Chapter XXXVII: The Prelude in the Conclusion

The Imperial Chamber of Aht Urhgan was dark as Razfahd stepped forward into the single stretch of moonlight illuminating the cavernous hall. The child and her dolls had gone to bed, and there would be no Immortals patrolling this evening, he had made sure of that. What transpired this evening would be between him and his guest, for whom he waited as the midnight hour crept by.

The sense that he was no longer alone washed over him, like an insect crawling on his skin. The Grand Vizier of the Empire turned, and where moments ago there had been empty space, there now stood a figure cloaked in darkness, standing on the steps leading to the Empress’s dais. Razfahd choked back his indignation at the affront, reminding himself of the necessity of this alliance. Straightening his posture, he raised his chin and acknowledged the presence of his visitor. The derisive chuckle which was returned made it a struggle to keep his anger in check.

“So, you have accepted our terms?” the man on the dais inquired. His voice was not the one Razfahd had been expecting.

“You are not the one who approached me,” the Grand Vizier said cautiously, “the one with the black cloak.”

“He is a mutual friend,” the other man replied, stepping closer into the moonlight, “but is unfortunately occupied this evening. Believe me; you can speak to me as if you were speaking to him.”

Razfahd chaffed at the indignity. Passed off to a servant.

“I have your word that all you want is the child?” Razfahd asked, clasping his gloved hands behind the royal blue cape at his back. The gesture was clear; there would be no agreement unless a promise was given.

The other man snorted in amusement, turning his back on the Grand Vizier. He could have strangled the life out of him right there, and would have were there not so much on the line. He let the insult pass, but promised a day would come where he would make the visitor pay for his disrespect.

“You ensure that the child is in the right place, at the right time, and you have the word of our organization that the beastmen of Aradjiah will trouble the Empire no more.”

That was all Razfahd needed. He lowered his arms, preparing to extend a hand and seal the agreement. “The mother will be off on a wild colibri chase. Her and her companions will be long gone. You will be free to do as you want – and then leave.” The last part was put forth with authority the Grand Vizier made clear.

“Oh?” he reacted with a hint of genuine interest. “Out of curiousity, just what did you send them to do?”

Razfahd smirked. “I have sent them to search for the missing Sunserpent. They might as well have been banished from the realm altogether. No one has ever found out what happened to Kkel Solaar, and I doubt they will be the first.”

The moonlight danced in the eyes of the other man as he stared back at Razfahd, unblinking. His lip curled in contained anger, and when he came forward, the Grand Vizier could almost feel the power emanating from his presence.

“For your sake,” he whispered with a voice like a sharpened dagger, “you should pray they are not.”

Razfahd stood, stunned at the reaction, as the other man left the scant illumination of the moonlight, his footsteps growing faint.

“Our agreement – “ Razfahd called after him.

“It is done,” came a reply. “If you fail to hold up your end, be aware there shall be . . . consequences.”

Something stirred in the darkness, and Razfahd knew that he was again alone.

Seething, he strode out of the empty throne room, his footsteps echoing down the vast halls of the palace. He would put up with such impunities if he had to, as he had done his whole life, if it would benefit the Empire in the end. He knew he could expect to be double crossed, such was the way of the world, but if they could truly deliver what they promised, then by the time they came for him, he would be ready. He would be ready for all who would seek violence against Uhrguum.

And if he had to sacrifice one single child of a foreigner to do it, then he would put up with that, too.



“I have HAD IT with that woman!” Tikinas exploded as she burst through the cabin door, snatching one of her kunai from her waist.

“Tikinas, my lady, please,” Greyheart protested, “the good Captain is only making sure we remain on course. You’re just stressed from this time at sea – let me give you the secret Hiralda family massage.”

Greyheart skidded aside as Ayn strode past, slapping him absently away with the back of his hand, as if swatting a gnat. “We’ve been out here for over a week, Tiki,” Ayn grumbled, his own tone disgruntled, “we must be closing in on Norg now. It won’t be much longer.”

“She had me peeling popotoes.” Tikinas fumed, flashing her blade in front of the Thief’s face. “Does this look like something I use to peel popotoes with? DOES IT?”

Raising his hands defensively in front of him, Ayn took a step away from the infuriated Mithra. The words “Well, we have to eat . . . “ sprang into his head, but he was wise enough not to give them voice. Instead, he said “Once we hit dry land we can leave Kattrina and her ghost ship adrift at sea. Let’s just get through this now and forget about it later.”

Tikinas’s feral eyes stared at her long-time companion as she fought to control her anger. Finally, she growled and turned away, her kunai disappearing. “I have an uchitake waiting for her and her ship when this is all over . . . “ she muttered, and paced back off to where she had come from.

“She’s very spirited,” Greyheart observed wryly after a moment of silence. “Perhaps you should let me – “

“Shut up, ugly.” Ayn said simply, rubbing his nose as he grumbled. “That bitch had me swabbing the deck. Where’s stupid?”

