approached, glancing again at the
Malewho did not step aside, but instead reached down and cut another slab of bug meat
free and held it out for him.
Carefully, the Wolf reared up, front legs lifting to the top of the carcass, and kept a
wary eye on the Man as his jaws snapped shut on the meat.
With great interest he watched the female mutter and gesture, and golden eyes
widened as fire sputtered to life on the chitin shell, and a slab of bug floated over to start
hissing and sizzling over the flames.
Errant held out another length of bug, and with eagerness and interest, the Wolf took
it. This was proving most curious, for it could feel none of the instinctive rivalry
predators had for one another at work hereyet this Male was unmistakably a predator,
and extremely dangerous in ways it did not yet understand. Quiet, subtle power hung
around him like a gathering storm, while the beat of Natures Song was flowing through
the Female in a strange and fluid torrent she could obviously manipulate.
The two made more strange noises at one another, without any of the natural purity
and rhythm of truly natural communication. The female turned to look at him again.
Were you the Runt?
It was a very direct question and made the Wolf growl instantly, the words
translated perfectly into terms he could understand. Its eyes fell away in shame, rose

again as it pondered if it should accept such a term from a primate, thought better of it on
seeing the Males eyes.
Errant has noticed you are scarred, and not of the strong build he would expect of
an Alpha. You have been underfed and are undersized. This also means you were a
member of a pack. You are the first warm-blooded creature we have seen in this land.
Where is the rest of your pack?
Another chunk of meat was thrown to him. He took it and glared at the two of them,
but it had little effect, and falsehood was not instinctive to his kind. They are dead, slain
by the Dragon-Eaters. As long as I avoid the pack, they do not bother to hunt me down.
But that leaves me to hunt in the most dangerous areas, away from easy prey. He was
not sure of the exact mechanic of how he replied, or how she understood him...but he
answered nonetheless.
And to be hunted yourself. Interesting place for a warm-blood Pack to dwell. Can
you not leave this world?
He growled again. I know not the means of using the Great Tree. Our Pack dwelled
here for many generations.
And the hunting must have been very good. How did three Sirrush manage to kill
your Pack?
There used to be many more of them. And the Great Flying Snake came, and gave
them yet more help. In the end, the Snakes command of the Song was too great for us to
overcome, and the Pack declined, until the Dragon-Eaters fell upon our Lair, and only I
remain.
How many seasons ago?
Seasons? The Wolf was suprised it understood the term, but it had no personal
relevance. There are no seasons here.
Timeless realm, indeed. She looked to her mate it was impossible for the Wolf
to consider them otherwise obviously deferring to him, confirming the Wolfs sense of
the two of them. We are here to kill the flying serpent. It was born on our lands, and
fled, fearing the wrath of our Great Pack. Would you like to assist us, and join our hunt
for the creature?
Golden eyes widened in greater interest as the Wolf caught more meat. Hunt the
Serpent? And the Dragon-Eaters?
If they are its servants.
I would indeed be interested. A long tongue licked oversized fangs, large yet

dexterous claws tensed and untensed on the Wolfs feet. The former Runt tilted his head,
torn ears attentive. How do you intend to hunt them? The Serpent does not leave its lair,
and the Eaters, they are deadly and always travel in their Pack.
He smelled it then, the killing scent, saw the Mans eyes open wide and the death
inside them. It was a thrilling thing to see, something that made the ancient hunter inside
the Wolf sit up and wish to howl.
He looked at his mate, who listened attentively to the nonsense sounds and then
nodded. He says, with your help, it will not be as difficult as you might thinkbut to
hunt together, there are things you must do. Have you ever hunted alongside Men?
The Wolf simply said, No. Apes are either prey or ignored. You have hunted
alongside Wolves?
Your smaller descendents have hunted alongside Men for ages past counting. It
will be good to have you with us. And doubtless you will be eating much better.
The Wolfs tongue lolled, and he snatched up another offering of meat. You hunt
the great Many-Feet well. It will be good to fill my belly more often.
This will require many things for you to learn. You will have to be more then a
Runt to hunt with my mate and Imore then an Alpha of a pack. Are you willing to learn
these things?
Stronger then an Alpha? His tail wagged once in great interest. A new way to
Hunt?
==============
The collar was not put on easily. He could smell the magic on it, but the Males total
disinterest in the matter of whether he wore it or not was more worthy of trust then the
Femalesand then only with assurances it would be removed immediately if he wished
it off. The Male had just snorted, the Female had laughed and said he could likely rip it
apart with his hindclaws in seconds if he desired. That mollified him too.
It sets up the magic I use to communicate with you, and allows you to speak our
tongue for as long as you wear it. She stood back and waved at the Male. I am Kavva,
and this is Errant.
I was the Runt. The Wolf blinked at the words that came out of his mouth.
Remarkable. Just the existence of the words opened up new avenues of thought and
possibility.
It helps make talking easier between us, although we shall have to learn to
communicate without sounds, of course. The Males voice had dangerous undercurrents

to it, extremely subtle but very apparent to the Wolfs keen senses and awareness. He
hefted a strange thing made of some sort of hide the Wolf was unfamiliar with. This is
called a saddle. It is used to allow you to carry riders more comfortably and stably. The
Wolf sniffed suspiciously at the contraption. As with the collar, if you despise it, you
can rip it off, although I will ask you to let us remove it. They take some time to make.
And I would wear this why? Runt asked with a growl.
The Male showed his teeth, and again that killing scent was in the air. I said you
would have to learn to be more then a Wolf. Allow me to show you how we will Hunt the
Eaters. But, to start with, Im going to need one of your fangs.
My fang? the startled Wolf repeated, even more surprised.
We are going to make a very large tooth to spit them on. Your fang will make the
point. I believe your natural healing abilities will recover the tooth in a matter of minutes.
Would you like your Fang to be the weapon that brings them down?
Runt found himself greatly interested once more. While vengeance was not
something a Wolf paid attention to, the Eaters were deadly foes and if they could be
killed, all the better. It would also prove that he was stronger then his Alphaand that
would be a great thing in and of itself.
Excellent. Let me fit the saddle to youwe want this as comfortable as possible,
because carrying me without it is going to be annoying to us both.
==================
The next few days were fairly intensive. Neither Man nor Wolf needed much in the
way of sleep, and Runt was as eager to learn as Errant was to teach.
Teaching the lore of the Beasts of Haxan to the Wolf, the techniques of carrying a
rider and working with him, was made considerably easier by the pure intelligence and
understanding possessed by Runt, who understood very quickly the purpose and
intentions of all sorts of maneuvers, and thence only had to learn them via repetition.
Errant was scornful of using a bridle, of course, and they had to work on signals and
straighten out who was guiding whom. Errant, of course, had a great deal more
experience working with a mount and canines, and Runt wasnt going to argue the point
when he saw Duty sheer through solid stone like cheese.
Kavva stayed busy as well, establishing a Planar Focus and using magic to leave the
Plains for equipment suitable for a canine the size of a bull, as well as to retrieve a
suitable lance for the pair of them. Upon her return, she departed while the pair of them
continued to practice, muttering something about a man and his dog with a smile, going
to scout out the lair of the enemy, a deed that was her specialty, and which, Errant
assured Runt, she was very, very good at.

The paw bands that allowed Runt to run on air were a marvel, and they made his
claws and teeth as hard as diamonds, able to rip stone and chew steel up. Delighted with
these toys, Runt accepted the follow up gear with much less suspicion, finding a strange
thrill in the accoutrements that enhanced his natural might.
The lance got his great interest, tipped as it was with an ivory point of great power
his own sacrificed fang, wrenched from his jaw by Errants bare fingers, now tipping a
lance of the same name. He watched Errant drive that lance an arms length into solid
stone as they charged, and yipped his approval over how the Sirrush were going to die.
They practiced on some of the great beasts of the bordersscorpions larger then
houses, crystalline spiders smashed right out of their glittering webs, a stray Tyrant dino
or two. The Fang was surpassingly lethal, and when humming with the seemingly
boundless spiritual depths of his rider, Runt was awed and gratified to see exactly how
fast it could kill virtually anything they ran across.
When Kavva returned, she had on an expectant smile and an air of anticipation.
Errant and Runt weighed how much more practice they needed, and she helped with
some crude yet difficult obstacle courses, moving targets, and the like, letting them slice
their way through illusions and the like as they learned to function at more then a mere
charge. It was entertaining and terrifying how effective the pair of them were together,
and Runt was looking forwards to the fighting to come with great interest.
He also looked forwards to the Mans stories and tells of worlds outside the Plains
Primeval, sharing the old Hunt tales and lineage of his own people and listening with
fascination to the descriptions of the wider multiverse and all the creatures and beings
that resided within it. This, too, was most attractive, as there were no others of his kind
left on the Plains, and that meant he would have to wander afar to look for a mate. The
Primal Wolf studied the minor illusions that Kavva wove with great interest, thinking
thoughts and asking questions which he would never have imagined possible before this
day.
==========================
It was decided to kill the Sirrush pack first.
Kavva was fairly sure from her recon that the Naga had the power to summon the
beasts via their collars, and during that recon had also made sure to misdirect any search
efforts the Naga attempted. It came as no surprise to Errant that powerful Scalefolk
warriors on Tyrant-back had been scouring the area for some sign of the pair of them, but
the lands they had been in were dangerous even for packs of Tyrants, a fact Errant could
attest to even after eliminating some of those threats.
Leaving the Eaters-of-Dragons behind them would be a very bad move. Errant was
unconcerned with the Scalefolk minions of the Naga, such as they were, fairly sure that

