Chapter XIV: Those Other Guys

The campfire they had cautiously lit burned brightly out of the pit which had been dug for it, warming the remains of rabbit which roasted over its licking flames. Meowolf sat poised over it, his massive body casting an enormous shadow on the cave wall as he drew his spit back, taking a hungry bite out of the meat they had gathered. Klades, his turn at watch ended, slept soundly a few feet away, while Tyrian waited outside the cave, his hawk-like eyes ever alert, senses open for whatever came near them.

Sinti’s magic had restored Titania’s health, but the Mithra still needed much time to rest and recover from what she had gone through in her flight from Windurst. Yasuchika, in the meantime, had yet to awaken. Though his condition had not worsened, he still had yet to show any improvement after the demon attack. How long he would remain unconscious, no one could say, but it was clear the faster they got him to Windurst, the better. In the distance, they could see the sky-scraping heights of Heaven’s Tower, and clearly see the fiery glow of the shield the wizards of Windurst had constructed around it. The survivors of Windurst’s disaster were trapped inside, along with any hope of finding their friends that Meowolf still entertained.

“We’re very close to the edge of Tahrongi,” Sinti said from behind Meowolf, as if sensing the Galka’s thoughts. “It’s not a long trek across the plains of Sarutabaruta. We’ll get in, Meowolf.”

“I know,” Meowolf replied, gnashing another bit of rabbit between his teeth. “Titania will show us the way into the city, and we’ll get in to the tree and meet with the greatest mages they’ve got. We’re just days away from being able to ask them to use their magic to find our friends.”

“Right,” Sinti replied, “everything will work out. So why do you still seem so worried?”

Meowolf laid the now-empty spit down at his side, bringing his knees to his chest and leaning forward, staring into the flames as he spoke.

“Because,” he said, fire dancing in his eyes, “I’m worried that there won’t be anyone out there for them to find.”

The campsite remained silent until Tyrian returned, and Meowolf slowly rose to his feet to assume his turn at keeping watch.


The once-lush forests of Ronfaure had been blighted by the demon infestation, the grounds blackened and trees withered. The animals of the forest had retreated south to La Thiene, and in their wake left the land around San d’Oria empty and barren. Nothing moved, nothing stirred, and even the wind had stopped. The vibrant greenery which had once been the home of the most powerful nation on the continent was now darkened with the same pall that hung over the spirits of the Elvaan survivors. Captain Emblim of Bastok’s Mithril Musketeers surveyed their numbers and their bleak attitudes with despair.

It had taken only an hour for San d’Oria to fall from the inside. Erilan’s Temple Knights falling all around him, Emblim had been given no choice but to retreat, ushering the panicked citizens into what he had thought would be the safety of Chateau d’Oraguille, but those damnable blackened Orcs and the statue-like creatures which had followed the demons out blasted the doors apart, letting in a swarm of the hideous fiends that the close quarters had not given any means to battle against. In the rush to reach the Bostaunieux Oubliette, countless lives had been lost. Emblim could still see some of the faces of those the demons reached when he closed his eyes, and their screams constantly echoed in his ears.

Through the sewers, he had gone, Altana providing the safety of the bishop Atreides, who had appeared in the Chateau with a number of the priests he had rescued. Together, they placed a ward against evil on the entrance to the Oubliette, sealing them inside, but keeping the demons out. Once the enchantment had been finished, that was it for the kingdom of San d’Oria. The demons now freely roamed the abandoned city. Using the secret tunnels of the Oubliette to reach the outskirts of Ronfaure, the situation had only gotten worse.

The remnants of San d’Oria’s royal army had been found two days after the cataclysm, trekking north through La Thiene, disorganized and thoroughly decimated. Curilla had survived, Rahal was nowhere to be found. The commander of the Temple Knights explained that they had taken the soldiers out for training in the sands of Valkurm when the demons had suddenly burst from the sky. Selbina had been all but razed to the ground, and those few soldiers that had managed to survive limped back home only to find that destroyed as well. Now here they all were, a few dozen soldiers, scores of refugees including the old, the infirm, and children who had no way to defend themselves, trapped in confining tunnels and caves, scrounged together in fear, with their food supplies running dangerously low. One way or another, they were going to die.

“So why not take the chance at survival?” Emblim had put forth to King Destin, bedraggled and weary as the old monarch was. “We could do it, your Majesty. And once we do, we’ll send back word and begin moving people to safety.”

“Your plan assumes that there is safety to be found, Captain.” The King had responded. “Of this . . . we can no longer be certain.”

In the end, Emblim had convinced the King to trust him. Thus, under the cover of night, with Atreides using his magic to conceal their presence, they set out. He, the bishop, and Erilan would slip away from Ronfaure and head east, looking for shelter, and safety. Emblim desperately wanted to return to Bastok, to find out if the same calamity had befallen his people, but he was a Paladin, sworn to defend the weak, those who could not defend themselves. He had failed once, in the blood-stained halls of Chateau d’Oraguille. He did not intend to fail again.