Greyheart gave no immediate reaction to the insult, just a somewhat bemused smile as he sat down in the cabin chair beside the bed where Pinkfae still lay. She had regained consciousness some days ago, but only to pass in and out of it in fits. Her story remained a mystery. “Zealot was given the task of manning the sails today,” he informed Ayn, “I suspect you’ll find him above.”

Ayn grimaced. That’s where Kattrina was. “Glad to see you didn’t become useful while I wasn’t looking,” he told Greyheart, and exited the cabin.

“Ayn,” Greyheart called after him, “do you want me to – “

“I really don’t care,” the Thief responded, not even waiting for the question to be finished. Shrugging, Greyheart took that as a yes to his unanswered inquiry, and left Pinkfae alone as he followed Ayn out to the deck above.

The fog was rolling in thick off of the sea, blanketing the Sea Horror as it crested the waves off of Mindartia. Save for some unexplained lights in the sky from the direction of Windurst some days before, the trip had thus far been uneventful as they made their way to Elshimo. Kattrina, for her part, had been every bit as cruel a taskmistress as Ayn and Tikinas made her out to be, assigning them with outrageous amounts of tasks to keep the ship running while she concerned herself with “steering and navigation,” which she did primarily from the comfort of the plush Captain’s cabin. As he strained to rig the masts in place, his long mane of silver hair matted with sweat from the effort of his labor, Zealot cast an eye down to where Kattrina stood idly turning the wheel, the job not even requiring two hands. Shaking his head, he returned to his work, his muscles very straightforward with their complaints.

For the third time in as many days, Ayn burst through the door to the lower decks, this time with the dashingly-dressed Greyheart following close behind. Zealot craned his head down from the mast, awaiting the inevitable scene to play out. It never got them anywhere, but it was a nice break from the never-ending sight of the sea.

“Kattrina,” Ayn shouted towards the steering deck. She made no motion indicating that she had heard. “Kattrina!” he yelled again, louder this time. Still, she stared out over the ocean, hands idly turning the wheel of the ship.

“Captain,” Greyheart called out, “I believe our friend Ayn would like a word.”

“Did some’n’ say “Cap’n?” Kattrina responded, turning to regard them. “Aye, I think I heard that; some’n’ sayin’ “Cap-tain,” she sounded it out as if trying to instruct an infant in the enunciation of the word, “not shoutin’ like a landlubber what don’t know how t’ talk when at sea.”

Snatching her tri-cornered hat from the stand beside her and planting it over her head, the pirate nimbly leaped down the stairs from the steering deck, her bulky, frilled coat spreading out from the wind. She landed with a heavy thud from the boots she wore, and then took a grandiose bow, flourishing her feathered hat before them.

“Well now, what c’n I do fer ye boys?” she asked, straightening as she put her hat back on.

“Look . . . Captain.” Ayn said maliciously. “Tikinas is ready to cut your throat out. She’s not made to cut vegetables in some dark hole.”

“It be called a galley.”

“Whatever!” he shot back, exasperated. “Why don’t you send Zealot down there instead, and she can work up here?”

“Hey!” Zealot called down in protestation. Neither acknowledged him.

Kattrina barked a laugh. “Ha! Ye come up ‘n tell me a woman wants me head, then suggest I put ‘er up where she’s close t’ me? Go back t’ yer chores, Mr. Ayn, ‘n tell Tikinas I’ll be expectin’ double th’ popotoes t’night.”

Ayn’s hands trembled as Kattrina turned his back on him, walking back up the stairs she had come down.

“Anoth’r thing,” she said as she ascended, “don’t be botherin’ Mr. Greyheart no more. I can’t have ye takin’ a break fr’m watchin’ over me first mate.”

“That’s IT!” Ayn finally shouted, drawing out the knife from his belt. “We agreed to be your crew, but you’re making us slaves. You work us ragged, do nothing yourself, and ignore everything we tell you. And you made a vegetable your first mate!”

“She seem’d more qualified than th’ rest a ye.”

Ayn said not another word, but drew back his knife and aimed it at Kattrina’s back. In an instant, she rounded on him, her matchlock gun drawn and aimed squarely at the Thief’s head.

“Throw it, if ye think it’ll do anything,” Kattrina said, not taking her gun away. “Then be free t’ drift at sea f’rev’r, while I join me good crew in the locker.”

The Thief stood tensely. One quick strike and it would all be over. He was reasonably certain he’d be able to steer a ship. He had certainly seen it done plenty of times, how hard could it be? And were sea charts so radically different from regular maps that he would be unable to find the way to Norg?

He was trying to quickly puzzle out exactly how fast a bullet could travel when there came a tumultuous shake, and the ship rocked back and forth, throwing Captain and crewman both off balance. Zealot clung to the mast to keep steady, dropping down after the disturbance passed to touch down a few feet away from where the others stood.

“What was that?!” Greyheart asked, gathering himself up off of the deck. “Did we hit something?”