on the Nagas death it would not take long for species rivalry to explode out of religious
submission into violence over the successors. The Naga had a strong and zealous
priesthood to protect itbut magic was not something Errant was much worried about,
and if there was a skill hed picked up from the Children and his own ancestors, it was
the mass butchery of Scalefolk.
Kavva went searching for them from the air. The penchant of the Sirrush to roar on
the hunt, delighting in terrifying all but the most powerful creatures of this place, made
them fairly easy to locate, as the sound carried for leagues over the fairly flat and rolling
grasses of the central Plains, and echoed over and over off the mountains of the outer
reaches if that was were they were roaming. Invisible and airborne, using visionenhancement magic, she sought them out, and guided Errant and Runt to them.
There were some limitations on Runts speed while racing in the air, so they elected
to remain on the ground for the assault, although it remained an option for getting them
beyond the reach of their foes. The pair of them waited while Kavva shaped winds to
allow the merest hint of scent to be carried to their enemieswho picked up on it with
immediate and bloodthirsty vigor and went racing down off the hills into the river regions
in an attempt to track it down.
They naturally stampeded the herds as they came roaring through, kicking up a
massive cloud of dust and obscuring vision in all directions. It was across this mass
distraction that Errant and Runt struck.
Bounding off the back of a half-dozen frightened brontosaurs, guided by Kavva
watching from above, the pair smashed into the rearmost Sirrush dead in the center. The
Eater of Dragons had only an instant of surprise as the pair came shooting out of the dust
and mass of ground-shaking bodies to drive Fang through scales as hard as adamant,
impale the creatures Heart Primeval with a silent explosion of internal power and ancient
energies interacting. Then they were leaping away and over the hurtling corpse, pulling
Fang free, into the concealing roil of frightened dinosaurs as the other Sirrush heard the
startled death-gargle of their fellow and dug their claws into a stop as the body of the
slain Sirrush went tumbling and rolling to a halt, struck dead by one fatal blow.
Quite understandably, they were not happyeven less so when they smelled the
presence of the Wolf.
Runt proclaimed his presence with a Howl straight from the depths of antiquity,
ringing out and soaring with the power of the Hunt Eternal and uncounted generations of
the ancient Lords of the Lupine. Even the Sirrush tensed on hearing that sound, a sound
theyd thought long stilled forever, and answered with their own rising, thunderous roars
of challenge.
The second Sirrush barely had time to raise its crest as the two of them exploded out
of the dust in mid-roar, blinking in amazement at the sight of a primate riding a Wolf
Primal, and focusing too late on the lance leading the way with uncanny precision and

balance.
Errant expeditiously drove the lance right into the creatures mouth, down its throat,
and Fang once again found the beating center of the beasts power. The impact smashed
the Eater up and away as it instinctively clamped down on the lance, and Errant let the
weapon go as Runt sprang once, twice, and put forty paces between them and the other
Sirrush, sliding to a stop.
The last one is yours, Errant said quietly, and Runt looked back at him once, and
then nodded. If he was the Alpha now, he would have to prove it. Errant hopped free as
Runt Howled his challenge, and went for the Sirrush in a final challenge of the
supremacy of two Packs.
Errant winced despite themselves as the two beasts came togetherthe Sirrush was
heavier, naturally stronger, and its collar provided excellent protection. On the other
hand, Errant had not spared the expense in equipping Runt with gear normally reserved
for Dragons or the Mounts of Paladine Eternalsand hed been showing Runt that there
were more ways to fight then exactly as his ancestors had done.
He was using them now, the techniques of the Hounds of Haxan, with a power
flowing directly from his Heart Primeval, a blur of crimson-tipped white fury, almost
impossible to follow with his speed, reading his opponent as easily as a Master of Waters
and dancing around him, ripping and tearing with enhanced teeth and claws, shredding
those massive scales as equally terrible jaws lunged and lashed at him in a spinning,
blurring circle of tooth and claw. He avoided any attempt to overwhelm him with
superior weight and strength with superior speed and awareness, and ripped at the scales
with claws even harder and a fury that shocked the Sirrush who remained alive.
There it was, finally a good grip on a rear claw, a head toss, and the Sirrush didnt
twist free quite fast enough. Its hindquarters went into the air, twisting over, and the rest
of its body went with it, and before it could get its claws back on solid ground and twist
away, Runt was on its throat, and now tearing at it with all four claws and his teeth.
It was a murderous and bloody frenzy, a move taken directly from the instincts of
uncounted generations of felling downed prey. The blood flew wildly as the two creatures
ripped at one another, now rolling over and over, but the wild power of the Wolf Primal
now showed as he tore into the larger Eater. His claws at last tore through the last layer of
scales, opened the massive throat, and faster then thought, bloody jaws plunged inside
and tore apart everything with unremitting savagery.
The Sirrush kicked and clawed and tried to disembowel, but its claws slid through
the fur of the Wolf and over his skin like slick, rippling steel. Runt found what he was
looking for and his jaws closed instantly. He tore with all his strength, and ripped free the
Heart of the Sirrush in a spray of hissing blood, and with two iron-snapping claps of his
jaw, swallowed it down.

The Sirrush was still kicking feebly as Runt threw back his head and Howled his
triumph and the primacy of his Pack to the skies. This was his land now, and woe, woe to
the Serpent who had dared to invade it!
==============
Mountainsides came down.
Huge swathes of stone reverted to mud, precipitated the collapse of far greater
volumes of stone above them. The land shook and released its heavy load with a rumble
and a tumble of thousands of tons of rocknot at all coincidentally directly down upon
the stronghold of the Naga Overmagus.
Monuments and buildings carved by hundreds of years of fanatical, devoted labor
were crushed and shattered, faithful servants buried, the work of centuries buried and
swept away by the remorseless stone. Secure in its Empire and its primacy as the
mightiest being in this realm, the Naga had not devoted the time to its defenses that it
should have, and Kavva calmly began to take it apart.
Whole mountainsides sheared away onto the faithful of the Naga, hidden temple
complexes buried deep underground collapsed as the earth heaved about them and could
not sustain themselveswhat protective magic they had carefully eliminated mere days
prior. Screaming for the aid of their Naga god, its faithful died by the hundreds to
Kavvas meticulous assault on his infrastructure, and not all the armies it could muster
did it any good from deep within its temples.
Errant and Runt busied themselves butchering Scalefolk knights on Tyrant-back.
Runt was all for administering punitive revenge and driving the Scalefolk back to their
old hunter/gatherer ways, and like Errant began to greatly enjoy taking down things a
great deal bigger then he was. The pair of them became a howling terror to all the
Scalefolk as they cut apart the greatest of the Scalefolk champions-at-arms, and the
Scalefolk learned to shiver in dread at the Howl soaring towards the skies in the song of
Runts long dead Pack.
This also had the effect of removing the dominant military element from the picture,
so that when the Naga fell, the Scalefolk would be far more evenly matchedand thus
able to kill each other far more effectively.
----------------Runt trotted along the winding tunnels with a restrained snarl and surprising quiet
for his size. Fang was put away, but Duty was out, and the Wolf had no doubts about how
effective that weapon was in tight quarters, either.
Kavva had already gone ahead of them and was removing traps and sending back
word of ambushes and the like. Occasionally the mountain would rumble and hissing

screams echo back to them as dust and wind billowed past, and a connecting passage
would entomb some enemy force forever, from up ahead.
A dangerous mate to have, Runt observed with a hunters fondness for a good
Packmate.
Indeed, shes got far more talents then I do. Im more specialized in the art of
killing things by any means at hand.
The Wolf sniffed, halted. She has met something large. Not a scaled
oneaWorm?
A worm? Errant lifted an eyebrow and frowned, reaching out to touch the stone.
He could feel the distant vibrations of something large moving along the stone. Big
oneif shes letting it pass it would take too much magic to make it worth her killing.
She says it has Diabolic taint on it, and to be careful when we slay it. The Wolf
was every bit as confident of that fact as he sounded, although the word diabolic almost
dripped with disgust off his fangs.
A Hellworm? Havent seen one of them since, hrn, that Serpen fortress in the south
let one loose on the area. Stupid, reallybroke up the ground even worse then it was
They could both hear it now, armored hide rubbing up against the stone, coming on with
single-minded hunger and a pain that displayed itself in a sudden, unnatural keening
sound that set their teeth on edge.
Im impatientlets kill it and make sure we get past it as we doitll likely seal
the passage behind us.
Runt looked back at him. And that is a good thing?
Kavva is using the collars of the Sirrush to track the Naga. The bad thing about
having a magic item that can call things to you, is that you are tied to the magic item and
can be tracked. Hes down and ahead, skulking, hoping to catch us in a dimensional trap
and use the mountain against us like its been used against him.
Clever. The trifold jaws of the Worm suddenly thrust around the corner ahead of
them, and the Wolf Howled at the mindless thing automatically, starting forwards, one
step becoming a bound, and the next becoming a charge.
It never felt them coming until Runt spun completely upside down and was racing
over it from the ceiling, and Errant was working Duty with both hands, slicing huge,
gaping swathes in the beast as they moved past it. Gore and white fires exploded behind
them as True Death fed on the corruption in the beast, and an oddly relieved scream of
earth-shaking power rocked the mountain around them. Then the world behind them went
white as the Hellworm exploded, and the mountain came down.

They were well down the corridor by then, moving at a good clip, and Kavva knew
they were coming. Arcane fire suddenly backlit the corridor ahead of them, and magic
began to thicken in the air around them.
Runt tore right past Kavva from where she was exchanging spells with a half-dozen
Scalefolk, Howling his glee. The Scalefolk screamed and then the Wolf was among them,
through them, and only two were still alive as the Wolf and Rider surged past into the
creatures arrayed in the Hall against them.
The polished stones rang with the Howl of a Wolf Primal and Duty was a swathe of
vivic fire as the pair tore a bloody path towards the dais at the far end where a massive
serpentine form was coiled in midair, spitting spells at them and conjuring creatures.
Massive constructs ground into motion, rose up out of the earth, in the form of more
serpents and Scalefolk, elemental beings of ancient power rose flaming from the fires of
the world or heaved themselves out of the stone to bar their way.
Kavvas spells ranged ahead of them with killing power, ignoring the Naga save in
the most peripheral manner, force lances and radiant beams drilling, lashing, raging into
the bodies of the creatures as the pair of them came relentlessly onwards. Duty ripped
apart bodies of fire and stone with equal impunity, weakened constructs were torn
asunder by blows of enhanced claws and teeth, and the magical assaults on them never
even got close.
It realized it should run. A spell escaped it thenand nothing happened.
And then Errant was off Runts back and racing forwards, right over a flaming
serpent conjured up from the pits of Hell as Runt tore into it and began to shred it with
great energy and enthusiasm. He didnt stop for the serpent-heads lashing up out of the
stones, the leering Scalefolk statues that tried to intercept him, and the Naga, expecting
him to remain with his mount and unprepared for the speed of his attack, had no time to
fly away or out of range when he kicked up and was coming in.
Serpentine eyes opened wide as it caught the limnus of the Storm Front, an ocean
driven by a wrathful storm, following the dread sight of a Haxan Clansword in the hands
of a Profound Masterand too late, it saw that its foe wasnt surrounded in anti-magic,
but far, far worseand the Source hit him.
Instantly the Naga was falling, and the blade was ripping apart ancient scales like
butter, ignoring multi-layered magical protections, slicing multiple coils with every
stroke. The Naga screamed and tried only once to enwrap the puny human, to bite him
and fill him with black venom.
The next second, its abhuman head exploded in white light and severed pieces of
Naga were flying in every direction, flaming vivic light. Streaks of decaying magic being
Fed upon raced through the air, and the entire room trembled.

