Chapter CII: The Ninja in Winter

Clenching the thick animal hides he wore tightly around himself, Bongo bit down to keep his teeth from chattering. The air in the dark wasteland around them was already freezing cold, with the wind whipping past him it made it feel like tiny needles of ice were slicing against his skin. One glance at his companions told him the situation was similar for all of them.

Dantrag was keeping a stoic face, but his whole body shivered as they marched forward. Right beside him, Hubby was completely wrapped in his fur cloak, bunching it around his face to keep all but his eyes concealed. Luma was making no such effort to conceal her discomfort, stamping her feet and letter her teeth chatter. The Mithra's tail was wrapped around her waist like a belt as she rapidly rubbed her arms.

"C-C-Can we g-go back t-t-t-to the desert n-now?" She asked through clenched fangs.

"We're almost there," Hubby urged her on, wrapping a bit of his cloak around her. "Qwid, can't you keep us warm?"

In their midst, the Tarutaru shook his head. "That army down there is too close," he warned. "They'll sense my magic and then we'll be toastaru." The Red Mage had his scarf wrapped tightly around his face, yet still traces of frozen breath escaped when he spoke. "Best I can do is try to keep the wind off us."

"Don't give up yet, people," Bongo stepped out in front of them. "Oztroja's in sight. We're not going to let some bad weather stop us now."

"Are you s-s-s-sure?" Luma complained, but she continued stepping forward anyway.

The frozen peaks of Meriphataud Mountains stretched out, encompassing them in a tomb of frigid air. With the skies blackened and the landscape concealed in frost, Bongo's senses as a Ranger were the only thing that had brought them this far. The journey from San d'Oria had not been an easy one. As miserable as the weather was, it was not even the worst they had seen. Around Jeuno it was coldest, darkest, and the most unforgiving, with parts of the sea freezing around the enormous floating bridges upon which the city was suspended. They had stayed clear of the demon-infested city, but trouble had still found them on more than one occasion. Those were isolated instances, however, nothing more than ill timing and happenstance. Now there was an army in the valley below, and the slightest misstep could spell disaster.

The presence of the force beneath them was more than a little terrifying. Ever since they had put Jeuno out of sight, they had found traces of the legions which had gone out ahead of them. The troubling signs of beastman activity had grown with every day, and before long it became clear where the Orcs in Fort Ghelsba had disappeared to.

Batallions of armored greenskinned beastmen filled the valley beneath them. They marched in strictly ordered lines, divided by function. Their armored soldiers stood in the front, steel and leather covering every inch of them. Their metal masks were crafted to look like fearsome tusked beasts, and they all held stout wooden shields with a layer of leather pulled taut over them. Behind the enormous hulks of the front line, their warriors were waiting. Spears, swords, scythes, and all other manner of weapon sprouted from their ranks, looking as grim and deadly as the beastmen holding them. Still behind them were the archers, hundreds of them, sporting quivers filled with thousands of deadly arrows waiting to shower down on their foes. More than that though, it was easy to see that mixed in with each unit was an Orc wearing a mask, or perhaps more accurately a hood, made of animal skin and marked red with what was probably not paint. These stocky irregulars were not arranged like the rest, but wandered free amongst the Orcish forces, stamping the ground with their oaken staves as they passed. The mages, versed in the blackest of spells, ready to rain fire and lightning at the slightest provocation.

Legions of Orcs would be enough to contend with. However, even they, the fiercest, most ruthless of the beastmen on the continent, were only third in the organization of the army below them. They were the barbaric core, and surrounding them was what could very appropriately be called a shell. The Quadav had come out from their caves, and the enormous turtle-like beastmen wrapped around the Orcish forces, surrounding them with a barrier of steel-like plates and armored scales. The Orcs were relentless in their onslaughts, raised to be unstoppable machines on the battlefield. The Quadav, on the other hand, seldom took the offensive. Instead they practiced an impenetrable defense, one which had kept the entirety of the Bastokan military from moving them out of the mines they had occupied for over twenty years.

The Orcs and Quadav marched side-by-side, forming a bristling forest of weapons. They were beginning the halt to their daily advance, and a river of fire was flowing where they set up camp. Illuminated in that glow was the third aspect of their formidable gathering. Colorless skin and clothing made them all but shadows in the pall of Dynamis, but as the army settled in the Vanguard began to take shape. Surrounding the other beastmen, their blackened counterparts from inside the World of Nightmares were living up to their name. They were the front lines, the spearhead to pierce whatever target they were aimed at. Of the Vanguard, there was a mixed amount of Orcs, Quadav, and Goblins as well, larger and more fearsome by far than those Vana'diel was used to contending with.

As if that were not enough, the Kindred were flying with them. Darting in and out of their ranks, sometimes walking amongst them, but more often flying above on leathery wings. Were the sky not already black, they would have darkened it with their presence. Bongo's senses, attuned sharply to nature, told him the demons were there by way of a sickening clench in the pit of his stomach.

For days they had traveled behind the multitudes, slinking in the shadows, moving as much as possible without attracting attention to themselves. They had started out miles behind them, with only the glow from their fires at night marking their presence. Now they were literally right on top of them, and hoped to overtake the horde and leave them behind soon. Though passing through the treacherous mountain slopes of Meriphataud made travel slow, the five of them were still far more mobile than the ungainly army filling the valley. They gained a little more ground every hour, and though the march seemed endless, they soldiered on.

Now their destination was in sight. Looming over the horizon, visible even in the darkness, were the spires of Castle Oztroja. Their friends were in there, somehow impossibly alive in the Yagudo stronghold.

"Almost there," Bongo told them, pressing onward even as the cold bit into him. "They'll have a fire going for us when we get there."

"And beer," Dantrag added, "beer must have survived the end of the world, don't you think?"

"Undoubtedly," Hubby offered from beside him, smiling as best he could through chapped, blue lips. "That'll put the warmth back in our bellies."

"Fire and beer, and our friends," Bongo summed up. "That's enough to keep me going for a few more miles."

"I d-d-d-don't k-know your friends," Luma complained. "Introd-ductions are w-warming, yes?"

"They will be," Hubby assured her. Turning his eye back to the castle, his look turned wistful. "Which . . . who else do you think made it?" His question was directed to the air, but the other three members of the linkshell all picked up on it.

"Tensaiji, without a doubt," Bongo asserted. "He's the best Ninja in the world, no way the demons got him."

"If Tensaiji made it, then Dorobounin made it," Dantrag said as he carefully scaled down a depression in the rocks. "I wouldn't be surprised if those two are right below us, scouting these guys for Rykoshet."

"Rykoshet," Bongo chuckled, "he's definitely waiting for us in there. Bastard's too dumb to get himself killed, no matter how much he tries."

"Don't forget Meowolf and Forge," Qwid put in as he hurried to catch up with them. "That pair is as invincible as these mountaruins."

"So Tensaiji and Dorobounin, Meowolf and Forge, and our fearless leader himself," Hubby was still looking out at the castle. "Not a bad lot. Not bad at all."

"C-c-c-can't w-w-wait to m-m-meet them," Luma replied, still shivering.

"How can you be so cold?" Qwid frowned at her. "You're the one here with fur."

"Tshaya is t-t-t-tropical," the Samurai explained. "I'm m-more used t-t-to sweating."

"Well think warm thoughts," Bongo ordered her. "Only a little bit longer and - "

They stopped in their tracks. Their eyes fixed on Oztroja, far in the distance. Luma hissed sharply as Qwid visibly flinched. Far below them, an unsettling murmur rose up from beastmen ranks. They would have said something themselves had the next sight not struck them dumb.

A tower of black flame had erupted in front of Oztroja, spiraling into the sky and forming a writhing, impure mass of power. The wave of force which swept over them doubled Qwid over and made Bongo's knees buckle, despite the epicenter being miles away. An eerie, unsettling wail swept past them on the wind, but was quickly overpowered by an explosion that shook the ground all the way out to the mountains.

"What's happening?" Dantrag demanded, tearing his axes free from his belt.

"This power, it's . . . " Qwid bit his lower lip, as if unsure whether he should say more. "Bongo, can you feel anything?"

The ground was shaking beneath him, but the Ranger managed to cast his senses out into nature, grasping for some sense of where this impossible force was emanating from. After a few moments, he shook his head, clasping on to the rocks for dear life. "We're too far away, and there's too much interference from the beastmen. I can't see what's out there."

"We've been following this army the whole time," Hubby protested, "they never had an advance troop. How can they be attacking already? And what kind of power is . . . "

"That's no army," Qwid told him, a shred of fear quavering in his voice. "This feeling is . . . is coming from one person."