“I told you, but did you listen?” the gray-haired Elvaan said, shaking his head as Ayn and Zealot watched the Moblins seal the path they had come from behind them. “No, couldn’t just take me at my word. Movalpolas was the first place I came when those demons invaded, and I got the same welcoming committee. The surface world doesn’t concern these creatures.”

“Yes, I understand that you’re useless, you don’t have to keep explaining.” Ayn snapped, turning away from the Red Mage they had encountered in the deep tunnels of Oldton Movalpolas, the home of the Moblins. Moblins, long remaining neutral in the affairs of the world like their close cousins in the beastmen family, Goblins, were the first option for safety that Zealot had thought of when the time came to run. As it turned out, there was a sudden lack of vacancy in their perpetually-dug territory, Movalpolas. They had barely made it to through the entrance before the Moblins had angrily shooed them away, and then closed the path behind them.

The Elvaan shook his head and hopped down from the rock he had been sitting on, clasping his hands behind his back and taking a slow, deliberate walk around Tikinas, who folded her arms and directed a flat stare at the man, who whistled innocently and turned away. “So then, if not here, where are you going to find shelter? Because, you know, demons and all.”

“There’s really nowhere else close by,” Zealot said, trying to remember the lay of the land. “We can’t just sit in here, though. There’s a lot of stuff I can hit outside, but these mines aren’t exactly target-free themselves.”

“I know where we can go.” Ayn remarked dismissively, brushing by Zealot with a wave of his hand. “Come on Tiki, the sooner we go, the better.”

“Where are we going?” The Elvaan man asked.

Ayn rounded on him slowly, but with enough time for one of his knives to twirl about in his hand and then sheath itself again in an impressive display of handling. “Those ears are apparently just for show, Greyheart.” Ayn said, addressing the Elvaan by the name he had given them. “I said “we.” As in, myself and Tikinas. You two are more than welcome to stay here until we’re well out of sight, and stand out in plain view of the demons and try to figure out which way we’ve gone.”

“I’m sorry, what Ayn here is trying to say is “screw off.” Tikinas said, managing to be as condescending as possible. Without a further word to the two Elvaan, the infamous duo turned to leave, but at that same moment, the Moblins opened the path to Movalpolas.

“What’s this?” Zealot exclaimed, taking a step back as the massive hands of a bugbear appeared on the opposite side of the rock they had closed the passage with, pushing it aside with ease. The creature stopped and stood still as a troop of Moblins marched out, carrying atop their outstretched arms a still-breathing body.

“Mvlpls s fr Mblns!” one of them decried from behind his thick gas mask, made to protect him from the noxious fumes encountered while digging.

“No place, no place for garbage.” A second one declared, dropping the part of the body he held, the others following suit.

“Ta-a-a-ke th-th-th-thi-this a-a-a-a-n-and go!” another one demanded, and just like that, they dropped the body on the dirt and retreated back into the dark, the bugbear pulling the enormous boulder back into place just as easily as he had moved it before.

“Hello!” Greyheart marveled at what the Moblins had deposited in front of them. It was a Paladin, which was easy enough to tell. Even dropped on the dirt, and obviously injured from the traces of blood which were evident, the holy engravings on the surface of the Paladin’s armor were plain to see, and the blessed armor itself was still gleaming and polished as if its owner had not just been unceremoniously dropped on the ground. What was clearly most impressive to Greyheart, however, was that the owner of said armor was a Mithra.

“She’s clearly been wounded,” Greyheart said, stretching out his hands. “I’ll have to apply direct contact in order for this spell to work.”

“Move!” Tikinas shouted, slapping his hands away. The Red Mage cradled his palm as the Ninja leaned down over the fallen form of the Paladin in front of them. She was badly hurt, and how she had ended up in such a state inside the home of the Moblins was baffling. “Great spirits, I know this woman.” Tikinas said in disbelief. “From Kazham. Her name is Pinkfae.”

“Oh no . . . “ Ayn started to say, seeing where this was going.

“Ayn, we can’t leave her here.” Tikinas stated, clearly not a question or plea. “We’ll have to bring her with us.”

“Have to . . . “ the thief muttered, his thumb running down the handle of his knife. “Fine . . . if you can carry her to the lighthouse, she can stay, provided she survives the trip.”

“I can’t carry her all that way!” Tikinas protested. “And if we don’t treat these wounds right away, she’ll – “

“Excuse me,” Zealot interjected, “but I can carry her.”

“Really?” Tikinas said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Zealot indicated the enormous axe strapped to his back with gauntleted thumb. “I carry this thing around with me all day, everywhere I go. I think I can handle a Mithra.”

“And,” Greyheart said, snapping his fingers as he flourished his hands in either direction, bursts of flame releasing from his palms, “I’m no white mage, but if you need to keep her alive, I can certainly manage that. I wasn’t joking about the spell, you know.”