Time to go! Kavva stated, waving her hand as she swooped up over Runt where
he was throwing aside the twitching head of the flame snake hed torn clear off its neck,
grabbing his saddle. The Wolf saw the disk in space spin and reveal the landscape
outside, and Errant racing back towards it, and without hesitation jumped for it himself as
the room exploded around them from the weight of the mountain being released.
They emerged from opposite ends of the portal, jetting out on displaced air and
being sent tumbling by the blast, both Wolf and Man finding their feet as Kavva went
spinning safely up into the air.
No loot? Errant protested with mock horror.
No feasting? Runt howled back, in equally mock outrage.
Yay, we are still alive! And it probably still doesnt know what hit it! was Kavvas
rejoinder, drifting back to join them. She could see the distant forms of Scalefolk keeping
their distance as they pointed up at the mountain, which seemed to be erupting in rather
copious amounts of lava, the earth rumbling and splitting and shaking.
Two down. How about we rest up, and then you can bring down some really big
chunks of wall and let the dinos in on them, Errant said, trotting back to join Wolf and
Bondmage, keeping a wary eye on the volcano not far away. Then it will be time to go.
Ready to rove infinity, Runt?
The Wolf smiled toothily. I must find a mate somewhere. It will
beinterestingto accompany you. His tongue lolled out as he considered the burning
mountain they had just vacated.
Pleasure to have you along. We also get to watch Kavva wreak more havoc on the
enemy. It will be fun seeing a pack of wild tyrants snatching up Scalefolk, and raptor
teams racing all over after them.
The Land is a harsh mistress, the Wolf agreed. Iwill miss my home. But it is
time to find another.
Errant swung smoothly into the saddle on the Wolfs back. Well, then, lets get to
something resembling a safe distance, leave them a farewell gift from your Pack and
ours, and see about heading home.

Prospects of the Deep

The Mick hated losing ships.

Ships meant time and money...and his were good ships. Before any ship of his hit the
water, the thing had been worked over by magic, the hull was harder then steel and
resistant to rot and decay, repelled fire, and conducted lightning harmlessly away. As the
ship made money, it got upgraded...magical rudders and sails to increase the speed and
stabilize the seas about it, electrical discharges to turn the sea about it into a cooking soup
for all them monsters and creature hoards of the deeps...enhanced ballista and catapults,
good ammo, divine blessings...the Red Ships of the Crimson were the best on the water.
He had the money to make it happen, and happen it did.
Now, his routine cargo vessels that he seconded out to ambitious captains looking to join
the Crimson proper, they weren't so well equipped or made. But someone had to have the
worse stuff, and the Gods knew, he'd claimed enough of the sort in ship-to-ship actions
the last ten years. He wasn't about to spend the kind of money on someone else's vessels
that he did on those of the Crimson, but he didn't let anyone sail under the Crimson flag
unless they had a damn fine crew and sailed a very tight ship. The Crimson had a
reputation for wildness and independence and fiery spirits, and it was all deserved...but
woe to any captain who didn't have a ship ready to sail and a crew who could sail it. The
Mick was very unforgiving of people who relied on the reputation of the Crimson and
didn't contribute to it.
Since coming back and putting the Colonel Crimson to the sword in proper fashion on the
high seas, the Mick had turned around the Crimson entirely. The fortunes of the
Company had declined so much they were holding onto their Quarter in Freesword by the
skin of their teeth. The Mick had been more then happy to help that misery along, and all
of Freesword had been watching his rise with the outcast daughter of the Crimson family
on his arm. He had zeal, energy, style, and he had money. He'd beaten the Colonel on
contracts, taken away shipping routes, raided his ships more then a few times, and at last
forced the old bastard out to personally confront the Black Daen and get himself killed
like a proper pirate should die.
The Mick had sailed into the Crimson docks, and taken them for his own. He'd tossed out
most of his Lady's relatives on their ears, most of the Crimson captains, and started
rebuilding. Hurt a lot of feelings, he had, and had quite willingly let them paint the streets
crimson with their own blood, instead of suffering merely mental hurts.
Those had been good years, with him and the Marauders making their names in
Freesword, expanding the Crimson and taking back the name and the prestige of the Red
Sail.
And now one of his lesser captains goes and gets a ship sunk, and the Mick had to go bail
him out.
The Red Seas was his flagship, tricked out, tricked on, and the fastest, deadliest ship on
the water. His crew members were cunning killers and sailors to a sot, marines who could
fight on land or sea with precision and speed. Vade made damn sure of that...no one got
on his ship who couldn't pass Vade's school in Northgate. He'd been involved in

numerous refugee rescues, privateering, pirate-hunting, and smuggling actions since the
Demon Khan had started to turn the north of the Empire into a freefall butchery zone, and
the racism against Humans had gone rampant and Men were fleeing any lands where
Jytans ruled with desperate speed. The Beastmen Eater cults seemed everywhere, preying
on anyone, but Humans in particular, and the Jytan were, for the most part, unable to deal
with them or outright ignoring them. Some Tainted bastards even led crews and cells of
the creatures...especially after the fall of the High Throne.
He had some Beastmen among his crew, but not many. Others among his Captains were
more eclectic in their mix of bodies, but he liked to keep his racial conflicts to a
minimum. Freesworders and Haxans and displaced northern Men made up most of his
crew, and he was proud of them and for them. They'd done some dubiously moral things,
and they'd been saviors, and they'd been avenging blades in the night and the day...but in
the end, they were his crew, and they followed him and his Lady in what they needed to
do.
The Red Sea was slicing through the waves at a good twenty knots, the red sails full
despite heading into a strong eastern wind. The prow cut through the rough seas like a
knife, and their progress was as if sailing across waters as smooth as glass, barely a ripple
up and down.
The port where Captain Tamald had been sunk at was a minor Valuzuvan city on the
Krys Myr, shielded from the worst of the Tauren ravages by conveniently heavy hill
terrain and well-placed defenses. The Steward was, by all accounts, a fairly decent and
honest Jytan, but anything could be happening. Cargoes, hmm, pottery and some
foodstuffs...they had a ship repair facility, and packaged a lot of fish. There were also
some rumors he'd have to see for himself.
What was the name of the place? Ah, yes, Korvassar...the Blue Waters Bay, by legend.
The Crimson Lord just wanted to know who in the world had the gall to sink a ship under
the Crimson banner, and just what they thought they were getting away with.
Vade and his Crimson Dame, Dael and his Crimson Witch, and Tocs and his Crimson
Matron were on standby, in case of need. Hodre was actually riding down from the
northern end of Corix to meet him there, dragging along some eager Marines ready to
skewer any Taurens they saw along the way. The big Corix swordsman's wife, the
Crimson Knife, might be especially useful if the rumors were true.
"Land ho!" the spotter above cried out, which meant they were only a pair of hours from
the harbor, were their course true...and it'd best be true, he grinned to himself, caressing
the hilts of his Ladies. Dark eyes scanned the unfriendly waters where a ship of his had
gone down, and he promised himself some new shades of red were going to be painting
the seas soon.
========================

The damn city was under magical assault.

His Loreguard, Cussler, going as gray as his Lord, was prompt to inform him of the
extreme level of power needed to manage a hellstorm of that size and potency...as if the
Mick needed to ask. There was also some sort of battle going on in town, if his enhanced
vision wasn't lying to him.
He turned to his Lady, and just nodded and pointed at the town. She smiled and drew her
own long knives, gold and rose' fires racing up along the edges.
He himself spat out a spell, and took off for the heart of that storm.
A lot of people were surprised when they found out he knew magic. Truth be told, he was
sometimes surprised he knew any, too. Then, of course, he'd seen Errant, that miserable
Haxan Source bastard, at work in the Deeps and on the surface of the Wyrmlands,
plowing through the magic and hellfire and curses and mindblasts and what-not that was
heaped on him, and realized that if he couldn't wade through magic wrought by creatures
of nightmare as if they were a gentle spring rain, he'd best be able to defend against it and
use it in his own service, or it would be used against him.
He wasn't a serious Mage...he'd focused his attentions very tightly, ignoring a lot of wider
magical knowledge to apply himself to the core of what he deemed necessary. Magic that
defended, magic that gained knowledge, and magic that mastered the air. Sure, he could
have shown some interest in mastery of the sea itself, but a fellow had to focus, and the
sea was not a worry for him. The skies, people digging after his secrets, and others
wielding magic against him and his ships were.
So, he could fly if need be, and up he went, muttering another spell as the winds picked
up quickly to command the air about him to remain still and untouched. Another spell to
reveal magic in his sight, and another to behold things Truly, and he was moving up
towards the heart of the hellstorm.
His ship would come into the docks, and the crew stream off like the merry killers they
were. Like as not they were dealing with summoned beasts, or a few horrors from
below...they knew how to fight such things, or get rid of them, as required. But a storm
raining hail the size of a Man's head, or acid, or with lightning blasting down far too
often...aye, assaulting the castle of the Steward, it looked like, and that big moving fire
could only be an elemental of some size.
The wind and thunder were truly powerful now, but he'd sailed through hurricanes before
and held his own against them, and this didn't deter him. Finding the heart of the storm
wasn't so difficult from up here, though the clouds made it hard to see...a good thing, for
the spellcaster doing this was likely about, and might be annoyed when his storm went
goodbye.