They stared at him, and then back out at Castle Oztroja. The pillar of black fire was dying down, but the sensation it left still chilled their souls. What was more, every few seconds were punctuated by another explosion loud enough to rattle the rocks on the ground at their feet.

"We've got to hurry," Bongo told them. "They need our help, right now."

"Let's go!" Dantrag rushed out ahead of them, breaking for a narrow path leading down the mountain's face.

He took three long strides, and then slowed. A moment later he stopped altogether, slowly raising his hand up.

It was about to touch his neck when a spray of blood erupted from it, staining the frozen ground at their feet as the Elvaan's body toppled over.

"Dantrag!" Hubby shouted, rushing towards him. He almost made it before he cried out, the chain mail links over his arms falling away as he screamed. Blood was gushing from his forearms, which now hung limply at his side.

Bongo spun as he heard the familiar clang of metal on metal, and turned to find Luma with her great katana half-drawn, another blade cutting into it.

"Fast," she marveled, "t-t-too fast for Luma."

Something dropped down into the snow, too fast for the eye to follow. Luma's weapon snapped in half, shards of steel raining down from its shattered length. The Mithra clenched her shoulder, pulling her hand away to reveal a cut which went straight through her armor.

"Not too fast for Bongo," the Ranger growled, and in the same breath an arrow flew from the bow he had suddenly drawn.

It stopped in midair before falling, sliced in half. In that time, the Hume had already fired three more. Two sailed off into the mountains, scratching the rocks as they fell, but one froze, hanging suspended in mid-flight. Bongo narrowed his eyes and let another arrow loose, directly towards the first.

The original arrow spun forward, deflecting the second, and both were cast away. Bongo stood watching the empty space but a few paces from him, another arrow already nocked in the bow Hubby had given him. He silently cursed himself for breaking his own. If he'd had his own weapon, he knew he could have hit his mark.

While it might have been too fast for the others to see, his senses had their attacker's location pinned down. He knew without a doubt that right now he had an arrow aimed at the heart of whatever it was.

"Hubby," he said quietly, "are you alright?"

"Can't . . . move my arms," he said through clenched teeth. "Dantrag," he spat out, "Dantrag is dying."

"Qwid, heal him, quickly." He stretched back his bowstring, daring the attacker to move. "Luma, you can walk?"

"Blood is warming," she replied, slowly making her way behind him, sliding against the face of the rock wall.

Bongo let his eyes dart down, and then back up. If they had been spotted by the horde below, there was no sign of it. They were likely transfixed by whatever was happening at Oztroja.

"Good," he told them, "everybody get out of here."

"But - !" Qwid protested.

"NOW!" He barked back, letting another arrow fly. It bounced harmlessly off a rock, but another was already in his string, and then off again. This time there was the sound of something tearing before it again struck a rock, sparks showering the ground.

A haze appeared in the air, like if smoke were to assume a solid form. There were hands and arms there, legs and a body, and two red eyes which stared menacingly towards the Ranger. However, they were almost as incorporeal as the air itself, giving only the vague impression of a human being. One thing that appeared perfectly solid, however, was the blade gripped in the assassin's fist.

Fury swelled up in Bongo's eyes as he saw that weapon.

"Everybody, go, now," he whispered coolly.

"Here," Luma let the still-gasping Dantrag lean against her, supporting his massive frame as he clutched at the freshly-healed scar on his throat. She looked back at Bongo, a fang slipping past her lip. "I will say hello to your friends for you, Bongo."

"Thanks, Luma," he said sternly, "but I'll be able to speak for myself."

The hazy form moved forward, but Bongo dashed to the side, arrows flying from his quiver like rain. He kept it pinned back, eyes watching without any change in emotion. No matter how straight he shot, the figure was too quick to be hit, save for the single tear on what looked like his sleeve. Dodging Bongo's barrage, however, was enough to keep it away from the others.

"Bongo," Hubby called back to him, "be safe."

"Just hurry," he growled.

The shade in front of him made no move to stop them. Bongo kept his arrow trained on the form until the sound of their footsteps could no longer reach his ears.

"Now then," the Ranger snarled once he was sure they were gone, "you are going to tell me where you got that katana."

Emerging from the haze, a hand stretched forth. Slowly, the form started to harden and take a more definitive form. The smoke cleared away, drifting off with the wind until a man wrapped entirely in black stood before him. The blood of his friends had already frozen to the midnight blue weapon in his hand.

"Kikoku," Bongo did not hold back his rage. "That belongs to Tensaiji. Where did you get it?"

The red-eyed man said nothing, but took a step forward.

"Tell me, dammit!" An arrow sliced through the air. Quick as a whip, the Ninja lanced his hand downwards, and the two halves of the projectile fell harmlessly to either side. Just like that, he came forward, but Bongo was already moving. His hand quickly yanked his own dagger free, the edge of Kikoku scraping against it. Shards of metal were shaved off where the two blades touched.

Another arrow flew from his quiver to the bow, his hands a blur as he loosed them at his target. The ground was dotted with shafts sticking up from the freezing ground, but the Ninja effortlessly moved through them, stretching his blade out towards Bongo again. He could feel it cut the air as he barely managed to evade the strike. Before he even regained his balance, the Ninja was attacking again, slicing down with Kikoku in a taut arc. Bongo rolled towards him, letting the blade strike the ground as he kicked up in the air. The black-garbed man twisted to avoid the blow, giving Bongo time to pull himself free from Kikoku's range.

He had no time to breath before the attack resumed. The assailant was relentless, and even the attacks which missed left rends in his leather jerkin. The merest slice of Tensaiji's katana was enough to cut anything, and even a close call was still dangerous.

Bongo decided he was having none of it. Rushing forward, he pulled one of his daggers free, letting the Ninja counter the stroke with his own weapon. The dagger shattered like glass against Kikoku's power, but in the time it took to do that, Bongo grabbed hold of the Ninja's arm. He pulled the smaller man forward with all his might, and with a snarl he drove his head directly into his nose.

The next sensation he felt was the air rushing from his lungs as a foot was planted in his gut. He doubled over, giving the Ninja the opportunity to wrest his arm free. As he sliced upwards, Bongo gave a yelp of surprise, pulling back to find his cheek cut open. Grimly, he stared at the black-garbed figure.

"I'm going to take that katana from your dead body," he promised, "and give it back to my friend."

"I must end this," the red-eyed man said. His voice was muffled from behind his mask, and lilted in the way only someone just struck in the nose sounds. "Goodbye."

"You son of a - "

Bongo's yell was cut short as the Ninja sliced through the air. A wave of darkness rushed over him, darkness so thick and powerful that he couldn't breathe. It wrapped around him, suffocating him, wringing the life from his body. The entire world seemed to be going dark, twisting and shuddering horribly, transforming into something . . . evil.

His struggles to break free were quickly silenced as even the Ninja faded from view, leaving only the endless abyss to swallow Bongo away from the world of Vana'diel.

Chapter LXXXIV: Agendas, Part One

The evergreen leaves of the Great Star Tree rustled as they were shaken by the late autumn wind. Colder air was beginning to blow in from the north, and soft dirt of Sarutabaruta was hardening with frost as each frigid morning dawned. With no sunlight to warm the air, ice was being seen in the temperate region for the first time in decades. Above, not a single cloud blotted the sky, yet it was still gray and dark as the heart of winter.

Secure's breath steamed as he looked out from the knoll upon which he stood. Windurst still stood, and his gaze matched the temperature around him. He had leveled its buildings, slaughtered its defenders, defeated its champions, yet still they rallied against him. His glorious war machine had been broken, torn apart by the fangs of the Great Beast Fenrir upon the bloodied streets of the Federation.

Yet his numbers were still vast. Though his behemoths now lay dead and bloated, his legions decimated and demoralized, his numerical superiority was still intact. He had spent weeks grinding Windursts defenders down, a strategy which would yet win him this war. Though less than half of what he had started with, once he reorganized his Vanguard and brought the Kindred to heel, he would storm into Windurst anew. All their struggling would yet prove for naught.

He felt a hand gently brush his shoulder. Soft and soothing, a reassuring touch let him know his plans would still come to fruition. He had strength, the only true thing in the world, and it would guide him to victory. All he desired would come to pass.

Like lightning, his gauntleted hand swung back and struck the person touching him. Blood flew from Cullen's mouth and nose as Secure's slap took her from her feet. She tumbled to the ground, coughing as tears of pain ran down her swollen cheeks. Secure looked down his nose at her, the wind whipping through his silver-gray hair. The black-haired woman was garbed in dull red rags, no longer worthy of the rich Eastern gowns he had dressed her up in. Slowly, she rose, wiping the blood from her chin as she gazed up at him pathetically. Remaining supplicant on her knees, she awaited further punishment for her failure.