“I can’t see through this damned fog.” Kattrina complained. “Crow’s Nest!” She shouted upwards, “R’port!”

“Turn the ship starboard and cut the sails,” came the reply from Menphis, perched high above them, “or sink and die, I could live with either.”

Kattrina growled in her salty tone as she grasped the wheel in both hands, spinning it about with all of her might. The ship groaned, and as they changed direction Zealot began seeing a shape take form through the fog, something massive looming ever closer. As it neared, another wave shook them, and the boat rocked once more, spray hissing up over the sides. The door to the lower decks opened once more, and Tikinas emerged, her weapons already drawn.

“What’s happening?” she snapped, poised to attack.

“Hold yerself steady,” Kattrina called out, “This’ll be abrupt.”

With a lurch and a heave, the Sea Horror spun so its side faced the approaching object, growing ever more massive as it overtook them, but still an indiscernible black mass through the vast fog they were contending with. Zealot and Greyheart were thrown from their feet, and Ayn braced himself against a wall to remain standing as with a sharp stop, the ship came to a halt on the water, bouncing up and down on the waves.

Now, the mystery object became clear. The fog broke away from it as it came into view, turning so that it would be side-to-side with the smaller vessel. It was another ship, larger and sturdier, purposefully turning so as not to ram into them. Soon it was clear that it intended to run up alongside them, and Zealot hastily grabbed his great axe from where it had clattered to the ground, woefully realizing he had left his armor down below. The others drew forth their weapons as well, Greyheart moving to the back as Kattrina slid down from the deck above, peering with alarmed eyes at the new ship in the water. Somewhere above them, Menphis tightened his grip on the trigger of his gun.

With a great clatter, a plank lowered between the two ships, and the makeshift crew of the Sea Horror prepared to be boarded.

They could never have been fully prepared, not if given a thousand years.

The first one bounded across the plank, cartwheeling across and performing a somersault with a flourish as another did a flying handspring, landing feet first with arms outstretched. Another came rolling down the plank like a stone as a fourth amazingly rode atop him, like one of the loggers in Carpenter’s Landing. They came to a halt, the one atop the other leaping off into a pose as the tumbling one stretched out into one of his own, and then from behind them a fifth slid into place in their center, on one knee with his arms to the sides. Eyes closed dramatically, a deathly serious expression on his face, he slowly rose to his feet and declared . . .

“NELLA STANZAAAAAAA!”

“Cazzo!”

“Meatball!”

“Tigs pacco?”

“Testa di minkia!”

“GAY!”

The troupe of sailors shouted at one another as the stupefied crew of the Sea Horror watched with jaws agape.

“What th- what the hell are they saying?” Zealot asked, dumbfounded.

“These lads ‘r strickin’ in th’ head!” Kattrina declared, aghast.

“Are they . . . are they attacking or, or what?” Greyheart tried to discern aloud, clearly confused.

Ayn and Tikinas, however, had expressions of amazement dawning on both of their brows.

The sailors continued shouting, but then, with a single unspoken command between them, suddenly broke into three groups. Two of them, an Elvaan and a Mithra, went to one side while a white-haired Elvaan stood in the middle, the other two strange-speaking sailors on the opposite side of him. They all flourished deep bows as the one in the middle threw his arms up, calling for attention even as he stepped lightly away from the plank connecting the two ships.

“Ora attenzione!”

As he shuffled away, the sound of something clicking broke through the fog, and the image of a figure wearing a broad-shouldered coat began taking shape. As the dense clouds swirled and cleared away, a general gasp rose from the assembled people aboard the ship, along with a single gagging noise. Zealot turned to see Greyheart choking and holding a hand over his nose, which had spontaneously burst a vessel.

The clicking came from the heels on the boots the woman who had just boarded the Sea Horror wore, snug and made of leather, reaching up to her knees. Up her thighs were a pair of tights laced through on the sides, clinging to her all the way up to the waist which her hands, adorned with bejeweled rings, rested on. Her elbows held back the folds of the long coat she wore, the style similar to Kattrina’s, but this one far more ornate, clearly made of a higher quality of fabric from a superior weaver. She had two visible weapons; a single knife, sheathed at her side, and a sword hanging from her waist, long and curved with a golden hilt, the blade a deep blue, as if made from tempered adaman. With her coat open, she exposed the harness she wore, which hardly kept her in check, to say the least. The woman was practically spilling over the corset-like garment, a diamond necklace bearing a Star of Altana settled inbetween her breasts. She smiled radiantly, if with somewhat of a hint of warning, as from underneath a hat adorned with an enormous white plume, a cascade of curly red locks tumbled down her back.

“Presentare . . .” the Elvaan with the white hair boomed, “Argentina!”

The woman took a step forward, her smile fading into a smirk as her heels clicked across the wooden deck. “Thank you, Celtico,” she said in a voice like honey, yet still tinged with the salt of the sea, “Illidan, Tigs, Aramyl, Kyraska, go back aboard the ship. I’ll be along.”