There, the aeromantic focus of the storm, invisible to the naked eye, but crackling and
crawling with all sorts of powerful magic...no visible Taint to it, he was careful to check
for that. Still, an extremely strong spellcaster had done this.
He drew his Ladies, and focused his power into them. Sure, he could have launched his
power out and tried to unwind the magic before him, but that were scarce guaranteed to
succeed. Stick that magic in a blade and cut through the spells, now, that was far more
effective when you really wanted something done.
Glowing blue-white with dispersive magic, he dived into that heart of power, and erupted
into a whirlwind of slashing blades, the Ladies lighting up with their own gold and
emerald and scarlet flames as he filled the air around him with death and severed threads
of spells in a heartbeat.
Flames roared out, snagged by the collapsing strands, and instantly blasting throughout
the entire roiling black mass of seething stormclouds. For a long breath the sky lit up with
green, crimson, and gold consuming the mass of black and lightning... and then, fire and
storm faded away, just like a passing illusion, and the sky were fair and clear and sunny
as if the storm never had passed.
What in the name of Niord's Own Pearls?
He blinked again, to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
Well, it looked like an air elemental, a good two hundred meters below him, watching the
destruction of the castle below, abruptly forestalled. It had another elemental on tether,
bound to the basalt rod wrapped in a hand of breeze and gales...except, that weren't no
hand.
He was looking at a bloody flying whale!
No, a bloody flying shape-changed spellcasting whale! A big cachalot, a sperm whale,
really big. Old and scarred and probably enough to sink a normal ship just on sheer mass
and muscle...and here it was turned into an elemental and casting hellstorms and
summoning and controlling elementals?
Oi, there was a story here he'd like to hear out.
But, said whale was now looking up at him, way up in the air above him, and then
looking at the ship with red sail driving into the harbor faster then any ship had a right,
and like as not inferring exactly what that meant.
A symbolic shake of flukes, and the elemental/whale was streaking away south, back out
over the waters. The Mick watched it go, knowing he couldn't match the speed, and
wondered just how Cussler was going to explain this to him.

In the meantime, it'd left uncontrolled beasties and elementals running free in the town
down below, and rampaging about the castle. It were time to get some of this irritation
out of his blood.
He dived down towards the castle, trailing gold and green and bloody red, centering on
where what looked to be a roiling mass of the Church courtyard was tossing Jytans and
smaller folks right and left with massive strength. He hissed a spell of dismissal into his
weapons, and went for the first of the elementals.

Tamald's report had been shaky, but as descriptive as the clearly overwhelmed captain
could make it. Giant squids, elementals, animated seaplants, and something big ripping
into the hull from below. The efforts required to save the Men he had were nothing short
of heroic, and the Mick knew it. His ship's Mage had used lesser elementals to propel the
longboats to safety as rapidly as possible, and even then they'd barely made shore ahead
of a massive living wave that had ravaged the docks before departing.
Since then, this town had been under assault virtually every day. At least two other ships,
possibly more, had been taken down by the assault from the sea, and now it had come on
shore.
The townsfolk were both grateful and apprehensive of the presence of the Red Sea. The
Crimson had a certain wild reputation, and weren't above doing some raiding and piracy
of their own if the targets were right. But the Mick had an iron hand on his crew, and
there was no breaking discipline in this place and time. Something had attacked their
own, and it was their job to find the things and make them pay, not go butchering
innocents mindlessly.
The Steward was also dead, slain by the fire elemental in the assault on the castle before
the Mick could get rid of the thing. His lieutenant was ostensibly in charge, but obviously
was no match for whatever was doing this kind of destruction.
The Mick had no wish to tell them it was a bloody whale, of all things. Rashlave had
looked at him as if he were suddenly soft in the head, and even Cussler had frowned. It
weren't the sort of thing your Captain and Lord told you every day.
But having the Lord and Lady of the Crimson handy was quite a relief. A town meeting
had been called to discuss the situation...aye, that'd help them tons, the Mick figured with
a grunt. The Mage with Hodre had Sent that they'd be reaching the town the next day, and
the Mick had stated to the natives in no uncertain terms that he'd be busy with his own
people and helping with the carnage and the healing until then. Then he'd called up Vade
and asked him to bring his Dame quickly...there were quite a few wounded in need of
attention, and having the Gater's clear head around always made him feel better.

The arrival by teleportation of the Crimson Knight and his Dame went much better. Vade
had a much more stern and respectful reputation then his Lord, and his Dame was a noted
priestess of Sylune and a widely known healer. She took charge of the injured from the
overwhelmed temples in town in a trice, and started applying her gentle touch quickly.

"A whale? Grok me, Mick, that's a new one if I never heard it." Hodre's troop of a
hundred riders had almost started a panic among the guardsmen, until they'd seen the
Crimson badges and the Mick had belatedly warned them of the arrival of the Crimson
Sword. He was camped outside town, keeping his horses out of the streets while debris
was being carted off. He was also proudly relating two pitched fights with wandering
Tauren bands on the way here, even moreso showing off the scars two of his sons had
accumulated from those fights.
"Aye, well, `twere quite a thing to see an old toother like that flying through the air, rot
my eyes." He rolled an inquiring eye at Cussler. "Aye, now, me wise and all-knowing
Loreguard, how many whales be there abouts with the gall to be flying about and turning
into elementals and attacking the towns on land, aye?"
"You'd probably be surprised." The Mick lifted his eyebrows. "Whales are intelligent of
themselves, but you knew that already from dealing with the Dragons. Deep Blue himself
is probably the best hydromancer alive. Even the biggest Sea Drakes don't mess with
him. And he encourages the other whales who've got the spark for it to learn magic. Most
of them focus on the priestly side of things, following Niord or elemental powers...or the
old path of Druidism, bent for the seas."
"Druids. Weather, magic, shapechanging," the Mick mused. "Ye figure out who it might
be? An old bull with all those scars, that powerful?"
"I spoke with Verdigris." The Mick nodded, and the others stayed silent. The ancient
Shield Dragon was almost the patron of the Crimson, and this was definitely a situation
where they might need his advice. "He said the bull is probably Old White Scars,
although what the sucker is doing here in the Myr he has no idea. The fellow is supposed
to be a terror to the Kraken, out in the deep ocean, and although he's traveled all the seas
of the world, he doesn't treat much with air-breathers at all."
"Wonderful," the Mick muttered. "In other words, we've not a clue why he messed with
one of my ships...but we've got a name. Send a message to the whale and either arrange a
meet or get an explanation...make it very plain we are not happy and the sonuvabitch is in
real trouble." Hodre's sorceror Danyal nodded once and sat back to concentrate on his
magic. The Corix preferred lower-born aides whenever possible, and the Mick had to
admit his troops had a certain rough zeal about them for their Sword he liked.

"In the meantime, we're going to get a little proactive. Lady, I need to know what's really
going on in this town, and ye're the Knife to do it. There's some unhealthy rumors coming
from this town, and I'd like ye to find the truth of them...carefully."
The slender woman with an old bladescar cutting across her mouth smiled wickedly. She
was no longer young, hair starting to show gray...and one deadly, nasty bitch to anyone or
anything that threatened her husband, family or position. She'd been beautiful once,
before the scarring, he'd been told...but Hodre hadn't married her for her beauty, he'd
married her because she was as ruthlessly ambitious as he was towards the status quo,
and had a remarkable array of gifts to complement the raw fighting ability of her
husband.
"Into the shadows I go, dear." She leaned over and gave her husband a peck on the cheek
as she rose with a deadly grace. "Make sure the boys tuck themselves in warmly."
Hodre harrumphed and both sons, watching from beyond the fire, blushed fiercely. She
just laughed throatily, strode into the shadows beyond the fire, and was gone.
The Mick didn't bat an eye. The Knife was a dangerous woman to cross. If it weren't for
the fact Hodre hated the sea, he'd probably have to kill her to keep his own position and
family safe. As it was, she was a marvelous asset to unleash on the unsuspecting.
"Sir." The sorceror's eyes came down, and his expression of disbelief was evident to all.
"The, um, whale, has agreed to a meet, tomorrow at dawn. Says he'll be at the stone circle
at the edge of town...I think he means the old well there."
"Lots of open area. Probably come flying in, easy to see if there's an ambush." The Mick
smirked at the expressions of those who really hadn't believed he'd seen a flying whale,
especially his wife. Show them to believe his ridiculous stories, it would. Until the next
tall tale he fed them, to keep them on their toes.

The Mick didn't show up alone. Rashalve was present, hardly about to miss this; Vade the
Crimson Knight was there, and so was his Dame; and Hodre had come although his wife
had not yet reported back. The sorceror Danyal would be getting word from her soon.
The Mick saw the whale coming in...hard to miss something that huge, even if it looked
like a seabird. It had been circling the area when they arrived, obviously seeking to head
off any normal ambush, and obviously been satisfied enough to descend to them where
they stood idly talking near the old, unused well. Everyone fell silent as the gull came
gliding down and set itself on the dilapidated cover of the well. Eyes too intelligent for
any bird looked them over, while the Mick grinned to himself at the imagery of the
massive whale crouched on the crumbling cover.

"A...good morning to you, land dwellers." The Mick blinked, as did the others. The voice,
though not loud, was incredibly resonant and deep...and had a very distinctive accent of
Elven. Hearing it come out of a gull was even more startling. "I am Old White Scars. I
have agreed to a...parlay."
By the slow words and hesitation, it was fairly obvious the beast didn't speak much with
land dwellers.
"I am the Mick, The Crimson Lord," the Mick identified himself, and politely made
introductions around. He noted the creature was very interested in all of them. "I am here
because you were stupid enough to sink one of my ships and kill members of my crews.
You had better have a very, very good reason for your attack on my ships, the assault on
this town, and generally being a complete arsehole, or I'm going to carve you up and
render you into candles and dogfood, Old White Scars."
The gull-whale hesitated, and then inclined his head. "I offer apologies for my mistakes,
if any were made. I was desperate to see that those I seek did not easily escape my wrath,
and if I did harm to their allies, all the better. I had no way of telling friend from foe, and
my need for vengeance ran as deep as the oceans themselves. I ask forgiveness for my
errors, and your aid in addressing those truly responsible for this affair."
The Mick was only slightly incredulous at the boldness and naivet of this reply. He was,
after all, talking with a whale. "Laddie boy, ye reimburse me for cargo and vessel, and
we'll be talking business. That be the way of things for the Crimson. Ye don't...and we'll
be having some other kinds of words."
"Reimbursement? Ah, material wealth." The whale was silent a moment. "I can, perhaps,
offer something greater for you, if you would hear me out."
Greater then the value of a ship and its cargo? The Mick grunted skeptically. "Go on." He
folded his arms and waited.
"I am...the last of the Sentinels of the Arch, a great artifact of power, lost to the ages.
Mere weeks ago, my mistress was slain by the powers of a former friend, aided by his
servants. She slew him in return, but his apprentices escaped the Hold of the Arch and
managed to flee, but not before partaking of the powers that the Arch can grant to
mortals. I have only been able to track them here, to this collection of surface dwellers,
but I cannot tell who they precisely are.
"If you will aid me in identifying and overcoming those who slew my mistress, I will lead
you to the Hold of the Arch, and allow you to partake of the gifts the Arch has to offer, as
well, the better to face those who slew Ealassirinea."
The Mick filed that name away for Cussler to find out about. "Whale, ye've given us
nothing without telling us what exactly the Arch does. I'm not about to change me terms
for a pipe dream."