Secure spit at the ground on her feet. "Heal yourself," he commanded, walking away imperiously. He had thought the woman a useful tool, but her failure to assassinate the Star Sibyl had proven him wrong. She would serve him now in hopes of redeeming herself, and perhaps that was just as well. His uses for a woman who considered herself his equal were limited.

Several of his commanders were waiting for him. Today they would discuss bringing back together the scattered horde still wandering Sarutabaruta and the neighboring Tahrongi Canyon. Some of the more powerful beastmen from Dynamis as well as Kindred from Xarcabard whom had joined their brethren after they broke free assisted him in controlling his multitudes. Once they had fully reassumed control, they would storm into Windurst once more and lay waste to the Star Sibyl, Meowolf, and everybody else still living within its walls. He would yet see Heaven's Tower in flames.

The large canvas tent wherein his command waited down the slope from where he stood, just past the large, shallow stream which fed into Windurst. He had longed to poison those waters, but it would have been wasted effort, he knew. They would have either purified the contamination with their accursed spells or simply drawn from any of Windurst's many self-contained lakes. As it was now, the water was beginning to freeze over, and a thin layer of ice stretched over the babbling brook. He stepped through it, frozen shards breaking off under his heel, heading for his meeting.

Suddenly the pearl tied around his neck jumped. Momentarily, he stopped in astonishment. It had been weeks since any of the others had contacted him. It vibrated against his chest, and he grasped it in between his armored fingers. Immediately, a familiar voice filled his ears, clear as if the speaker were right next to him.

"Secure," Doshu's Imperial accent still irked the Paladin when he heard it. "what are you doing?"

His surprise quickly faded into suspicion. "This had best not be a social call," he growled, stepping out of the water. Frost-covered grass crunched beneath his boots.

There was a quick, biting laugh. "Your welfare is always in my thoughts, my friend." He spoke with all the assurance of a particularly venomous snake promising not to bite. "I just wanted an update as to your progress."

"Windurst is mine," Secure snarled, his grip tightening on the black pearl between his fingers. "Their death throes have shaken my forces. It will be one more week to regroup, and a day or so after that to take the city and kill all those within." His eyes smoldered. In his mind's eye, he could picture the slaughter which would soon take place.

There was no response at first, and Secure briefly wondered if perhaps Doshu had indeed only wanted to inquire as to his progress. Then the man in black spoke to him again.

"I need you to withdraw from the region."

Secure nearly choked. Rage bubbled into his voice as he angrily shouted back. "I have this battle won! I will not flee from these peasants!"

Doshu's silken voice was calm as ever. "It is for the greater good, my friend. Windurst can wait. It has come to my attention that there are elements crucial to our success in Castle Oztroja."

"What are you talking about?"

"Eudon has found the survivors. One of the five souls we need is amongst them. We were already planning to take the castle for the Magicite inside, this merely pushes our timetable forward. March your forces north, we will need them to breach Oztroja's walls."

"I will not leave!" Secure insisted. "Send the thief or the wizard, this task is beneath me."

"No, you are right," Doshu said soothingly. "There is nothing for you at Oztroja. After transferring command of your forces to Eudon, you will return to Jeuno."

"You arrogant worm," there was cold fury in Secure's tone. "to order me around as such. I am not your puppet, Doshu. I will see Windurst fall. Find someone else to run your errands."

"Don't be a fool," this time there was no honey in the Ranger's voice. "Your petty grudge is worthless to our cause now. You can return later and kill them if you like, but trust me when I say such things will soon be beneath you. However none of that will happen if you start being stupid now."

"How dare you - "

"How dare you!" Doshu shot back. "You know how sensitive everything we have worked to accomplish is. Would you jeopardize everything now? Are you going to ruin everything we have spent years building towards because of your petty bloodlust? This is for our cause, Secure. You let me down here and it might as well be meaningless."

Seething, the Paladin ground his teeth in fury. The pearl strained in his clutches, threatening to splinter under the pressure. He could feel his face flushing with anger. He was to be denied his revenge. The thought of watching the life slip from Meowolf's eyes as he crushed the Galka's throat in his hands was fading away.

But the prize they had their eyes on was so much greater. He hated Doshu for ordering him around like some rank and file peon. More than that, though, he hated him for being right.

"Fine," Secure snarled, letting the pearl slip from his fingers. The cold did not touch him at all. There was too much anger setting his blood to boil.

He would abandon the siege of Windurst. He would go into the tent in front of him and order his commanders to round up their errant soldiers and begin marching to Meriphataud Mountains. He would do as Doshu said.

Then one day, when all had been won, he would make the bastard in black pay.


"Yo, I'm happy for your plan, and I'mma let you finish," Greyheart interrupted Ayn, "but that President guy has some of the best schemes of all time. Of all time!"

Ayn slowly turned his head as his eyes narrowed, a look of revulsion quickly spreading across the Hume's face. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. Instead, he turned to the burly guard standing outside the gate of the Elvaan's cell.

"I'll give you ten gil if you beat him into unconsciousness."

"Hey!" Greyheart complained, pushing up against the bars. "That's not fair!"

"You're right," Ayn agreed, looking around the stone floors of Norg's dungeon. It took him a moment, but he located a sizable loose rock, scooping it off the ground and presenting it to the jailer. "Here, use this, I wouldn't want you to bruise your knuckles."

"Ayn," Tikinas said, taking the Thief's attention, "ignore him. We need to focus."

Raking a hand through his wavy black hair, Ayn turned away from the Red Mage's cell. It hadn't taken much to convince President that they should remain locked up. After all, these were uncertain times and you never knew who your friends were. Despite what they had done in Ifrit's Cauldron, it was better to keep an eye on the strangers. The strategem turned out to be a double-edged sword, however. Zealot, Menphis, and Greyheart remained imprisoned for most of the day where they couldn't bother him. Trying to have a conversation anywhere with Tikinas that didn't entail being absurdly ambiguous in order to avoid the hidden ears of Norg, entailed coming down to the dungeon.

So, they unwillingly shared their plans of escape with their unwanted companions, but no one listened to them so it wasn't that big a deal. The guard Ayn knew he could trust. Not out of any sense of loyalty, but because he had lost his tongue to a Sahagin a few years prior. Ayn never inquired how that happened, and the weathered pirate certainly wasn't talking.

"We've got to get out of here," Ayn continued where he had left off before Greyheart's interruption. "President's already cooking up something new for us, I can feel it." He nervously fingered the handles of the twin knives at his belt. "The old man's got us back and now he wants to keep us here. We'll never get out if we don't go now."

Tikinas nodded, her tail swishing back and forth. "The problem is how? He's got every ship in the water, it could be weeks before we even get the chance to stow away. And if we hide in Kazham he's sure to find us out." Leaning back against the dark rock wall, she idly twirled her two kunai in concentric circles on her fingertips. "Maybe we could fake our own deaths?"

Ayn shook his head. "Tried that on him once a few years ago. He didn't fall for it then, either."

The white-haired Mithra curled her lip back in thought. "We could always hide in the jungle if we're willing to rough it out. But . . ."

"But we don't know if the jungle's going to be safe." Ayn sighed mightily. There were still random demons wandering through the bush, and the normal monsters seemed especially agitated. More distressing than that though, Sahagin were starting to disappear from their home in the subterranean tunnels of Sea Serpent Grotto. No one knew where they were going, but the last time there had been a war the fishmen had sided with the demons. There was no reason to believe their stance on that had changed.

"So . . . " Tikinas was out of ideas. Ayn shook his head. He had nothing to offer either.

Both of them slowly turned as the bars of one of the cells clanked loudly. Staring hard at the two of them, Menphis was rattling his cage. The mute guard looked uncertainly at Ayn, but the Thief waved him away. He stood down with a shrug.

"What do you want?" Ayn asked disinterestedly, stepping towards the Ranger's prison.

Menphis's hard gaze met the other Hume's. "Get me out of here."

Rolling his eyes, Ayn turned away. "Once we're gone you'll be either set free or thrown to the sharks. Either way you just have to wait."

"No," the young Ranger hissed, "if you're leaving so am I. I have to get back to the mainland."

"I want to leave, too," Zealot complained from across the room. "It's dark in here, and there aren't any great axes."

"Shut up!" Ayn snapped. "I have my own problems. Let's get out of here, Tiki, this was a waste of time."

The Ninja sighed. "We'll think of something, Ayn," she said reassuringly.

"Oh, Master Ayn?" Greyheart called out as he and Tikinas began ascending the roughly-carved stone steps back up into Norg. Ayn knew he would hate himself for it, but he turned around anyway. The gray-haired Elvaaan poked his face out from behind the bars, smiling brightly. "I just wanted to share an observation with you."