“SI!” they shouted in unison, and all at once they bent forward, placing a crooked arm in front of their faces as they marched single-file back up the plank, disappearing back through the fog.

“Captain Kattrina,” Argentina said, approaching the others. “Am I to take it from your company that something has gone awry?”

“Lady Argent’na,” Kattrina said with a bow, “welcome abahrd th’ Sea Horror. I didn’t ‘xpec’ t’ find anyone out on th’ seas, what with th’ situation ‘n all.”

“We’re needed out here now more than ever,” the red-headed beauty said firmly. “You’ll follow us back to Norg immediately. There’s much work to be done.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am!” Kattrina said smartly. It was the first time any of them had ever heard her address anyone with a tone of respect.

“Argentina!” Ayn said as she turned away, causing the woman to turn back around on her heel. She peered at him disinterestedly, but then blinked, leaning forward.

“Is that . . . Ayn?!” she said incredulously.

“The same,” he affirmed. “I’m afraid the circumstances are . . . less than ideal, but I’ve been using this ship to get back to Norg. I never dreamed I’d run into you out here.”

“Is she – “ Greyheart suddenly spoke up, his black glove stained with red, “is SHE the boss you were speaking about!?”

Before Ayn could respond, Argentina gave out a laugh like a silver bell pealing. “I see you’ve been bragging, Ayn,” she chided, “what have we told you about name-dropping?”

“I wasn’t – “ he protested, rounding on Greyheart with a smoldering look in his eye. “I only told them I was looking for my boss for orders. You should know I’m not one to brag.”

She considered it, amused for a moment, then nodded with a smile. “I suppose if he thinks I’m the boss, that must be true.” She cocked a single eye towards Greyheart, and Zealot prepared himself to catch the man in case he swooned. “My good man, I am Argentina, First Mate of the Charybdis. Ayn’s boss, whom is quite fond of him, I can tell you, is – “

“Right here, lass!” boomed a voice from behind.

They turned one and all as a man stepped out from the fog. Square-jawed and muscular, yet still tall and thin, and with a tinge of gray in his hair, he wore a black-and-gold coat over his seafaring frame. Unlike Kattrina or Argentina, he wore a simple cap rather than a trireme hat, and save for his obviously prohibitively expensive coat, was but simply adorned for sea travel. Two knives rested at his side, hilts out, and a third weapon, completely concealed within a leather case, rested near his back. He advanced on them, and despite the fact that he was nowhere near as tall as Zealot, the man felt somehow larger than life.

As he approached, Argentina gave a half-serious bow, Greyheart almost toppling over when she bent at the waist. He smiled at her, then turned his attention towards Ayn and Tikinas. His voice was gravelly, yet commanding and strong, the result of years of being in authority.

“By th’ depths, I thought I’d lost th’ both of yeh,” he said warmly, clasping his leather-gloved hands on their shoulders. For the first time, Zealot saw Tikinas smile. “I can’t wait t’ hear how ye managed to scrape yer way out of this one, you two’ve always made me proud when it comes t’ things like that.”

“I’ll regale you with our story as soon as we’re dry and safe,” Ayn told him, a smile of his own forming, “then we can drink and lie until the sun comes up.”

The man gave a booming laugh, clapping Ayn on the back. “An’ why don’t ye introduce me to yer new friends?”

Ayn blinked at him. “I’m sorry, who?”

Zealot stepped forward before things got too awkward. Extending his hand, and feeling very naked without his armor in the presence of whom he now knew were the two most dangerous pirates on the high seas, he approached the man Ayn called boss.

“Zealot Zachus,” he said, surprised at the firmness with which the other man crunched his fingers. “Behind me is Greyheart Hiralda, and lurking around here somewhere is a Ranger who calls himself Menphis. I’m sorry, sir, but Ayn neglected to tell us your name . . . ?”

“Ha!” he responded, planting a fist on his hip as he took his hand away. “I’m th’ linchpin between th’ pirates and the Tenshodo, th’ man who keeps things runnin’ on th’ open waters while Aldo ‘n Gilgamesh take care a’ th’ dry side ‘a things. Ayn calls me Boss, some folk call me Admiral, those who’re smart call me “Sir.” There’s one name that’s been poppin’ up lately, and truth be told, I’ve taken a liking t’ it. So, since yer friends of Ayn – “

“What?”

“- I’ll say it’s safe t’ just call me President.”



The Star Sibyl sat alone in her chamber, watching the signs above. Not since the Crystal War had their country been so assailed, and never in their history had Windurst been so close to the brink. If not for the arrival of Titania’s friends, even the bravest of their soldiers might have been overrun. Now, with the demons massing in Sarutabaruta for a second assault, time was crucial, but at least they had some. What was important now was not wasting a single second of it.

“Come,” she said in her small, but authoritative voice in response to a knock at the door to her chambers.