There was no hesitation. "The Arch is an artifact of great power. While it cannot
overcome the mandates of the Divine and the requirements of legends, it can ease them,
yet empower those who pass through it. The Arch raises the Kharmic Ceiling for mortals,
allowing them to aspire to greater heights of power without having to satisfy the mandate
of the Divine."
The Mick managed not to look too astonished. "Ye're talking of Eternals." He did not
hide his interest...his graying hair was looking him back in the face every day.
"Yes, the Eternals. Great power is gained passing the Kharmic Ceiling, and great risk
needed to get there. The Arch eases the Ceiling, raises it...you will not be Eternal, but you
will be able to access some of the power the Eternals command, perhaps making your
own, later Ascent easier to come by."
The Mick coughed. His own discrete inquiries into being Eternal made it pretty plain that
it required some feats worthy of legend, and generally throwing yourself into some
incredible levels of danger, to claim that vaunted status. As yet, he'd found no task
worthy enough to be awarded such...even claiming the mastery of the Crimson wasn't
something of legendary value.
But more power? Without flailing at some barrier he couldn't even see, could only feel
with the limitations on his magic, and failure to master some of the greater secrets of
being a Fire Dancer?
He was hooked, lined, and sunk.
"Well, now, ye've our interest. Keep talking, old salt."

MicklesII

Into the Eternal Deep

The Mick stifled a yawn as the town meeting went on. Self-important Jytans, gathering
the community behind them to a nice consensus. They of course were making the
Crimson feel at home and valued and being grateful and all, especially as he was one of
the more powerful nobles on the Krys Myr, even if he was from a Free City. It was never
good to irritate a merchant prince with one of the more powerful fleets on the Myr.
The Knife had come in late, and she and Rashalve were murmuring together with the airy
movements of noblewoman who outshone everything around them...which they did, and
which was so unlike both of them that he knew something was up.
He'd learn what soon enough. He didn't have to make a speech...Vade's Dame was taking
care of that with far more grace and diplomacy then he could muster for the inhabitants of

a backwater like this. He was far more curious as to why such a backwater had such a
scattering of extremely adept individuals around.
He had a full suite of subtle and informative divs up, specifically attuned to the demands
of the situation.
Old White Scars had said the henchmen of the Mage who had slain his mistress had fled
to this unimportant town. The only reason they would do so is if this was a strongpoint
for them, of course, and such non-descript towns as this fit the bill nicely. Open port
allowed for easy movement, and the North was in enough turmoil no one was going to
comment on those moving in and out. It also meant there had to be support among the
general populace, however, hidden...and such people stood out if you knew what to look
for.
The Mick had done a lot of work learning just how and what to look for.
The general beauacracy and council and Steward looked to be fairly clean...almost no
magic, nothing too exceptional or unexpected about them, either genuinely worried about
the community and what was happening or scheming how to profit from the unexpected
calamity. Ditto most of the populace that was here, for the most part guild representatives
for the area or skilled tradesmen not bound to a guild. A few lesser landowners, traders,
farmers.
And then, the others.
He counted only four here...a Sibeccai in the garb of a dockworker, a Littorian with the
look about him of a carter, what seemed to be a Jytan mason, and a Flind fisherman.
There were subtle things missing from their garbs...a sense of cleanliness that shouldn't
be there with low labor, they were missing the air of fatigue and overworked life. Their
garb looked more carefully aged and worn then randomly abused and used...and they did
not have the auras of commoners. Way too strong, and their movements belied an
understated control and discipline he had seen quite often.
He lived in Freesword and dealt with all sorts of people. He knew killers when he saw
them.
He inclined his head at Vade, picking out the folk with his eyes. For his part, the
Northgater just glanced with his chin, and the Mick followed that to the Faen secretary
who was recording the notes, a cute, dark haired Loresong with ink-stained fingers
diligently at work. Vade's thumb stroked his forefinger in an indication and a question.
The Mick frowned, and concentrated. He'd done a lot of work with concentration. Cussler
had often talked - talked too much, really - about the Silver Marshalls of his homeland,
and how they could suss their way through the concealing powers of just about any
attempt to befuddle them. A matter of concentration and discipline. Well, if you didn't
have the power of a God backing you up, he mused.

There...just like he thought, a thread of relativity...she was attempting to mask herself by

displacing her aura and substituting that old Gnoll healer's for it. And beneath the
masking...?
Nothing. Even more telling then having something else. Obviously hadn't considered the
matter important enough to go more then two layers deep. A strong protection he couldn't
pierce to find out more information, but that was fine...it meant she had something to
conceal.
What had tipped off Vade? The Gater was sharp, no doubt, but still, her disguise was
perfect as far as he could tell.
Wait a moment, the ring had been a symbol for poison, and he'd wiggled his fingers...inkstained fingers.
Not ink? Poison? Those were not stains, they were discolorations.
Poison was quite the rage among Onnwall assassins, the killers of choice in Northgate. It
must be something he'd seen before.
Since the others didn't have such defenses, it followed that they were lesser minions of
the primary henchmen...plural. There were others...and either hidden excessively well or
not present. That, of course, would be the primary task, sniffing them out, which he was
pretty sure the Knife was already well on the task to doing. It would be the task of Knife
and Sword to root them out and put them to the sword, and there were more then enough
Crimson to do the job.

Or at least, there should be. It depended on exactly how many killers were here...and
exactly how good they were.
He keyed the ring on his finger, very sure the enemy didn't have spellcasters who could
eavesdrop on the conversation about to ensue. -Lady Hodre, what did you uncover?Both the Knife and his Lady were quite good. Their conversation didn't miss a beat. There's a minimum of two dozen of them in this town...some with cover identities, some
not. They can be identified by a brand on their chest, so. - The image of the tattoo burned
into his mind, extremely distinct, as only a magical rune could be. - Rather nice of them
to have such an identifying mark, don't you think?-Rather like a bunch of fools walking around wearing red for some reason, aye?- Both of
the women giggled in tandem at that. -Think you can find them out and round them up?-That brand is a scar right on the soul. They won't be betraying anyone or anything.- she
warned seriously.

- Go looking for the brand. You've got a sorc with you, and my crew will be helping you
out all the way.- The Mick grinned to himself...the Hodres would be missing the real
excitement down in the Deeps when they left, but he'd doubtless find a lot to keep
himself occupied.
-And we'll be on the watch for poison, too.- She rose to pass word to her husband and
sons, who as primos had no link to the rings that permitted short-range telepathic
communication.
-The Dame will be on hand to help ye if ye find something else. Stock up on anti-toxin,
aye?- The general impression he got back was flippant enough to make him grin. He
didn't need to tell the Knife how to deal with assassins.

"Aye, I know, it don't look like much. That were the idea when I had her made." The
Mick swung aboard the Red Sea's launch jauntily, taking the seat behind the main wheel
with confidence, and waving everyone else onwards. He had the only true seat, the rest of
it being benches. It was a solid looking launch, seasoned and obviously crafted by a
loving hand, but there didn't appear to be much special about it. Even the optional
reinforced stand for a mast wasn't all that unusual for the well-equipped Crimson.
Shrugging, Vade swung aboard with a clanking of his plate, while Rashalve swung easily
aboard and the Dame regally swept into place with her robes of red and white.
The Mick grinned, flipped over the floor plate and it became a pedal he depressed. With a
hum, the launch vibrated to life, and rotated smoothly as he swung the wheel, despite the
lack of oars or wind.
"And we're off." He smiled at the interested expressions on the faces of Vade and the
Dame, who naturally bent over the side to see what was powering the launch.
"The plating on the bottom hid more then the hull, I see," Vade commented approvingly,
watching as the Mick toed up another pedal, and wings formed out of the sides of the
launch, swinging up smoothly and locking into place. They weren't large, obviously
intended more for guidance then lift of any kind.
"Aye, some Gnomish invention called a `jet'. Sucks in the wind or the water and sends it
on out. O' course, levitatin' the launch isn't any mean feat, an' with just the stern in the
water, we gots less drag an' can make good time. The egger called it 'hydroplanin'." Their
speed was slowly increasing and the breeze generated increasing rapidly, skipping over
the waves with a nimbleness and velocity the Knight and Dame had never experienced
before. "If we get moving fast enough, like, the wings will lift us right off...here now,
look at that." The launch seemed to elevate in place, the nose coming up, and their speed
increasing even more as the vibrations at the stern became almost a roar, and their wake
became a foaming trail.