Ayn steadied himself. They surely would believe he slit his own throat. No one would question it. How did all that blood get on your clothes, Ayn? they would ask. I bought them that way, he would tell them, gore and viscera is all the rage in Bastok right now. It sounded totally rational. "What is it?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Well, without much to focus on except the meaningful conversation," he indicated their mute guard, "I've been able to see a number of things down here, and I thought you should be made aware." Greyheart spread his hands through the bars generously, as if offering something of value.

"Get on with it," the Hume said, exasperated.

"I think you should know, your silent friend there has mastered the art of communicating with hand gestures. There's a whole language of the fingers, you know."

A chill suddenly went down the back of Ayn's neck as his eyes widened. Bounding down the steps, he found himself in front of the Red Mage's cage, peering at him dangerously. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

Greyheart nodded. "It's an entire language. And I've observed our guard knows it. Also, from time to time when he stops in to check on us, I've noticed that President speaks it, too."

"Aye," came a voice from the top of the stairs, "that I do."

Ayn clenched his eyes shut, feeling the will draining out of him. "You betrayed me, mute guy." He turned an accusatory stare at the now-grinning pirate. His tone was acidic. "How do you sleep at night?"

Standing with his fists at his hips, President looked down upon them with an expression of mingled anger and pain. "Ayn, what are ye doin? Why are ye tryin t' leave?"

Tikinas stepped aside as the pirate boss slowly descended the stairs. Ayn said nothing as his mentor slowly approached him, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. His shoulders were slumped beneath his heavy black coat, his posture hurt, or perhaps defeated. Ayn had never seen President look this way. He wasn't sure how to feel.

"I can't trust anybody else, Ayn," he told him sadly, "I can't trust them not t' let me down. You, I can always turn to. And ye don't want to help me? Ye're runnin' out right when we need ye most?"

"Boss, I . . . " President waved his words away, stifiling a sob. Slowly, the pirate ran a gloved hand over his face, combing it through his salt-and-pepper hair as he turned away. Trudging up the stairs again, he stopped at the door, sighing heavily.

"Ye really let me down, Ayn. Ye really let me down."

Ayn was about to speak when suddenly President spun around, his arm flashing in the dark. Instinctively, Ayn snatched at the air as something whizzed by his face, missing it by a hair's breadth. The elder pirate's knife struck the wall in Greyheart's cell, embedding itself solidly between two stones. The younger Hume's head arched up as President's booming laughter filled the dungeon.

"Har har har har! I can't believe ye fell for it! The only thing I'm disappointed in is that ye didn't make it off the island before I found ye out. Now round up your friends, I got a mission for ye and ye're leavin' right away."

"Damn you, old man!" Ayn swore, shaking his fist. Defeated, he slumped his shoulders.

"Like I said earlier . . . " Greyheart started saying from behind him. Ayn jerked his fist back without looking, but felt the satisfying impact which sent the Red Mage sprawling.

"President," Tikinas said, giving the Hume a smart bow, "forgive me, but Ayn and I don't want to get mixed up in this." He raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was very rare amongst dealings with pirates or Tenshodo that one so bluntly stated their reasoning. "We appreciate everything that you've done for us, but we've already helped you once. Ayn - and myself - we've spent a lot of time trying to establish ourselves as just Ayn and Tikinas. Not pirates or thieves or Tenshodo, just us. I'm truly sorry, sir," she bowed again, "but I speak for both of us when I say we'd rather just be left alone."

The old man smiled magnanimously at her, placing a hand on her black-garbed shoulder. Creases in his face became pronounced as he offered his toothy grin, and deep, reassuring voice. "Tiki, yer the apple of my eye. I've watched ye ever since ye were a lass, and now ye're the finest Ninja ever to step out of Norg. It would break my heart to turn down so heartfelt a request from ye." Slapping her shoulder brusquely, he turned around and headed back up the stairs. "So, I'll start cryin' first thing tomorrow, after you lot head out for the Temple of Uggalepih."

"Damn you, old man!" Tikinas snarled at him. She sighed as she and Ayn both exchanged the same look.

"Now look here," President said, rounding on the duo from the top of the stairs. "I understand yer wishes and full well intend to honor them. If ye don't want to be tied down by th' life we lead, that's yer decision, and yer well past th' time when I can order you around. But right now th' world's in turmoil and there's a lot of work t' be done." He looked down on them with those wise, authoritative eyes Ayn hated looking into, as they were right far too often for his liking. "So ye're gonna do yer part to pitch in and see us through the storm. When it's all over, I'll grant ye both yer freedom. Ye'll never work another job for me, nor Gilgamesh, nor even Aldo if he's still out there somewhere, unless ye really want. Deal?"

Sighing, Ayn nodded. "Deal . . .but, the Temple of Uggalepih? What could be there?"

A twinkle shone in the older Hume's eyes. "Someone's waitin' there. I need you to pick 'em up for me."

"But," Tikinas protested, "there are Tonberries in the temple."

"Ye'll have yer friends with you," President offered, gesturing towards the cells.

"Right, but what if all three of them die before Ayn and I can safely escape?"

His laughter filled the dank dungeon again. "Ye both are always so funny. But, I actually have made arrangements for ye - or, I should say, somethin' fell into my lap and I'm takin' advantage of it."

"I know I've done that before," Greyheart called out. Ayn's fist snapped backwards, but found nothing between the bars. He craned his neck around to find the Red Mage rubbing a bruise on his forehead, and standing a safe distance back.

"Allow me t' introduce yer newest teammate," President said, stepping aside. "Or, since she can do it herself, I'll let her."

Metal clanked against stone as a figure stepped into the light. Ayn had to strain his eyes to see up from where he was into the bright spot at the top of the stairs. There was a slim figure standing there, and from the silouhette she cast he could make out a tail gently moving back and forth. Two feline ears twitched atop her head, and the armor she was encased in was near-blinding while backlit in the darkness. He could see the fang-revealing smile on her face, however, as she snapped a smart salute. Tikinas practically leaped with surprise as the newcomer identified herself.

"Pinkfae of Those Guys, rrrreporting for duty, and to rrrrepay you for saving my life!" The Paladin was awake and fully alert, a state she had not been in since they discovered her at the entrance to Movalpolas all that time ago. What really caught his attention was the "Those Guys" part. The woman was a member of one of Vana'diel's most famous linkshells.

"You're all better!" Tikinas exclaimed.

"That's rrrright," she concurred. Her voice was of a higher register than Tikinas's, and she rolled her "r"-sounds like most Mithra did. "And believe me, have I got a storrrry for you."


West Ronfaure forest sprawled out before the city of San d'Oria. In brighter times, this had been a lush, green area, home to abundant wildlife. Red foxes would hunt pheasant through the dense shrubbery, when they themselves were not being hunted by the king's hounds. Deer and rabbit abounded, as well as feral funguars, living mushrooms with legs like frogs. The sun would sream in through the canopy, shedding light upon the peaceful glens. The Knightswell, Cheval River-fed waters a haven for carp, would glitter on quiet mornings where many a fisherman left a lure bobbing in the water while they napped against its sun-dappled banks. Travelers would admire the natural beauty of Ronfaure's hills and valleys while walking along its well-patrolled paths, where Royal Guardsmen kept the people safe from roving Orcs or Goblin brigands.

This was not the Ronfaure Ryu Akanei and Shaohuan ventured into. The trees were blackened with fire, rotted husks barely supporting their own weight. Green blankets of grass which had covered the rolling forest hills had vanished. In their place was ground which was cracked and dried, scorched with the flames of war. Even with his dragon's eyesight, Ryu could not see a single living thing in any direction. Not a bird nor mouse nor monster of the forest, nothing still dwelled in the ruined corpse of Ronfaure. Far off in the distance, plumes of black smoke still rose from behind the walls of San d'Oria. Snow was in the air, but falling only lightly, not near enough to cover up the ugly black spot marring the beauty which had once defined the Kingdom.

Clutching the dark cape flowing from his armor, Ryu moved forward with silent steps, keeping his head low. Shaohuan followed noiselessly behind him, the only thing marking her passage wisps of steaming breath which dissipated in the cold morning air. Only the rhytmic beating of Bo's wings made any noise as he hovered around the Dragoon, his sharp liquid eyes constantly scanning the horizon. The tiny party crept through the gloomy, dead forest, heading eastward at a crawl. Through the steep hill passes was the eastern portion of the woodlands, and it was there they would find the tomb of King Ranperre.