The door opened, light pouring in to the vast hall as a woman in dark armor approached. She was unarmed, as was customary when in audience with the Star Sibyl, but she knew that Kaita was just as dangerous with her bare hands as she was with any weapon. The Dark Knight of Windurst dropped to a knee in respect, and the Star Sibyl bade her rise.

“What have you to report?” she asked, stepping down from where she had been seated to approach her bodyguard.

“Nothing good, I’m afraid.” Kaita replied. “Our suspicions have been confirmed. The Kindred and the Vanguard have united with the monsters which stormed Mhaura, and come together under common leadership. We can now be sure that they are in fact answering to a presence on the field.”

“If the Shadow Lord were here in any form, we would know immediately,” the Star Sibyl pondered, “so who besides he would be strong enough to command an army of demons?”

“I have no answers,” Kaita told her, shaking her head.

The Star Sibyl turned away, her thoughts in a thousand places at once. With Windurst temporarily back under their control, they had been able to reclaim any number of powerful magical artifacts and scripts, as well as consolidate their forces in places of power which could protect them against another demon assault. The fact remained though that what had occurred during the Battle of Heaven’s Tower had been nothing short of a miracle. To count on a second one would be foolhardy at best.

“Your new comrades,” the Star Sibyl spoke, “I’m afraid I must delay my audience with them yet again, but . . . “ she turned to regard Kaita once more. “do you think . . . they could be what we need?”

Kaita considered it. Whether she had any opinion personally regarding the matter or not, it did not show, and the Star Sibyl knew her answer would be an honest one.

“If it comes to it,” she finally replied, “I believe they would lay down their lives in defense of Windurst.”

Walking back up to her throne, the leader of the Federation of Windurst settled in, her attention focused back on the stars. Out there, in the night, an army gathered to sweep them from the land, and the strongest barrier in the world would not save them this time.

“It just may come to that, Kaita,” she told her bodyguard. “It just may.”

She looked out over the walls of Windurst, and wondered what the day would bring.


Beyond Windurst, stretching out in the fields of Sarutabaruta, an army grew. The surviving hordes from the initial attack had recuperated, and though their numbers were greatly reduced, the combined forces of Kindred and Vanguard were a vast army in their own right. With the beasts which had burst forth in Buburimu now moving west to form a single force, soon they would once again have the might to raze Windurst overnight.

The man in white stared out over the land with contempt in his gaze. He snapped his fingers, and at his feet, the woman in red looked up in alarm. For a moment he considered striking her, but then decided against it. He would need her undamaged in the days to come. He merely pointed towards his sword as he slid off of the chocobo mount he had ridden from Jeuno. Nodding, she snatched it from the chest containing the items he had brought with them, buckling it around his waist. He twisted the ring on his left hand, anger burning beneath his surface. He despised being sent off to the minor task of securing this land and culling the survivors. He belonged at the side of the Dark Lord, he should be receiving his gifts.

He heard a faint cry, and realized that he had been holding the wrist of the woman in red. Irritated, he cast her away, and she held her arm gingerly, bowing to him as she backed off from him. His armor gleamed as he looked out over the fields and streams towards Windurst in the distance. Soon, they would be ready to move. Very soon.

“Cullen,” he said to the woman in red, then gestured out towards the forces massing behind them, “go.”

“Hai, Secure,” she responded with another bow, and with her scarlet robes flowing behind her, ventured into the demonic hordes to continue organizing their forces for war.

The man in white continued to stare, as if he could burn Windurst down with his gaze.


Bongo stopped in his tracks, the dusty wind whipping at his heels. His eyes narrowed as he looked around the dry, barren landscape surrounding them. Nothing stirred, indeed, nothing had for days, yet still, in the back of his mind, he felt something nagging.

“What is it, Bongo?” Dantrag asked as he ascended the hill they had climbed, the green cape he wore, tattered and dusty, blowing out in the wind which whipped at them.

The Ranger shook his head, still unsure himself. “I thought I felt . . . something . . . off towards Windurst.”

There was a stark laugh by his side, and Luma, sitting down as she looked out over the Meriphataud Mountains, shook her head as her fingers danced along the hilt of her great katana. “Your senses are keen, Bongo,” she told him, nodding, “but Windurst is far, far away.”

“I know, it’s just . . . “ he groped for words to explain it. “It feels like something gathering.”

“We can worry about it later,” Dantrag decided, shading his eyes with one hand as he peered out over the vast landscape around them. “Are we sure we want to do this? It seems dangerous. And I mean – even for us.”

Luma laughed again. It seemed to be a favorite activity of hers. “HA!” she exclaimed. “The bird-people are no danger. I’ll stuff my pillows with them!”

“Reassuring as that is,” came a deep, bass voice from behind them, “we do need a better plan than what we’ve got.” Hubby joined the rest of them, Qwid right behind. Off in the distance, barely a speck from where they were now, they could see the towers of Castle Oztroja past the Spine of the World.