-Impressive!- Vade agreed, not bothering to shout over the wind. -We'll make the
rendezvous in good time. I trust the illusions covered our departure?-Well, they might be wondering where all we wandered off to, but I've a feeling Hodre is
going to keep them busy. He's got to make up for all the weird and wonderful stuff we are
about to see, aye?- The Mick had a grin taking up his whole face, graying hair flying in
the wind, and a set of dark spectacles over his eyes he'd drawn out of his vest. Rashalve
was up in the nose, red hair flying like a flame, smiling back at her husband. Vade turned
around to appreciate the sight, then turned back to his wife and just lifted an eyebrow.
The Dame just smiled serenely and stayed where she was, poised and calm as ever.
=====
Lady Hodre withdrew her stiletto from the ear of the Gnoll as her second son withdrew
his sword from a hand's depth in the Lupinal's chest. A deft flick of the wrist opened up
the corpse's shirt at the middle of its back, where the black stain of the shadow brand was
quite visible. "That's two, plus the one I disposed of earlier," she purred. "They are going
to know something is going on soon," she said professionally.
"We've got squads ready for the other six spotted so far," Jaston stated calmly, his strong
features inherited from his father...and his cunning eyes from his mother. "It's surprising
that they all carry poison, too. Makes them a lot easier to track down."
"Indeed." Expert hands lifted a vial out of the dead lupinal's waistband. "Extract of
mandrake. An herbal poison."
"Apothecary? There's only one in town." Jaston mulled over that. "The town is certainly
large enough for two..."
"Let's see how much poison he has on premises. I've found that the ones which are
dirtiest tend to have wards up against just such cleverness on our part." She smiled
sweetly. "Then, we set your father on him."
=====
The Mick let off the pedal and the roar of the jets faded to a hum and stop. The bow came
down, and the launch hummed once as magic kicked in and lifted it clear of the rather
sizable wave action about them.
"Made good time," Vade mused aloud, rising to stretch once. He displayed no
nervousness whatsoever for wearing heavy plate over water. "He in the air nearby?"
The Dame glanced around once, and shook her head, dark curls tumbling fetchingly. "He
is a whale, he will come from below."

"Likely that thing there." Rashalve pointed, and everyone turned to crane their necks at a
wake cutting through the waves towards them from about a massive creature.
He was indeed a cachalot, and a big one, more then twice the length of the launch, old
and mighty and dark hide scarred by many battles. Effortlessly the great whale heaved
himself to the surface, riding impossibly high on the water so that he might look on the
four relatively puny Humans riding in their little vessel.
"I See You Have Come." The contradiction of that incredibly sonorous, deep voice with
the Elven accent had them all impressed again. "Are You Ready To Plunge Into The
Depths?" the whale asked, not mincing around.
"Where we be heading?" The Mick patted his launch's gunwale proudly.
"We Ride The Waves To A Place Deep And Far From Here." The Mick pursed his lips,
looked at the Dame, and got a burst of analytical information about a form of elemental
traveling akin to wind-walking along primal currents of water that encircled the world.
"Aye, sounds good, old salt. We be going down then?" He depressed the offside lever
calmly, and they began to sink.
Seasoned hands all, none of them said a word as the launch hit the surface and kept right
on going down, a dome of air sliding up around them and keeping the waters at bay. The
whale descended with them, something in his motions indicating his surprise at the
flexibility of their conveyance. A few meters below the surface, the Mick let off, and they
could peer around into the waters in every direction, fascinated despite themselves.
"I'm going to get me one of these," Vade said in no uncertain terms, spinning for a look in
every direction. With a flick of massive flukes, Old White Scars surged out ahead of
them, and the Mick put the pedal down and equally smoothly took off after the whale.
Their speed submersed was obviously not the equal of their speed atop the waves, but it
was enough to keep up with the casual efforts of the whale. They descended fairly
quickly and steeply, rapidly passing out of the range of surface light, and Rashalve cast a
spell to illuminate the great tail of the whale so that the Mick would not lose him in the
all-encompassing, and very unquiet, darkness of the depths.
The waters around them were alive with distant sounds...rumbles and trembling, clinks
and clatters, the strange songs of whales and their kin, and the odd patterns of other songs
of the deep. Luminous fish swept past them as they followed the great whale down,
sometimes keeping pace for a few moments so that they might study them, at other times
zipping past like shooting stars in the night. A gentle light filled the launch so that they
might see one another, a light that would not be visible more then a few yards beyond the
edge of the launch.

The Mick felt the surge when they hit the current, and a glance at the Dame confirmed it.
He also heard the sonorous, impossibly deep song of Old White Scars from ahead,
forging a path Through the waters, and sending them racing along at magical speeds
towards their destination.
He let them all have a turn at the wheel, showing them how to use the pedals to increase
speed, move them up and down while the wheel turned them left and right. Vade had fun
juking them all around the wake of the great cachalot, surfing underneath the waters.
He also was keeping a very accurate record of their position with a handy charting spell
made specifically for navigating at sea, and could tell how fast they were moving. They
were way, way out in the ocean now, more then three kliks down...a place landwalkers
just didn't find their way to.
They swept out of the great Current which had carried them, and out into normal waters.
The cachalot swept over low muddy plains dotted with ridges of deep basalt valleys,
moving with incredible grace and power for all his bulk and strength. The seafloor was
alive with luminous life, and the occasional dark orange of a fiery vent from below,
complete with boiling geysers of steam shooting off towards the surface. They moved
away from the latter, heading towards a deep valley and plunging within it, a seemingly
narrow crevasse in the floor that proved to be hundreds of meters wide and more then
capable of swallowing them up.
The Mick saw the cave before the rest of them, judicious use of vision spells helping
tremendously...including enabling him to see the sonar the cachalot was using to
navigate. The whale slowed, and the Mick listened to his song carefully as he cut power
and drifted up alongside.
"There Is An Intruder In the Entry To The Sanctum." The anger in the old whale's voice
was unmistakeable, and the power of his voice in the water even more evident. The Mick
considered the dark hole, and the evil he could feel radiating out from it, extremely
strongly.
"Intruder is a mite general." Vade pulled out his sword and shield, hefted his crossbow,
while Rashalve simply drew her long knives and the Dame rose serenely, graceful hands
poised. "Anything more specific?"
"A Kraken And His Minions." Well, that made sense...the squids and whales simply
didn't get along, and everyone knew that.
He `saw' the swimmers erupt from the cave mouth first, right with Old White Scars, and
the whale bellowed and surged to the attack.
Rashalve snapped her fingers, and the Depths exploded with light.

The oncoming school of sharks and...other things...plainly wasn't ready for the sudden
light, nor the follow-ups, as the Dame sent a stream of inky green, hissing stuff surging
outwards towards the great megalodon leading the charge, boiling away skin and hide
and peeling away the flesh of that overgrown shark and several of the ones behind it. The
Mick intoned his own spell and tapped the hull of the Launch, then drew his Ladies and
simply waited calmly.
Old White Scars smashed into the middle of the assault, biting one great shark cleanly in
two, and smashing into several others with bone-breaking power. His flukes sent the
bestial minions tumbling about him even as they tried to circle in on him and tear at his
fins and tail with their jaws...or, as the giant squids or tentacled monstrosities, to grapple
the great whale and enwrap him in shrouds of death.
Which didn't mean they ignored the boat lighting up a hundred-paces wide sphere as
bright as day, sweeping in for the attack.
Rashalve's radiant lance struck, fractured, struck again, fractured again, struck again,
punching right through multiple beasts with jarringly brilliant coherent light. The
survivors came on, undeterred, and surged for the boat.
Lightning boiled all around them, a solid shell of death that hurled away even the largest
of the beasts, twitching and blistered. The Mick smirked as he one-handed his launch
forwards, Vade stepping to his side to take any charging beasts that made it through the
shroud of lightning, and closed in on the cachalot, almost buried under a cloud of
grasping, frenzied beasts. Something in the water was roiling and tearing away at the
creatures encompassing the great whale, probably an elemental, almost invisible even in
the revealing light. Old White Scars saw them coming, and there was a rumble of song,
and the Mick grinned as he swept down over the tail.
The shroud of lightning washed over the cachalot and ripped his attackers away boiling
into the sea. The Whale rolled over in grand fashion, and squid and worse things twitched
and were blasted off his scarred hide, to be smashed and driven away. A thunderbolt
resounded deafeningly in the depths as the Mick detonated a sonic-based attack, and
stunned creatures fell in every direction, easy prey for whale, elemental, and the casual
float-by of the launch.
The Mick looked at the severed tentacles on the floor of the launch around him, grinned
at Vade who had calmly severed them all, and sailed directly for the cave entry.
The darkness within there was more then natural, and it swallowed the light they brought
up. The Dame sniffed and gestured ahead, and the water seemed to part - no, to Purify in a great wave, and reveal their foe to them.
Yep, that was a Kraken...two extra tenctacles, big big squid, more malevolence in its
lidless eyes then a squid deserved, and obviously not very happy with them.

Even less so when Rashalve's starburst went off right in front of those unblinkable eyes.
The water was full of huge, thrashing tentacles, that yet writhed away from the crackling
shroud of power around them. Old White Scars surged past them with a thunderous
undersea bellow that almost popped the Mick's ears, and smashed full into the bulk of the
creature, jaws working madly. Almost instantly, the whale was wrapped in a dozen
tearing tentacles, but the Mick was having none of that. He saw the water elemental surge
past and start pounding on the gargantuan squid, and without preamble dove down to set
his launch right on the cachalot's protected back.
Great tentacles sizzled and released convulsively, and Vade energetically hacked through
all within reach, blade slicing through the water all about them as if it were but air. The
Dame sent a quadruple stream of acidic force lancing down into the center of the beast,
and he saw the further half of the monstrosity's body just seem to boil away into a vile
cloud of murky, unclean waters. Huge jaws closed over the main body of the Kraken,
came down with primeval force, and the convulsive struggles of the kraken faded away.
"You'd almost think we were expecting something like this," Vade mused aloud to the
Mick, who just grinned cheerily.
"The entrance to the place is behind the creature", Rashalve pointed out, pointing with
flaming long knives. The acidic burst had actually cleared away a good chunk of its mass,
partially revealing the blocked entrance behind the now-carcass.
The four watched the whale back water, pulling the tons of dead beast back and out of the
Sanctum entry, then the cave itself, pausing only a couple times to down some very large
mouthfuls of flesh. Then, with naught more then an act of will, the whale blurred into
mere water, and poured himself through the waters into the entryway revealed beyond.
"I guess we go in," the Mick grinned, and made for the cave. He didn't have any worries
about transit...they were all equipped for fighting underwater. A sense of anticipation
building, he guided the launch in as far as he could, and then locked it in position.
Rashalve was the first one out, and was startled when she didn't need to swim in the
strange water beyond, and the flames on her knives wasn't extinguished. The Mick just
shrugged and followed the others after her.