Ryu had told Shaohuan most of what he was going there for. He had explained seeing the rift open in Xarcabard, and his encounter with the Wyrmking. She knew what was at stake should he fail. By and large she had seemed to believe him. As long as she stayed relatively out of the way, Ryu found he was actually somewhat happy for the company. After so long trapped in Ordelle's Caves, the Dragoon found he appreciated the interaction. Bo also seemed approving, often protectively pacing around her when they would set up their camp for the evening.

Nevertheless, there were still some things Ryu had not shared. Such as the message the Wyrmking had given him shortly after they emerged from their encounter with Devul. A raging firestorm in his brain which took the shape of words in the language of dragons. He had brushed off his collapse upon receiving it as a moment of weakness following their battle.

The words did not translate directly into his own tongue, but their intent was clear nonetheless.

Vana'diel's judgment was near. His time was running out.

Questions flooded Ryu's mind. How was he to find Vrtra, a wyrm long believed dead? Would freeing him truly stop Bahamut's fires from eradicating life on Vana'diel, or merely buy them a temporary stay of execution? What was it that the Mithra was forcing the prisoners to carve? Who was the man in black, the one she called Doshu, and what was his connection to all of this? First and foremost, could he really accomplish the task which had been set out for him before it was too late?

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed Bo's urgent sense of warning piercing his thoughts. It wasn't until Shaohuan grabbed him by the shoulder that he snapped back to reality, quickly turning his head to see what was the matter.

The Thief had dropped down, belly on the frozen ground as she gestured for Ryu to follow. Beside her, Bo had also left the air, flattening himself as much as he could. Spreading out his cape, Ryu covered both of them in its folds, the dark cloth hiding them against the blackened ground.

"What is it?" He whispered, silently as he could.

Shaohuan shook her head, gesturing with her eyes out over the burnt ruins of West Ronfaure. Ryu turned his gaze to follow hers, trepidation building in the pit of his stomach as he realized what she was looking at.

Outside the gates of San d'Oria, a host was gathering. Lining up in columns twenty and thirty deep, surrounding giant machines of wood and steel, the Orcish army was massing. Heavily armored commanders walked through ranks of grunts, swinging swords and shouting in the throaty Orc language. Demons flitted about, mingling with their ranks of flying above them. Some of their number were the gray-skinned Orcs which had emerged from Dynamis, but by and large they were Vana'diel's own green variety.

As Ryu watched, they began marching south from the city, trampling the already-ruined ground. War machines rolled by as thousands of Orcish feet made the forest tremble, and demons screeched from on high. They kept still as stone as the beastmen made their march past them, headed in the direction of the La Theine Plateau. At such a march, he expected to see woodland creatures fleeing or taking wing, but there were no such beasts left in Ronfaure. Thus the Orcish host pounded through the dead forest, the new-fallen snow the only thing disturbed.

When the first column had passed them by, Ryu rolled over in a flash, tumbling down a short hill to let the earth conceal him. Bo crawled on his stomach down after him, and a nervous fear gripped both of them through the bond. The forest shook all around them as the Orcs made their way by. There he remained hidden, pressed up against the ground as the rocks leaped up at his feet and dying trees groaned. It was a long time before the shaking ceased, and even then he remained there, back to the ground, ears sharpened for the slightest disturbance.

He nearly leaped out of his skin when a whisper hit his ear. "I think they're gone," it told him.

"Shaohuan?" The Dragoon breathed, turning his head both ways, but seeing nothing. "Where are you?"

Then, right before his eyes, the Thief appeared in a flash. He would have yelped if Bo's sense of smell had not warned him where she was at the last instant.

"How did you do that?" He demanded.

"Keep your voice down," she insisted, still keeping herself hunched down low. "It's something you pick up as a Thief. Trade secret. But I was watching them, and they're gone."

"All of them?"

She shook her head. "That was just two detachments. There's still a big bunch of them that I can see near the city." The Hume girl's eyes caught Ryu's and he was surprised to see an uncertain fear lingering in them. "Ryu, what's happening? Where are all the Orcs going? What does this mean?"

Ryu remembered Bahamut's message to him, about the time of judgment drawing near. Resolutey, he drew his cape back, standing into a crouch and resuming his slow trek east.

"It means something big is about to happen, Shaohuan. And we haven't got a moment to spare."

Ducking and hiding, slithering their way through the ruined trees of Ronfaure, Ryu and Shaohuan continued their quest to King Ranperre's Tomb.


"I shouldn't have done that," Bongo reflected for what was not the first time. Sighing, he once more examined the ruined fragments of his broken bow.

"No," Hubby concurred, "but I'm guessing it felt amazing."

"Yes," the Ranger agreed, "yes it assuredly did."

Two weeks prior now they had parted company with North and November. For a brief moment, the two had been united in their victory over Keftenk and the recovery of Guttler. Putting aside their past differences, Bongo and North celebrated the hard-fought battle and acknowledged each other as worthy allies. Then, the following morning, North had made clear his plans to return to the Labyrinth of Onzozo.

"I must reclaim my kingdom," he said as he buckled the still-grumbling Guttler to his side. "This cannot wait."

"Fine," Bongo said, not really wanting to lose the Beastmaster's power, but at the same time understanding of his situaton. "But before you go, you promised you'd have the beasts tell us where we can find more survivors."

"That trifle? They're in Castle Oztroja, if you really want to know." North dismissed the Ranger's question as common knowledge, even as he summoned Panzer Galahad. Fully healed, the beetle happily walked by his master's side.

"Castle Oztroja," Bongo repeated flatly, watching the Elvaan prepare to simply turn and leave.

North flicked an eyebrow up, almost irritated. "I did not stutter. Was there anything else you needed before I depart? I am in a hurry."

"Yes," he replied, gripping the curve of his bow tightly, "you can stand still."

"What - " North didn't get the chance to finish before Bongo broke his bow across the Elvaan's jaw.

November shrieked as splinters of the war bow flew from North's face. The Beastmaster's head twisted around unnaturally as he fell into the sand. Hubby and Luma were there in a flash, holding Bongo back as he struggled to draw forth his knives. The situation rapidly declined from there.

"We were right there!" Bongo shouted. "We were right there and you took us away!"

"You can't . . . possibly conceive . . . " the Beastmaster's breathing was labored, "how much more important this was . . . than your finding your friends."

"You son of a bitch, North!" he raged. "When I get my hands on you - "

"Not if I do it first," a gruff voice growled from behind him. Dantrag tore an axe free from his belt, eyes blazing as he advanced on the fallen form of North. November was there almost immediately, raising her staff defiantly as a tongue of flame burst from its tip.

"Dantrag, don't!" Hubby called, still trying to hold back Bongo

"If you come another step I'll char the flesh from your bones!" November warned him, flames appearing at her feet. The Elvaan raised his axe threateningly as the Summoner called forth her power.

"Stop!" They looked up, then quickly down again, to find Qwid standing between them. The Tarutaru was ablaze with ferocious eldritch force, eyes glowing as he separated the two.

"It's his fault, dammit Qwid!" Bongo snapped, straining to break free from the two Samurai. "We'd be back with the others already if not for - "

"And Keftenk would still be walking around with Guttler." The Red Mage's tiny face was hard. "We know where they are. Let's not waste time fighting amongst ourselves."

"He struck North!" November hissed, the ground undulating beneath her as she pointed furiously at Bongo, crouched down at North's side. "This will not go unpunished!"

Qwid turned his head slightly, sparks leaping from his eyes as they fell on the Summoner. Bongo saw her gulp as a wave of the Tarutaru's power swept past her.

"Don'taru push your luck," he warned.

"I think perhaps," Hubby managed, pulling back to keep Bongo from lunging, "it's time we go."

"Nice meeting you!" Luma smiled at the duo from Onzozo. It was not much longer before they parted ways, abandoning the Valley of Sorrows and beginning their long journey back from where they had come.

It was when they had arrived upon the bleached sands of Valkurm Dunes that Bongo had requested their detour north. After much conversation and convincing, the five had gone across the La Theine Plateau, up into the blighted forests of Ronfaure. They had been appalled at the devastation as much as they were the sight of Orcs freely roaming the forests. Dantrag had stopped cold at the scene, witnessing his beloved city in ruins. Only through intense convincing that they would see this right did he agree to keep on moving. Concealed by the ebon skies of Dynamis, they slinked past the greenskins, and made it safely to Bongo's objective.

As frightening as the prospect of a San d'Oria overrun with Orcs was, equally unsettling was the discovery that Fort Ghelsba was almost completely abandoned.