“Look, we don’t have much of a choice as I see it,” Bongo told them. “We’re out of food and water, and we know the Yagudo keep enough in there to survive a century-long drought. We sneak in, take what we need, kill any buzzards who get in our way, and sneak out. Then we go back to looking for the others.”

“It’s quite a detour,” Dantrag mused, “wherever the others are, it’s got to be leagues away from Castle Oztroja.”

Bongo nodded in agreement, but gave a sigh. “Well, there’s nothing to be done about it. We should get moving – we can reach it by nightfall. Qwid can get us past the gate, and then I’ll – “

The Ranger stopped. This time he knew he felt something.

With a shouted oath and a twist like lightning, Bongo’s bow was in his hand and an arrow ready to fly. The others turned, startled, and then gave shouts of surprise at what they saw.

On another hill, just a dozen or so feet from where they were, North and November were staring back at them.

“What are you two doing here?” Bongo demanded as Hubby and Luma rose at his side, their weapons ringing as they were drawn. “Come back for round three?”

North rolled his eyes, arms folded. That beetle Bongo hated so much was next to him as always, and the woman in the black-and-white robe, November, stood with a sour expression on her face as she looked them over.

“If I wanted to kill you I would have already, so put that thing down,” North said in an exasperated voice. Taking a step forward, he slid down the hill he was on, dust clouding up at his heels. As he reached the bottom, he took a step up towards the rise Bongo and the others were standing atop, and the archer suspiciously kept his arrow trained on the Beastmaster.

“I’ve got no reason to trust you anymore,” Bongo told him shortly, “so make it quick. My fingers are slipping.”

“This is ridiculous,” November complained, “North, they won’t be of any help.”

“I know, November, it’s a stretch,” the Elvaan agreed, “but given the way things are, they’re the best I can come up with.”

“What are you talking about?” Bongo demanded.

“As you know,” North said, taking another step up the hill, “I returned to Onzozo after seeing November to safety. However, there were . . . complications I had not foreseen. Without getting into the details too much, it was not possible for me to reclaim my kingdom.”

“Those demons whipped your ass, didn’t they?” Dantrag taunted.

North scoffed. “Keep your manservant silent,” he told Bongo, rising up another step.

“As I recall, this ‘manservant’ put you on the ground last time it came down to it,” the warrior snarled in response.

“Want to try it again with me here?” November countered, and the air around the Summoner began stirring as her eyes started to glow.

“Enough!” North shouted, and with a final push, he stood face to face with Bongo, ignoring the arrow leveled at his chest. “I have another weapon at my disposal which will easily take care of the vermin infesting my lair, but it is hidden in a place where I will need . . . help . . . recovering it. November and I cannot do it on our own. Thus I have come to you.”

The statement hung in the air, no one on either side responding. Slowly, Bongo lowered his bow, letting the arrow go slack as he stared North in the eye.

“Why should I help you?” he asked plainly.

“Because I know what you’re doing,” North told him, “and my goal falls very neatly in line with destroying these demon creatures. Also,” he said, holding out his hand, which his beetle flew towards with a buzzing noise, landing by his side, “my friends can provide for us without you having to sneak by an army to steal some snacks.”

“And because,” North continued, patting Galahad as he regarded the others, “my friends can tell me where to find your friends.”

The two glared at each other for a long moment, no words exchanged.

“I don’taru – don’t – see the harm,” Qwid said finally.

“Adventure!” Luma declared, “I can taste it in the air.”

“Bongo,” Hubby said, approaching the Ranger and surreptitiously whispering in his ear, “it would probably be better to have him with us than against us.”

Bongo inhaled through his nose, letting a disgruntled breath out through clenched teeth. North stared back at him with that infuriatingly superior look on his face, and when Bongo extended his hand, it took every ounce of control he had to not have a dagger in it.

“Alright,” Bongo told him, choosing to ignore the disdainful look in the Elvaan’s eyes as they roughly clasped hands, “we’ll help you. But then you help us. Understood?”

“Of course,” North replied, wiping his hand on the fur-lined garb he wore after withdrawing it from the Ranger’s palm. “Then we shall start at once. Our destination is the Boyahda Tree.”

So the five, suddenly seven, set off to the east, and Castle Oztroja remained nothing but a blot in the distance.


“This is ridiculous,” Atreides said, uncharacteristically pessimistic. “There’s got to be some other way.”

Emblim said nothing in response, keeping low atop Vomp Hill as they surveyed the land in the distance. The sun, dimmed as it was, kept demon activity to a minimum, which allowed them precious time to get a bearing on their surroundings. After the events in Konschtat, the small group had made what repairs they could to their weapons and armor, rested as much as possible, and then sent the villagers off, hopefully towards safety. They directed them to the same paths they themselves had used to avoid being spotted, and hopefully they would be able to reach the hidden caverns in which the San d’Orians were keeping themselves safe. It would do nothing to help the perilous food shortages the refugees faced, but for the moment it was the best solution they had.

In the meantime, they had trekked further south, and now looked out over Gustaberg, over the walls of Bastok itself.