Runes hung in the air, spun into existence with great speed and grace, detonated with
almost frantic haste. Explosive power tore apart first the shop, then the neighboring
buildings in a mad effort to forestall the death coming for the caster.
The Jytan Runecaster desperately tried to get some distance between himself and Hodre,
who was shrugging off the magic of his runes and still coming, his crimson greatsword
shearing out to bite deep into the plated armor that had appeared about the assassin
leader. Summoned beasts erupted from the ground and air and hurled themselves at the

Crimson Sword, sparking with elemental energies and deadly might, and were hewn apart
so rapidly they might not have been there at all.
The Crimson were swarming over the town now, spellcasters tracing shadow brands and
the poison they bore, and squads of highly trained and well drilled marines falling on
them with extreme prejudice. Trained to kill from the shadows and avoid fights, the
assassins were not prepared for either the caliber of their opponents or the sudden battle
being taken to them, and were desperately fleeing the hungry blades seeking them, even
as the townsfolk hunted for cover and hid from the conflict erupting all around them. The
shadows were neither friend nor shelter to the killers as they were unerringly followed
and set to, and flight via magic was their only option.
Hodre swore as the Jytan managed to get another beast in his path and then race away as
fast as possible. He tore the flame-jawed Hydra apart, the Runeblade in his hands
shearing neck after neck away like stalks of wheat, but the Jytan managed to smash his
way past the squad of marines blocking the path with massive blows of a Wyrdhammer
that appeared out of nowhere, scattering the Humans like chaff, and then another Rune
wove around him, wrapped him up, and carried him away.
"Damn it all!" he swore loudly and fervently, especially as his third son raced up and
informed him that the Faen secretary had gotten away, exchanging a mutually near-lethal
set of blows with his wife before doing so. The docks were all aflame, especially the area
of the shipyard, where the Sibeccai that had turned out to be the third leader had singlehandedly smashed a path through four squads before Cussler and his hand-picked team of
Haxans had nearly cut the bastard apart.
Quick orders had the spellcasters, safely invisible and blanketing the town with
divination spells, descending to administer healing, potions and pills and unguents being
broken out quickly to save all they could.
By the time the counting was over, they'd killed at least fifteen of the killers, and lost
about a dozen in so doing, managing to recover most of the wounded with timely action
and intervention. A careful scan had revealed the town empty of them, and investigations
into their living quarters was revealing some surprising and useful material.
The town would be safe for when the Mick returned, he thought, as Cussler puzzled over
the teleport matrix from the Faen's personal quarters, which had been used by at least
half-a-dozen assassins, including the secretary herself, to evacuate the area. And this toy
would lead them after the bastards.

"Nice," Vade said approvingly, looking about in the silvery light at the magnificently
tiled and decorated antechamber. At least forty paces across, it was wrought in corals of
many hues, telling tales of heroes and places and times unknown to him...times of legend,
most likely, long lost to those still living, or never known in the first place.

Old White Scars was clearly visible as a somewhat smaller, whale-esque blob of
quicksilver, flowing through the liquid about them that had been enchanted to be both
breathable and as permeable as air. His pet elemental, warded away, remained outside.
The Mick got to soak in the ambience for a few seconds, then turned his eyes on the
metallic figure at the far end of the chamber, an androgynous thing of a buttery-silver hue
that was unmistakeable.
"That's not a golem made out of mithral, is it?" he gawked, for the thing was five paces
tall.
"Looks like it," Vade agreed, hefting sword and shield. He eyed the decaying piles and
carcasses of beasts and things heaped in the general area of the golem, crushed and
pulped to death with tremendous blows...dozens of them, mostly shark-men, but not a
few of the dread Aboleths they'd met once deep under the Wyrmlands. "Remember, most
of the metallic golems are hollow, so that's likely only a half million or so gold-worth of
the metal."
"Oh, aye." The Mick shook his head. "Well, it takes right good care of our lost freight,
when we salvage it." He turned a wary eye on the elemental whale. "I take it ye don't
have the power to turn the thing off, cachalot?"
"That power was given only to Eternals of the Order in good standing." The whale's voice
was much more subdued here, possibly the ambient magic, possibly his elemental form.
"You will have to defeat it to pass."
-I like the way he said, 'you' - murmured Vade on the telapthic link, lifting his blade and
considering the thing ahead of them. "What exactly is this thing capable of?"
"It simply guards and protects. It is defiant of all but the most powerful weapons, and it
moves with incredible speed and power. Do not underestimate it." They noted the careful
distance the whale was keeping.
"Right. Vade, ye got some o' that Crystal training for beating on things, aye?"
"Just a bit, Mick." The Northgater was never one to boast.
"Well, then, I guess we get to hack the thing apart." His Ladies burst into crimson and
gold flames cheerfully, though he was fairly certain fire wasn't going to do a bit of good
against this thing. "If the Dame would like to give us some speed, we'll be about our
making of rubble."
========================
"Ow ow ow ow ow ow."

"Quiet, you big baby." Rashalve's fingers grabbed his wrist and pulled, and he yelped as
the bone was yanked out and straight. The Dame's much gentler hands firmly fit the
broken bone of his forearm back in place, and healing magic washed through him with
great satisfaction. He reclaimed his arm with an oath and a boot to the severed,
featureless head of the golem, sending it flying across the floor, ten thousand gold value
or no.
Vade had poked his head into the room beyond, ignoring the new dents on his shield and
armor. "Ugh. Smells of rotting people." They'd had experience with that, too, in more
then one abattoir.
The Dame had managed to counteract some of the golem's incredible speed, probably the
only thing which had allowed them to hack it down. Vade's Runeblade, with the
Bloodrunes active against Constructs, had finely hacked through enough of the thing to
put it down, while the Mick and Rashalve had concentrated on keeping the thing offbalance, drawing attention, and generally getting in its way. It had taken only a glancing
blow delivered at what he still thought was impossible speed to smash his arm like a
twig, and the Ladies hadn't done much more then score a few scratches to the gleaming
hide.
Have to do something about that, he thought, striding angrily up beside his Second and
looking over the chamber beyond. He felt the whale pour up behind and over them and
also look within...and again, not go past.
Yes, there were pits and pieces of things floating around, dissolving in this pseudo-water
slowly. They were clearly visible because of the silvery light rippling off the Arch at the
far end of the chamber.
Hard to miss it, like glowing liquid mithral, continuously in motion. The Mick squinted,
and his vision lept out to analyze that Arch in much, much more detail...including the fact
that there were a lot of faces seeming to ripple deep inside that unwater stuff...and
severed limbs and hacked heads and torn bodies and whatnot. The whole chamber had a
sense of austere timelessness about it, at once featureless and buried in history, and then
he started to make out the scars and rips of battle, and realized that a great deal of the
featurelessness was because much of the chamber had been ground away, by...something.
"I take it, the room is supposed to be somewhat more impressive," the Mick drawled
casually.
"There were tales of the members of the Order, statues, carvings..." the whale trailed off,
liquid head looking back and forth, rippling and aghast at the subtle and complete
devastation. Only the Arch and its landing remained.
"I gather the little floating bits are the remnants of something that actually managed to
make it past the Golem." The Mick cleared his throat. "The original invaders, or Kraken,
don't make much difference. Something wiped them clean, aye?"

He looked at Vade, who looked back. "You want me, to go out there?" the Gater asked,
pointing at himself and then the chamber beyond for emphasis. "I'm a Merry Marine, not
a Moronic Marine, O Lord Crimson."
"I'll go," the Dame said regally, stepping forwards.
Before she could take another step, he was already in the chamber and leaving her
behind.
The Mick looked at her, at his wife glaring behind the proudly smiling Dame, and
hastened to catch up with his Second.
"What are the odds this is not going to be painful?" he asked Vade aloud.
"Well, based on what looks to be a banshee appearing in front of us even now," Vade
replied, halting, "I'd say very, very bad."
The Mick sighed as the challenge in Elven ripped out, the transformed water seemed to
congeal with the power of it, and then the ghost screamed at them hard enough to shred
the top layer of stones beneath their feet as both Men crouched and concentrated on
staving off the magical force behind the attacks, and not just the attacks themselves.
"Yep," Vade said, wiping away the blood trickling down his nose. "I'd say this is going to
hurt." He turned around. "Master White Scars, is this ravishing spectral entity someone
you recognize?" he called out aloud, earning a pause from the berobed Elfin ghostspectre which was regarding them with undisguised anger at their intrusion.
"Mistress Ealassirinea!" was the instant reply, recognition, hope and horror in the whale's
deep voice. The ghost looked up alertly.
"My Lady, I believe the spirit here needs a woman's quieter touch," Vade said calmly,
and the Mick caught the hint. Sharp thinking. "Master White Scars, perhaps you could
accompany her to show this is neither intrusion, nor accident."
The rippling madness across the face of the Elfin ghost was all the warning they needed.
The two Men looked at one another, sighed in tandem, and then the waters were
reverberating again with the power of her scream.
But now the Dame and the elemental-form whale were coming.
"Negotiations off to a fine start," the Mick murmured.
"We are the Merry Marines. Isn't this how all our talking starts?" Vade replied dryly.

In the Shadow of Eternals

"Y'know, that kind of...tickled." The Mick swayed on his feet as he tried to
simultaneously dispel the swirls from inside his skull and hold onto all of them.
Power, secrets of power. Swirly-whirly mysteries, just beyond reach. He wanted to have
them all, keep them all, and couldn't...he could only try and lock his mind around the one,
protest loudly and vehemently as the others slipped away, and try to keep his balance, all
at the same time.
He sat down abruptly. It was much easier this way.
When he was done, he blinked a few times, thinking of all the stuff in his skull that had
been hinted at that he'd been unable to grab. He glanced at Vade, who was looking at
nothing in particular with a contemplative expression on his face. His Dame looked both
serene and awed simultaneously, and Rashalve looked...excited.
Aye, well, she had stories of Masters of the Dragons to live up to.
"That was, er, impressive," he admitted, climbing slowly back to his feet, and turning a
careful eye on the silvery pool within the Arch.
-It is the knowledge of heroes and legends given form, Lord Crimson. I trust it is up to
your standards.- He could almost hear the spectral Elfin sniff at him, which he wouldn't
have minded. Even the ghostly echo of her voice was so hauntingly beautiful he had to
keep his mind on his wife's displeasure not to stare at the spirit.
"Oh, aye, it were, sure enough." He coughed to himself. "Now then, we've a few bad-arse
bastards to go and kill to avenge your untimely death and what-all, aye?" He looked
directly into her ghostly eyes and saw her flinch at the mention of her death. "Any ideas
on where we can find the bastards?"
"My Lord Crimson, Sword Hodre has discovered something of interest back in town that
might aid us in our search." The Dame was conversing magically, probably with one of
the sorcerors. "A teleportation device, doubtless keyed to a safehouse or something
similar. Even if we cannot employ it, we might be able to track it to where it is tied."
"Aye, well enough." The Mick turned and bowed to the spectral Elfin. "We'll be leaving
ya then, Lady, and yer silver pool, and be about some butchery on yer behalf. I'm sure the
whale will be happy to be messenger boy and tell you of our successes."
"Of Course," the elemental-form whale agreed, unperturbed. "We Await Word Of Your
Success."