The sprawling encampment wherein the Orcs made their fortress was practically bare. Naught but some roaming lizards and empty tents whose open flaps beat against the chilling winds. Winter was quickly encroaching, and already a smattering of white was decorating the landscape. The stream which ran through the Orcish base was hidden beneath a layer of ice, though Bongo could still feel the presence of fish running through the frigid waters. Try as he might though, he could sense not a single beastman anywhere in the area. Ghelsba had been emptied.

Whatever that portended, it would have to wait. For now, he was happy for the absence. It made his task that much easier.

"Yughott Grotto?" Hubby questioned as they entered the series of caverns. He eyed their surroundings suspiciously, fingers on the hilt of his great katana.

Bongo nodded. "It's a shortcut." Peering into the darkness, he could see a few bats hanging from the stalactites, but not an Orc in sight. "We'll get there faster this way."

"Ronfaure's connected to the Outpost, the Outpost connects to the Grotto, the Grotto connects to . . .Horlais Peak." Luma smiled her fanged smile, winking at Bongo as she sang. "And that's the way it goes. HA!"

He cocked an eyebrow at the eccentric Tshayan, but confirmed her suspicions. " It's like Luma says. We'll be there soon."

"So what's up here?" Qwid inquired as they neared open air again some time later. The wind was bringing wisps of snow their way, alerting them that they were coming upon an exit to the sprawling caves. The Tarutaru removed his cornered hat, using it to shield his face from the cold.

"It's a long story, but there's really only one important part." Bongo took hold of a rock, pulling himself free of the tunnels. "It starts with my father - Genji Demynix."

"Genji Demynix?" Hubby exclaimed, and Luma's eyes went wide as well. "Your father was Genji Demynix?"

Bongo cracked a smile, brushing a hand through his black hair. "The very same. What, you think these good looks are an accident? It's all in the blood, friends."

"Who's Genji Demynix?" Qwid asked, looking puzzled.

"He's a true genius," Dantrag said, looking at Bongo as if seeing him for the first time. "I never suspected."

"The master!" Luma exclaimed. "Reknowned, a legend in his own time! And also a lover of wine and a cheater at cards."

"Nobody ever proved that," Bongo snapped.

"Genji was the greatest swordsmith of the last era, and perhaps the greatest Samurai as well. If not the best, he certainly trained some of the best." Hubby recited the facts with practiced ease. Everyone who studied the art of the Samurai in the last three decades learned about Genji at some point or another. "They say he could clip the wings off a gnat from fifty paces with an arrow, and cut a treant in two with a single stroke of his blade. He was the Samurai who introduced the way of the spear into standard combat training. I'd heard he had two sons, but I had no idea . . . "

"It's not a fact I put out there a lot," Bongo's voice was distant. Leaning down, he took hold of Qwid's arms and pulled the Tarutaru free from the cave, and all four stood upon the span of Horlais Peak. The view from the top went on for yalms beyond measure. They could see all of Fort Ghelsba and its outpost beneath them, and the entire expanse of Ronfaure beyond that. Stretching out from East Ronfaure, Bongo's sharp eyes could make out the Ranguemont Pass, the mountain trail which was the sole land route to the Northlands. Even there on the horizon, he could see distant snow-capped peaks which could only be Beaucedine Glacier. Further east from Ronfaure was the densely packed woodland of Jugner Forest, and Bongo was convinced that on a clear day, he would be able to see as far as Jeuno. They all paused to take in the incredible sight. Even with the darkened sky above, and the sight of San d'Oria below, there was no denying the breathtaking beauty of Vana'diel.

"From here," Luma's voice was solemn, "it's still so pretty."

No one said anything for a long moment. They simply basked in the truth of the Mithra's words.

Bongo drew in a cold breath, folding his arms over his chest into the folds of his leather jerkin. "Anyway," he continued, "I thought it was more important to make a name for myself. So I don't go touting my last name."

"But you called yourself Demyn?" Dantrag queried. "Isn't that a little on the nose?"

The Ranger shrugged. "Sometimes it's easiest to hide in plain sight. Everyone who knew my father's reputation assumed I was just one more person trying to emulate the master. Besides," he clarified, "Demyn was a name I earned."

"Alright," the Warrior replied, "I'll give you that. But what does your being Genji's son have to do with this place?"

Bongo took a long gaze into the distance. The wind whistled, breathing across the frozen surface of the mountain stream before them. Qwid gestured briefly with one hand, creating a bloom of heat which warded off the chill.

"This really is a beautiful view," the Hume said after a long moment. "I always cursed him for making it this difficult to come see her, but whenever I do make the trip I'm reminded of just why my father buried my mother in this spot."

Nobody spoke, though a ripple of surprise ran through the small fellowship. Bongo slowly raised his finger towards the banks of the stream. What looked like a random gathering of rocks leaning against the water was, upon closer inspection, a polished grave marker surrounded by smooth stones. Etched in its surface in a carefully written script was a simple epitaph.

"Tomoe Aizu Demynix - May Her Grace Light the Heavens."

Bongo paused in front of the stone, saying nothing as he stared down. Dantrag moved closer, but Luma snatched his arm, shaking her head. They remained still, watching the Ranger as he stood over his mother's grave.

"Hi, Mom," he chuckled, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's been too long, huh? I hope you've been alright. I know we don't talk very much anymore." His smile slowly faded as he spoke, drawing in a breath. "I'm sorry I haven't been to see you in so long. And I'm sorry I'll be gone for awhile after this, too." The Ranger sniffed, roughly rubbing his eyes with a leather-gloved hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't find Xaekid, Mom. I swear I never stopped looking."

"Xaekid?" Luma whispered. "What's that?"

"Bongo's younger brother," Dantrag answered quietly. "He almost never mentions him."

The Mithra tilted her head. "Aren't they close? Sibling rivalry, maybe?"

"Xaekid was killed," the Elvaan said simply. "He died during a battle against Orcs many years ago. Bongo spent years searching for a sign that he might have survived, but . . " The Warrior raised his head, looking at his friend with a pained expression. "Bongo's the best hunter in the Middle Lands. And he never found anything."

Luma lowered her head, white hair tumbling over her eyes. She remained silent as Bongo spoke again.

"Things are pretty bad, Mom," he continued, his voice wavering. "I'm not sure what to do. I'm not sure what will happen to me, or any of us. But, I've decided to fight, as hard as I can for as long as I can. I'm going to find out what caused this and make it right again. And if I can't . . . " he sniffed again, running a hand down over his face and then giving another brief chuckle. "If I can't, I'll see you and Xaekid again soon. Okay? So we'll win one way or the other."

Bongo bent his knee, leaning down into the frozen grass before the grave of Tomoe Demynix. From his side, he clutched the hilt of one of his daggers, pulling it out of the sheath with a metallic ringing sound.

"Bongo?" Hubby moved towards the Ranger as he raised the blade upwards, holding it over the stones. Then in a flash, he brought it down, directly into his mother's gravestone.

It sank into a hidden slot in the rock, and an audible click sounded through the mountaintop. Bongo stood, withdrawing his knife as the water in front of the grave began to bubble and froth. The others watched in amazement as he strode out into the pond, breaking through the thin autumn ice to wade into the water beneath. With a sound like shattering glass, a long box made of wood and encrusted with jade broke through to the surface. The Ranger wrapped his hands around its twin brass handles, wrenching it forth from the water and heaving it onto dry land. His feet and hands soaking, Bongo stepped out after it, once again leaning down to the ground and flipping open the latches sealing it shut.

The lid slid aside with the sound of wood grinding against wood. Gathering close around it, the others leaned in to see what was inside.

Resting against a velvet cushion lining the box, two great katanas lay embedded. Taking hold of the longer one, Bongo removed it from its rest. It had a long, flat blade of black steel, on a tightly wrapped grip with no crossguard. Slowly, he slid it onto his back, where it fit perfectly into a gap between the two quivers of arrows strapped across his shoulders. Once it was in place, he pulled out the other sword, a slim weapon still wrapped in its sheath.

"Hubby," Bongo said softly, "this was one of my father's swords. You're letting me use your bow," he indicated the short black-and-white Samurai bow by his side, "it's only fair I return the favor."

"One of Genji's katana?" His voice was almost reverent. Bongo gave a short laugh.

"This one is more of an heirloom, I think. Not my father's best work." He drew out the blade, showing it was chipped in several places. The Ranger slammed it back into the hilt. "Still, I'd prefer knowing it was in safe hands."

Hubby took hold of it, looking his friend square in the eye. "I'll do it honor," he promised.

"And I'll hold on to Hagun for the time being." The Ranger took another long look at the empty box in front of him before sliding the lid back, latching it shut once more. The weapon secure, he slid it back into the water. They watched as it slowly sank beneath the surface, bubbles rising to the top quickly at first, and then gradually diminishing as the box returned from whence it came.