“I am sorry, Captain,” Atreides continued, “but given what we’ve seen there just does not seem to be a realistic possibility of making this happen.”

“Some time ago I think you would’ve said that Dynamis bursting forth from the ether wasn’t a realistic possibility,” Emblim responded, keeping his eyes locked on the city.

“Clearly, that is different,” the Bishop said sourly. “I don’t mean to impugn our progress, but this – I mean, look!”

It was true. Bastok had been swarmed over by the Kindred’s arrival. While much of the initial invasion force had dispersed to the outlying lands, they tended to flock back to the city during the day, letting them see for themselves just how unbelievable a multitude now walked the cobblestone paths of the Republic’s capital city. Supplementing their numbers were a horde of Quadav, darkened and strange, divided into squadrons which seemed to answer to crudely-hewn statues that moved unaided. From the top of Vomp Hill it was possible to see clearly across all four of the city’s districts, and each one was infested completely.

“Can you see the tunnel?” Erilan whispered, propping himself up on his elbows to try and see for himself.

“I think there’s been a cave-in,” the other Paladin responded, “the entrance to the mines looks sealed.”

“So we either sneak in during the day, when they’re less active but there are five times as many, or during the night, when the ones which remain will be alert and probably very, very eager to find something to kill. After we manage this, we find our way through a tunnel that is now blocked by a cave in.” Atreides sighed, looking over at Emblim with a regretful look in his eyes. “I will follow where you lead, Captain Emblim,” the Bishop said, “but I just don’t believe it’s possible for us to reach Rabao.”

“Stop,” Feldin suddenly said, not looking at any of them.

“What?” Atreides asked, peering towards the Black Mage. “I’m not dismissing the Captain, I’m just saying – “

“Not you,” Feldin cut him off, still looking out over Bastok, his tone flat, “him.”

“Who – ?” Emblim started, but stopped as he turned his head.

Clutching the ground just as they were, his eyes full of eager anticipation, Etrien lay, frozen by Feldin’s command.

“Etrien!” Erilan whispered harshly. “We told you to go with the other villagers!”

“Lad, it’s far too dangerous for you,” Atreides told him, “we can’t keep you safe against what we’ll be facing.”

“I know, I know,” Etrien told them, his young eyes brimming with excitement, “but I know something else, too. Something you don’t.”

“What’s that?” Emblim asked cautiously.

“I know how to get into Korroloka Tunnel,” he said, “and if you take with along, I’ll show you how.”

The four exchanged glances. Etrien only smiled, knowing that the decision had already been made.


“ – and then there was that time you stole that Mithra girl away from me.”

“What?” Rykoshet muttered, his footsteps stumbling. “What Mithra girl?”

Battousai shook his head, keeping a grip on his older brother’s arm as he helped him stay upright. His wounds had been extensive, and the trek back to Oztroja difficult to say the least. It was all he could do to keep him talking.

“I don’t remember her name, this was years ago, she was a singer or some such.”

“Well I knew a Mithra bard once . . . “ Rykoshet muttered, his mind drifting into the past.

“The point stands, Rykoshet, whenever I’ve had something nice, you come take it away.”

“Stop . . . stop whining,” the other Elvaan muttered, striving to stay coherent. “Mom always liked you best.”

“The Master, too,” Battousai grinned, “I didn’t desert him like you did.”

“I did not . . . DESERT . . . the Master, I just . . . got caught up in things. I’m a – I have a linkshell.” Fumbling through the pouch at his side, he came to the leather cord which held the cracked linkshell on it. He felt the flaw which rendered it useless and let his head hang forward. “I had a linkshell . . . “

They continued walking, Rykoshet struggling to keep pace, even with Battousai supporting him. Night was settling on Meriphataud Mountains, and they had nearly passed the Spine of the World. Only a few more miles and they would be back at Oztroja. Battousai hid his worry from Rykoshet that his body might not hold out that long.

“So how . . . how’d you get . . . there.” Rykoshet asked suddenly. “I never asked. You were in Jeuno and I know that . . . I know they got to Jeuno, so how . . . “

“The Master had me on one of his errands,” he told his older brother, glad that something new to keep Rykoshet awake had come up, “I was just returning when things happened. I’d been camped out in Sauromugue ever since.”

“You didn’t . . . go for help or . . .”

“I was alone, Rykoshet,” Battousai explained, “I did a lot more good creating false trails for any demons looking for survivors to follow than I did trying to be a hero by myself. And you think that Lieutenant just got half-eaten by the Roc and then left alone? That was the second time I’d had to scare it away.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Rykoshet, who went back to focusing on making his legs work. “Hey,” he said as the thought popped into his mind, “are you going to give me that great sword back?”

Battousai glanced at the hilt of the great weapon he had captured after the Roc had disarmed Rykoshet. It was now slung neatly across his back.

“No,” the younger brother replied, “no, I probably won’t.”

“I didn’t think so . . . “ Rykoshet responded. “You’re a jerk.”