“For the love of . . . “ Ayn said, grinding his teeth. He gripped the hilt of his knife, and for a moment the muscles in his arm tensed. Then he turned, and saw Tikinas over the fallen form of the Mithra Pinkfae. The sights of what he had seen at Bastok as the demons overtook the citizenry came back to him in a flash. Here, Tikinas had, through some incredible circumstance, found that one of the people she knew was still alive. Given the events of the last few days, that discovery in and of itself was worth preserving.

“Fine,” Ayn said after a moment of looking at Tikinas. “You, the dumb one, you can carry her, and you, the ugly one, you keep her breathing. If you slow me down or get in my way, that’s the end of it. Understood?”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Zealot said, even as he slid his arms underneath the unconscious Mithra’s form and lifted her gingerly into the air. How she ended up in the state she did, in the place she was found, had to be quite a tale. “But maybe you’d like to tell us where we’re going?”

“What is it with you Elvaan and hearing?” Ayn complained. “I just said a second ago the lighthouse. As in the one in Gustaberg, not a half-day’s march from here.”

“We’re going to flag down a ship?” Greyheart said, confused, and Tikinas sighed at his lack of understanding.

“The lighthouse is a front,” Ayn explained, as if talking to a child. “The light guides people to shore so that they don’t search for the cave right underneath where the lighthouse is – a pirate’s cove. Demons or no demons, they’ll still be sailing. We’ll wait for one to come by, and then I can get us somewhere I can think about what to do next.”

“And where might that be?” Zealot said as Greyheart concentrated the healing magic at his disposal towards the Paladin in his arms, though Zealot was careful not to let him get his too-familiar hands that close.

“Where else?” Ayn replied, turning to the mouth of the cavern they had entered from, looking out at the shady gray skies outside. “If anyone knows what to do, it’ll be my boss. We’re going to Norg.”


Dantrag spun to the ground as his axe slid from his hand. The demon in front of him howled and raised its claws, smacking him solidly across the face and sending him reeling. It advanced upon the warrior, but was halted by a sudden barrage from Demyn’s bow. Dantrag, struggling to stand as blood began dripping from his face, scooped up his axe and stood in front of the ranger, panting.

For two days they had trekked across Bibiki Bay and Buburimu, halting for hours at a time when demons were near and waiting for them to pass. They had almost reached safety when this patrolling flock had spotted them, and now the duo was engaged in a battle for their lives that they did not seem likely to win. Demyn nocked another arrow in his bow, leveling it at the demon in front of him, but from the side another swooped down and tore the ranger from his feet. Demyn went sprawling backwards as Dantrag howled, smashing his axe into the creature’s chest, tearing the blade free and continuing to slash at it as it clutched the wound it had been given and fell back. Even as Dantrag turned to protect Demyn, another demon crashed down, and he had to dive out of the way to avoid being disemboweled by the slash it struck with its blackened sword.

Demyn and Dantrag both looked around them at the demons circling in. Demyn’s bow lay on the other side of them and the quickly advancing wall, and there was no way Dantrag could hold off so many by himself. He clutched the handles of his axes, preparing to take as many of them with him as he could, when a sudden crack of lightning pealed through the air, and one of the demons cried out as it was stricken, screaming that horrible demon scream as the others turned to face the disturbance.

With a flash of light and the sound of steel being drawn, Dantrag heard the demons howl and growl with fear and anger. Another flash, however, silenced them, and the sands of Buburimu splashed across Dantrag’s armor as a figure came to a halt in front of him, her heavy great katana freshly cleaved through a demon’s body. She turned, an infectious grin on her face, and fluidly swung her sword around, carving another demon up the middle.

Not wasting time, Demyn sprung towards his bow and rolled forward as he grasped it, pulling an arrow from his quiver and coming up with the projectile drawn back, ready to be aimed, but then stared with amazement as he saw the demons flying off, desperately trying to protect their own lives. Further bolts of lightning shot out after them, and in a moment they were gone into the air. Demyn turned, finally facing his saviors, and gasped as he saw the three figures, a Hume, a Mithra, and a Tarutaru, standing in front of him.

“I don’t believe it.” Demyn said in a voice which nearly caught in his throat.

“Tell me about it,” Hubby replied, shaking his head as he sheathed the great katana at his side. “I’m supposed to be on vacation right now.”


The deep green waves of the ocean surrounding her, Jinxie cradled Drake in her arms as she stared out at the horizon. Xaerus stood behind her, those unseeing eyes fixed along the same coastline Jinxie was beholding now for the first time. She could just make out in the distance the forms of buildings of an unfamiliar construction, and a giant flag bearing the standard of the empire soaring over city walls. The Mithra with her had remained silent and unreadable, and over the last few days at sea Jinxie had grown calmer, steadier in her resolve. Her unwilling flight from Rabao had saved her own life, and with it, she would do all she could to protect the life of another.

For the life of her son, in memory of his father, she followed Xaerus into whatever lay waiting for her in the Empire of Aht Urhgan.