Bongo watched it go, his eyes distant. He turned with a half-hearted smile when Dantrag clapped him on the shoulder. One final time, he wiped his eyes, frozen tears vanishing into the soil below.

"Well," the Ranger said, visibly shaking off whatever was on his mind, "I think it's time to get going."

"You're sure?" Hubby's tone was concerned.

He nodded, a smile breaking through. "Absolutely. Let's get a move on guys. It's time to find our friends."


When she had last been in the Imperial Throne Room of the Empress Nashmeira, Jinxie had been awed by the extravagant beauty of the palace. Even the simpler, far more confined Imperial Chamber held within it a quiet but pronounced power. No one who entered the enormous brass doors which led to the Empress could help but feel humbled by the aura of the palace itself. Jinxie had been no exception upon her first visit. Now she barely noticed her surroundings. They were unimportant, insignificant. Every second she spent here was one that could be out searching for her son.

But she couldn't, not yet. There were things that needed to be done, preparations to make, plans to conceive. She was trying to remain calm and think her way through things, but the thought of her defenseless baby in the hands of the Lamiae was just too much. It was all she could do to keep her focus on what was happening around her.

They had all gathered in the Imperial Chamber, in the presence of the Empress herself. The Imperial Puppetmaster, Aphmau, was there as well, with her two puppets Ovjang and Meijang. Razfahd had removed his corazza, returning to the more official robes of his office. All six Serpent Generals were together, Gadalar, Mihli, Najelith, Zazarg, Rughadjeen, and Kkel, with Pixel by the side of the latter. Not a single one of them wasn't sporting some sort of bandaging or poultice, yet they had managed to make it for this gathering. Isset and Speed stood behind Jinxie, and even Naja Salaheem and Abquhbuh had been allowed in. Conspicuously absent was Xaerus. The Mithra had not been seen since her battle against Medusa.

As much as she hated to admit it, she needed Xaerus now. Her riddles and secrets had grated on Jinxie since the beginning of their quest. Yet she had always been helpful in dealing with others in the Empire, especially Razfahd. Now, when she needed her the most, the blind woman was in the wind, with no clues as to her whereabouts. That left her alone to take on the Imperial Court.

She didn't want to do this. She wanted to go after her son. She wanted to make the Lamiae pay for taking him. She wanted to collapse to the floor and cry. But she couldn't. She had to remain strong. Thus she kept her back straight and her chin up, betraying as little as she could about what was in her heart as Razfahd began speaking.

"I do not know," he began, stepping before Nashmeira's dais, "if the turmoil in the Middle Lands is related to the individuals I have been working with, but I would not find it surprising to say the least."

"Razfahd," came a voice from behind the curtain, "tell us what you have done. Everything you know that might be of use."

The Grand Vizier's lip curled, but he still gave a perfunctory bow. "Yes, Empress, I was about to do so." Clasping his hands behind his back, the Imperial's eyes turned on Jinxie. "Roughly six years ago, I was approached here in the palace by a man who identified himself as Doshu."

"Doshu," Rughadjeen repeated, his eyes narrowing. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"Wait a minute," this time it was Najelith, the Hume woman reflectively staring up at the ceiling. "Doshu . . . there was a Doshu amongst my personal archers some years ago."

Razfahd turned his head to the Galeserpent. "What do you remember about him?"

She put a thoughtful hand against her chin, tapping her foot as she struggled to recall. "He was from the border cities, I remember. One of the outlying territories. A good shot, and ambitious, too. He was always willing to undertake dangerous assignments." Najelith paused, trying to think of anything else, but ultimately spread her hands. "He vanished several years back. We were defending the city from the Trolls, and after the fight he was nowhere to be found. I always assumed he'd been captured, or killed."

"If it is indeed the same man, then he has gone far beyond a simple soldier," Razfahd said darkly. "He exuded a presence I have not felt before. The power he wields now is frightening. He wears a ring and a cloak which appear crafted from the night itself, and holds a silver gun that I would swear had a life of its own."

Kkel gave a start. "Him!" The Blue Mage's hand went for his sword, only to realize that there were no weapons allowed in the Imperial District. Without a blade, he began exuding a blue aura instead. "That's the man in black I encountered in Quon. He's the one who tried to kill Pixel! You were working with him!" He lanced an accusatory finger at the Grand Vizier, eyes full of fire. "It was a set up after all!"

"Kkel, calm down!" Rugadjeen implored, stepping in front of the other Elvaan. Zazarg quickly moved behind him, ready to restrain the Sunserpent even as Gadalar began calling forth a fiery shield.

"Kkel," Pixel said, smiling up at him, "I want to hear what he has to say."

He looked down at the Bard, then to Razfahd's glaring eyes. Frowning, Kkel released his power, standing down. "Let's hear it, Razfahd." The other Serpent Generals all breathed a visible sigh of relief.

"I'll thank you for no further outbursts," the dark-eyed Grand Vizier said haughtily. "The facts are this. I knew nothing about any sort of attempt on your life, Sunserpent. The assignment I gave you was very real, though none of us have any reason to believe the Blue Mages you were sent to track down were not also in league with Doshu. His schemes are like a web carefully woven to catch as many insects as possible."

"What did he offer you?" It was Aphmau, the blonde-haired girl in red, sitting on a large pillow beside the Empress. The two puppets in her command stood languidly in front of her, facing towards the Grand Vizier. Razfahd's eyes drifted upwards, taking on a reflective state.

"He promised me an end to the beastmen raids upon our city. All I had to do was keep the Empire out of the affairs of the Middle Lands." He returned his imperious gaze to the others, not a hint of remorse showing. "I did as I was asked, recalling all of our ambassadors and scholars abroad. Sure enough, sieges against Al Zahbi dropped significantly as soon as the bargain was struck. I'm not sure how he did it, but he was able to keep the savages away from our Astral Candescence." Razfahd faced the gathering, his jaw stiffening. "No matter what else happened, the end of those attacks have saved countless Imperial soldiers and citizens over the last year. I have no regret for my actions."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Rughadjeen asked.

"That was the first and last time. Since then all of our dealings have gone through a surrogate - the man you saw prior to the attack, Chiz."

"So, fergive me, your Majesty, Grand Vizierrrr," Naja Salaheem stepped forward as she spoke. The diminuitive Mithra looked at a loss as to what to do with her hands without her crushing mace nearby. She continually shifted between having her hands clasped in front of her, folding her arms, or shoving them in her pockets. "I have to ask, what exactly was this Doshu fella's plan, anyway?"

Razfahd shrugged. "I only know that he required we remain away from the Middle Lands. The root of his scheming no doubt lies there."

"Whatever it was," Mihli Aliapoh mused, "it must have been, or perhaps still is, very delicate."

Eyes turned to face her. "How do you figure?" inquired Aphmau.

The Mithra's ears twitched as she thought. "This Doshu has obviously gone through a lot of trouble to do whatever it is he's doing. He's calculated things that could interrupt his plot and planned well in advance to neutralize them." She looked around the room, assessing each face in turn. "In making the Empire withdraw, he still planned to remove Kkel Solaar so as to weaken our military, just in case. Attacks on the city itself dwindled, but more and more beastmen have forced us to divert forces away from the capital to defend our outlying villages, even as the war in the Far East grows more intense. Knowing now that Doshu was likely dealing with the beastmen behind our back the entire time, it seems likely each new trouble was another layer of his scheme. In other words, just because he made sure the Empire wouldn't interfere right away didn't mean things would not change in the future, so he planned ahead to further bind us should the situation call for it."

"Sounds like a real character, this Doshu," Zazarg mused. "I wonder what else is going on because he's dipping his fingers into everyone else's business."

"We've got to find him," Kkel slapped a fist against an open palm, his expression resolute. "He's an enemy of the Empire. That's all the justification we need, not that we don't have plenty more."

"I recommend forming an expedition to the Middle Lands," Rughadjeen put forth. "We can begin planning immediately."

"But we can't know how long the beastmen scum will stay down," Gadalar protested. "Now's not the time to weaken our own defenses."

"Can we really let this criminal roam free?" Countered Najelith. "There must be an option which - "

"None of this is helping me find my son."

The conversation dropped immediately. All eyes fell to the center of the room, where Jinxie stood. She was shaking, her fists clenched tightly inside black gloves, eyes downcast as she held back her tears. Whether they were of sadness or rage or frustration she could not even tell herself anymore. Everyone else in the room looked away uncomfortably, save for Isset. The Puppetmaster laid a hand on Jinxie's shoulder, and she was instantly grateful for the support. Pushing back her emotions, she lifted her chin and stared down Razfahd and the others.