“I had a good role model.”

The brothers continued walking. The night fell over them, blanketing Meriphataud Mountains in darkness. Like a beacon in the distance, the torchlights in Oztroja called out to them, but it was still so very far . . .

“I don’t know . . . if I’m going to make it . . . “ Rykoshet said, his voice struggling to stay above a whisper.

“Stop it,” Battousai told him, practically dragging him at this point. “You didn’t face down Serket, the undead hordes, and fight the Roc – although with a timely assist from me – to ignobly die of injuries some days later. Just keep moving.”

“I fought . . . fought . . . I hit Tzee Xicu, too.” Rykoshet added. “In the stomach.”

“You hit a girl in the stomach?” Battousai replied.

“I hate you so much,” Rykoshet whispered, his head drooping down.

“Halt!” A voice suddenly called out from the darkness. “I advise you stay where you are and identify yourselves, for your own sakes.”

Rykoshet mumbled something inaudible, but Battousai’s voice boomed out. “Have things really degraded so far that they’ve got you out on patrol, Baeladar?”

“Who is – “ a figure cut through the darkness, his perfectly polished armor framed by the neat blue cape he wore. With a startled exclamation, the Elvaan eyes of the Paladin settled on the duo, and he rushed forward when he realized what he was seeing. “Battousai!” Baeladar marveled. “How did you – Rykoshet!”

“It’s bad, Bael,” Battousai told him, his tone serious now, “he needs help right away.”

Baeladar, still obviously in shock at the development, stared for only an instant before blinking, his soldier’s instincts kicking in. “You all, over here!” he called out, and to Battousai’s surprise, a troop of Yagudo faded in from the darkness. With murmurs of surprise, they whispered the name “Rykoshet,” back between themselves.

“I will use what healing powers I possess,” Baeladar told the one in the lead, “but he must reach Lady Odessa with all haste. Quu Domi, can I rely on you?”

“My speed is yours,” the Yagudo replied, putting a fist to his chest in salute.

“Battousai,” Baeladar began, even as he took Rykoshet from the exhausted Elvaan, his hands aglow with the white magic all Paladins were versed in, but Battousai cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Just take care of Rykoshet now,” he said, looking worriedly at his brother, who was mumbling to himself now, “I’ll catch up.”

Baeladar nodded, then turned him over to the Yagudo he had called Quu Domi. With surprising speed, the feathered ninja took off into the night, towards the Castle, the others following suit. Battousai continued to walk after them, his arms and neck greatly relieved to not have Rykoshet’s weight on them anymore.

He reached the castle less than a half hour later, and all the while, Rykoshet dreamed of a man on a lake.


“Everything is ready in the Near East?” The man in black asked as the Hume returned, walking through the shadows.

“That fool Razfahd is a headache just to speak with, but yes,” he affirmed, “all will be prepared when the time comes.”

“Excellent.” He allowed himself a smile. The Ducal Chambers of Jeuno were much to his liking, and the good news continued to pour in. “I have a task for your servant,” he went on, “I hope you won’t mind.”

“Where is the Taru?” the Hume grunted, not answering the question at first. Instead he walked to the grand banquet table which had been set up for them, snatching a leg of some roasted beast and stealing a bite for himself.

“He is en route to Pso’Xja.” The man in black smirked at the thought. “He wanted to handle things personally.”

“And how are things . . . elsewhere?” He took another bite, the juices from the meat running down his chin.

The man in black shrugged, his hands clasped behind his back for a moment. “I had to intervene . . . discretely, of course, on the behalf of one of the aristocracy. There were some complications, but they’ve been addressed, and our dear demon lord should be good as new eventually.”

“Hmph. Good enough.” There was a flash of smoke, and instantly, kneeling by his side, a man and a woman flanked the Hume. “Which one did you need?”

“He will do,” he beckoned with a black glove, and the man at the Hume’s side rose. The dirty blonde hair on his head brushed his eyes, and the thick suit of armor he wore, surmounted by an ornate green cloak, gleamed wickedly in the light of the torches mounted on the walls.

“What is your wish?” The man asked, extending a perfunctory bow.

“As you know, our plan hinges on the power of the Mothercrystals, and to draw out what we need, a sacrifice is required.” His tone darkened, and his fingers formed a pyramid in front of him. “We took four of them at the dragon, but if we kill them now it will be for nothing if we don’t have a soul to bond to the fifth Mothercrystal as well. Your job is to find that soul.”

“It is someone specific?” he inquired.

“Oh yes,” the man in black confirmed, “there can be no doubt. I need you to go forth and find the one they call Rykoshet and bring him back here. He will close the circle. Can you do this for me,” the man in black asked, rising to approach the man, “Rennie?”

Rennie nodded once, putting a fist to his chest. “I will find him, wherever he is. You’ll have your sacrifice.”

The man in black smiled. Everything was coming together.

Night fell over Jeuno, and the north wind began to blow . . . .