Back to the launch, backfloat it, and the Mick casually stuck a dark, adamantine spike
into the basalt outside the cave entrance, and Rashalve equally casually pushed it deep

into the rock without the noise level typical of hammering. The Dame waved her hand,
mumbled something Arcane, and they were hurtling through the Ether homewards even
faster then they'd come here.
Aye, they'd be going back to that little place. Or perhaps, something even better, the Mick
mused with a grim smile.

"The Repositor of the Argentum?" Cussler's voice was hushed as the Mick described the
artifact they'd encountered in great detail, and what it could do, had done for them. "It is
one of the greatest artifacts of Yle Tyorm, a tool of Mithar and Sylune, made by some of
their greatest followers. It has been missing since the Doom, almost four thousand years...
spirited away by the Elves who fled the city, and formed the Sidhe'te."
"That explains the funny accent o' the cachalot." The Mick coughed to himself. "Now,
then, we've got a mite of killing to be about, on the morrow...tasked killers and dread
assassins and whatnot. Give me all ye can talk about, and we'll see about the killing and
what we can learn of them, the more the merrier."
"The Repositor's rightful place is not buried beneath the seas, My Lord," Cussler said
quietly, yet more serious then the Mick had rarely heard the Loreguard.
"Aye, and I think we'll be the ones responsible for seeing it brought home...but not
today." Cussler frowned, then nodded once on seeing the gleam in the Mick's dark eyes.
Trust in his Lord to pursue any kind of profit, including the spiritual.
"Let me essay what I've been able to gather from reports with the marines who engaged
the enemy, and the Sword and Knife can add their reports forthwith," the steel-haired
Haxan said calmly, running callused hands over perfectly printed accounts that he never
bothered to look at as he began his observations and analysis.

"Aye, quick one, that ye are." The Ladies were spinning in the Mick's hands, his tones
were jovial, but his eyes were dark and cold. The Faen female was attempting to hide in
the shadows, except the sourceless light brought up gave no shadows to be hiding in, and
his eyes were following her every move. He could feel a distant roar and shake as the
Dame and Sword went after the Jytan Rune-priest and whatever summoned monsters that
one could bring, and knew Rashalve was eagerly having a footrace and exchange of toofast-to-follow blows with the Sibeccai boat-maker. Meanwhile, Hodre and his wife were
hunting assassins in the shadows with gusto and aplomb, and at least two dozen had made
the mistake of getting in the way of the party on their way into the holdout of the branded
slayers.

Happily, they still hadn't figured out how easy it was to track them via their poison and
their brands.
Splitting up the party was not normally something Mick was about to do, but his gut told
him one thing, and his pride another, and both were beating up on his common sense.
It was telling him that this little miss was his ticket to a long life, that she was an Eternal,
and beating the crap out of her would earn him similar status. And for all the wonders of
the Repositor and the potential it stored, he wasn't an Eternal yet.
A kukri came whirling out of the far end of the room, and he batted it aside almost
negligently with a saber flick trailing heartflame. He watched it spin back, moving with
deceptive speed as the Faen attempted to dodge about the room, heaving one table end
over end to go sprawling against the wall in tinkle of glass and crystal and breaking
wood, and his Ladies bursting into flame as he shifted left, then right to block attempts to
slide past him.
"Aye, try the tumbling stuff, wee miss...let's see just how well it doesn't work for ye," he
crooned, reading her intentions easily. Eyes filled with hate glared at him as he settled
into Flame Dancing Saber stance. "The Knife says ye got weapons made to drink the
blood of Men, and like to use poison instead of skill. Here I am, lass...let's see you blood
them."
The Faen hissed, both of the strange Inda weapons springing into her hands. With speed
that was definitely not mortal, she was coming at him, and he called on all the skills and
knowledge he'd driven his aging bones to acquire; mental, physical, and spiritual, and his
Ladies sprang to meet her.

The footsteps were confident, forceful even, unafraid of what might be met and knowing
exactly the way. The spirit of Ealassirinea felt them coming, more then heard them, and
was still shocked when a Man strode into the Chamber of the Arch.
Hazel eyes met hers, dismissed her as a threat. Behind him, a Dragon moved...no, a
Wyrm, a great bronzed Shield Wyrm, hoary-greening with age and might, coming
confidently into the chamber, molten orbs fixing calmly on the Arch.
"Who are you? Why are you here?" she demanded quickly, reading a terrible threat in
this one Human, and dire intentions in the poise of the Wyrm behind him. She moved
quickly in front of him, preparing to scream with the full force she could musterHe seemed to slide forwards in an eyeblink, and he grabbed her face.
Grabbed her spirit! Her very soul!

Her struggles were useless...she had no flesh, no strength to contest his grip as his
implacable eyes met her own, nose to spectral nose.
"The Repositor of the Argentum is going home, to whence the Sidhe stole it millennia
ago. Stop us, at your peril," he ground out, and flung her aside like the weightless chaff
she was.
He strode up the stairs to the edge of the Arch, ignoring her with the absolute calm of one
who knew she was no threat to him. He stared at the pool coolly, then at the Arch itself,
and the dais upon which it was raised.
Without preamble, he stepped to one side of the Arch, drew his blade in one smooth
motion, and lept into the air, and his perfect blade trailed an arc of pure chi as he came
down.
The Wave-Slicing Stroke tore through the enchanted metal with terrible power, ripping a
huge gash in material that should have been totally invulnerable to such an attack. He
simply lept again, coming down on the other side, and drove an equally impossible
shearing strike through the other side of the support for the Arch.
"No! You cannot do this!" she protested, and was totally ignored. Almost, she screamed,
and even as she opened her lips to do so, she saw the runes on his blade pulse once,
searing her eyes with final promise.
True Death. The scream died before it was ever voiced.
He pressed one palm against the side of the Arch, and pushed.
With a rending pop and scream of mangled stone, the Arch swayed and teetered, and
inexorably, tore free of the stone keeping it upright, to slam loudly, very loudly, down
upon its back, the flicker of silver within it fading slowly away.
"Forgehelm," the Man indicated, and the Shield Wyrm stalked forwards unconcernedly,
power and ancient knowledge defined. She could strike at the Wyrm, certainly, but
sensed extraordinarily potent Wards up around it, and it seemed unconcerned with her, as
well.
Great green-rusting claws seized the Arch, lifting it with magically-enhanced Wyrm's
might. The Man kicked off with a remarkable display of agility, finding his place on the
Wyrm's back. His eyes turned to hers as she drifted closer.
"I am aware you are bound to the Repositor. That will be mended at our destination, with
your approval. Or, you may elect to remain as Guardian of the Repositor, if Mithar and
Sylune approve. If no approval is forthcoming, then you will be Fed to the Land."

The horrible feeling of loss on her face, for the trials she had undergone and the sacrifices
she had made, moved him not at all. She wanted to speak, to say something, to
reason...and saw both Man and Wyrm were perfectly set in their course, and the choice
was no longer hers.
-To where are you taking the Arch?- she finally managed to say, as the Wyrm turned
around, the mighty artifact held before him like the breastbone of a colossi.
"You will find out when we get there. Let's go, Forgehelm." With a rumbling growl that
sounded like the echo of a thousand marching steel shod boots, the Wyrm surged towards
the entry, and the hapless spirit was drawn after.
The Mick waved at her as she was drawn past his crew in the outer chamber, picking up
the pieces of the shattered mithral Golem for recasting, reforging, resale. The betrayal in
her eyes didn't faze him at all...he had the word of a God he was doing the right thing,
and Sidhe arrogance was no impediment to that level of approval.
The new Eternal smiled to himself, and promised to be back to Freesword before Errant
and the Wyrm got there, so as to see the Arch lowered into place in the Hall of Swords.
Already, the magicks were being woven to tie the Repositor to the Swords there, and the
Staves of the Weirhold.
If you could draw Twice Mithral, you could dare the Repositor of the Argentum, and seek
Adamant. His black eyes sparkled at the thought of the greatness he had just brought to
Freesword, and how the promise of the Arch was going to draw warriors from the world
over with its hints of glory.
Aye, he was going down in history...the killing of the wee Faen lass was almost a
footnote compared to the recovery of the Repositor. Errant wouldn't even stick around to
be identified...he did this only as a favor to the Mick.
The glory was his and his mates. The Mick chuckled to himself, feeling a couple deep
new scars across his gut and legs, but never having felt better in his whole life.

Trencher regarded the statue of the creature in the Slayer holding with deep misgivings.
The Crimson Dame's approximation of the image had been spot on, and that was not a
good thing. He didn't know what creature, god, power, force or entity that statue
portrayed, but very clear from the raw malice the thing emanated that it was no friend of
anything living.
His job was to supervise a crew looting the whole of this stronghold, root out every last
secret and bit of wealth, cart it off, and then flood the holding with lava. His crew of
Independents was doing nicely on that regard - the Mick was going to enjoy his
substantial cut of the wealth looted from the vaults here, even after expenses were taken

out - but discovering potentially yet another otherplanar Thing with designs on his
homeworld didn't make Trencher feel any more ecstatic about the news.
Time to get the Eggers together and find out what they could on this thing, he thought, as
he tapped Maker down once. The livecrys athame flared with pure power, channeling the
heartflame of the world into that statue of ensorcelled iron, and rapidly reducing it to slag
before his eyes.
Something else to worry about, in the days ahead. Somehow, he found himself yearning
for the old days, when he didn't know about all the stuff threatening the destruction of all
he held dear, and on what scale such things operated. Grunting to himself, and shoving
his self-pity off to be ground up in the waiting jaws of his duty, he turned and went about
his task.
MicklesIII