"My son." She stated simply. "We're going after him."

The Grand Vizier cleared his throat. "Yes . . . we will aid you however we can, but you can't expect . . . "

"They took my baby!" She screamed at Razfahd, advancing on him dangerously. It was impossible to deny the satisfaction of watching him flinch. "I lost my child to save your city and you're going to help me get him back."

"Of course," he said, trying and failing to sound unruffled. "However - "

"No, Razfahd. We will give her anything she requires."

The Hume staggered as if struck, then swiveled his head to face the curtain before Nashmeira. The Empress was sitting with her back straight, looking directly at her Grand Vizier. Razfahd turned and looked at Aphmau, but the blond girl only shrugged. Clearly restraining anger, he cleared his throat as he addressed the ruler of the Empire.

"Your Majesty," he began, "I realize we must repay the Bastokan, but surely apprehending Doshu - "

"You will do as I command," her voice took everyone in the room aback. "The full resources of Urghuum will be at Jinxie's disposal." Razfahd opened his mouth, but was cut off immediately. "This, I command!"

The Grand Vizier worked his jaw, but no sound came out. From her pillow, Aphmau giggled, and her two puppets hid their faces.

"Thank you, Empress Nashmeira," Jinxie breathed, bowing her head. "But I don't . . . I don't know where to start . . ."

And then a powerful presence asserted itself before her. She looked up to see the calming blue eyes of Kkel Solaar giving her a reassuring gaze. He smiled at her, and then turned to address the Empress.

"Your Majesty, if I may," he asked.

"Of course, Sunserpent."

He nodded. "We know Drake was taken by the Lamiae. We have no reason to believe they would not return to their home in Caedarva Mire."

"It's true," Najelith confirmed. "None of our forest scouts reported seeing any of them venturing away from their normal path home as they retreated."

The Elvaan nodded. "A full military strike against the Mire would be costly and ill-advised, but so would sending Jinxie in when the Lamiae will no doubt be on full alert. Therefore, I recommend we distract them while she and a small team insert themselves unseen to find Medusa and recover her son."

"Distract them how?" Razfahd queried. "And whom would take on this role?"

"Pixel and myself, naturally," he gave a wry smirk, and Pixel smiled at the Grand Vizier. "As for how, I've got a plan." He turned to the other Serpent Generals, and they each took a step closer. "I'll need each of you to handpick some soldiers for me. Once that's done I'll lead a series of assaults against the Lamiae's main outposts. Periqia, Ilrusi Atoll, and Leujaoam Sanctum. Using the Runic Portal, I should be able to practically be in all three places at once."

"This will force the Lamiae to move their attention in three different directions. With the bulk of their army distracted, Jinxie and a small team can move in undetected," Pixel followed up on Kkel's thinking. "It should be no problem at all for her to confront Medusa and take her son back."

"I know she can do it," Isset confirmed, "and I'm with her all the way." Shoki leaped up at the proclamation, spinning in the air.

"Rrright," Naja said, "and Speed, you're going, too."

"Wha? Where? Oh." The Warrior sighed, hooking his thumbs over his pockets. "Alright, alright."

"Lady Naja, will two mercenaries really be enough?" Abquhbuh pushed his glasses up his nose, fretting. The Mithra took on a speculative look, tugging at one of her brown ponytails.

"You're right, Abquhbuh. Jinxie, I'm going to find some more help for you. I've got two people in mind. I'll have them ready as soon as I nail their sorry hides down."

Jinxie took a deep breath. "Thank you, Naja."

"Then it is settled," proclaimed Nashmeira. "Begin making preparations immediately. We will not fail!"

The small crowd converged, plans being spoken at a rapid pace from all sides. The general chatter became a dull roar in the small Imperial Chamber. Kkel conversed with the Serpent Generals. Razfahd shared a hushed exchange with Aphmau. Isset and Naja discussed mercenary options with Abquhbuh. For a moment, Jinxie was left alone in her thoughts.

They were going to go after Drake. Everyone was willing to help her, as much as she needed. She would have the opportunity to lead the quest to rescue her son personally. Nashmeira, Naja, Isset, they were all placing a lot of faith in her. They believed in her.

As the talk swirled around her, she wondered how they would feel if they knew she had lost all her power.

Chapter LXVI: What Makes a Man a King

“I have a plan,” North said as the echo of Aspidochelone’s bellow faded into the Valley of Sorrows. “Keep it busy for me.”

“Keep it busy!?” Bongo shouted, but the Beastmaster was already on the move. Alabaster furs parted in the winds as he dove unflinchingly towards the howling madman, Keftenk.

“Damn you!” Dantrag shouted after the Elvaan, but was cut off as the enormous tortoise bore down upon them. With practiced reflexes, the Warrior dove to safety. Aspidochelone was as immense as anything Bongo had ever seen. It was as if a castle turret had sprung to life and attacked them. Sand was still pouring like waterfalls from its immense shell, buried beneath the Valley of Sorrows since time immemorial. The monstrosity reared back its head, roaring an earth-shaking cry that sent the Adamantoise nearby scurrying for safety. This creature was as far above them as they were a normal turtle.

With a shudder of earth and sand, the gargantuan Adamantoise struck at Bongo with its enormous foreleg. Earth-toned scales rougher and thicker than any leather crunched into the ground, surmounted by a row of jagged and trunk-like claws. The creature whipped its head towards the Ranger as he strafed to the side of its attack, pulling back an arrow even as he fled. Before he could fire, the monster swiped at the sand in front of him, sending up a spray which all but buried Bongo in an instant. Tearing free and sputtering the sediment, his mind raced as he realized Aspidochelone’s cavernous jaws were closing over him.

Even as he raised his arm in a futile defensive gesture, twin flashes of light blurred past him. The monster growled as sparks showered down from its steel-hard shell. Bongo wasted no time springing free from the sand and rolling aside as Aspidochelone turned its attention towards the new distractions of Hubby and Luma. Touching down simultaneously following their strike against it, the duo hit the ground running, great katanas drawn in the face of the massive foe.

Hubby’s dark eyes narrowed into slits as the tip of his blade flared with his focused chi. The Samurai charged Aspidochelone with reckless abandon, the air howling around him as he sliced through the intervening distance. Opening its gaping maw, the monster prepared to meet him with jagged fangs, but received only a spray of sand as Hubby suddenly dropped down, using his momentum to slide beneath the enormous tortoise and escape the clutches of its snapping teeth. Almost in the same instant the Samurai stole its attention, his counterpart slammed directly into the side of its reptilian face.

Luma had spun through the air like a top, her weapon striking Aspidochelone so rapidly the monster could not respond before she was already clear of it. Spinning on her heel, the Mithra brought her great katana up in a great arch, sending a blizzard of sand into the beast’s eyes. It violently shook its head, roaring as it did. The sound had hardly escaped its throat when Hubby’s great katana dug into its back leg, creating a terrible sound like steel against stone as he sliced against it. Luma ran clockwise in front of him, similarly targeting Aspidochelone’s massive haunches.

The monster took a swipe at Luma, and the Mithra laughed as she ducked beneath the blow. The next instant, a barrage of arrows sank into the flaps of hide around the turtle’s throat as it exposed the area while searching for the two Samurai. Bongo hastily drew another projectile from his quiver. If Aspidochelone had felt the impact of his attack, it gave no indication as it continued snapping and biting at the two harassing its legs. Grimacing, Bongo drew back again, aiming for one of its glowing red eyes.

“Wait!” Bongo nearly released his shot in surprise as November’s hand clamped down over his. The Summoner’s grasp held him tight, refusing to let him fire the shot. “We can’t hurt it! It’s being used!”

Bongo stared at her incredulously. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“This great beast is only Guttler’s pawn,” November pressed. “To harm it would be going against everything North and I – “

“Shove it, lady,” he snorted gruffly, shaking her off. She cried out in protest as he loosed his arrow, which sailed through the air and struck true in the eye of the beast.

The arrow broke in half, falling harmlessly to the ground. Aspidochelone turned its head, the shafts in its neck falling out as it did so. They had barely penetrated its thick hide past their tips.

“Oh, crap,” the Ranger muttered. His bow lowered towards the sand as his mind drew a blank on what to do now.

Hubby, in the meantime, was still blunting his sword against the monster’s invincible skin. The beast was futilely trying to follow the Samurai’s actions, but every time it came close, Luma struck from the other side, starting the chase all over again. It stomped furiously at the sand, snapping at the two whenever they were near, or trying to swat at them with its massive clawed appendages. Even though it had no luck in doing so, nor were they successful in doing any real damage to the beast. Aspidochelone’s mythic toughness was too much for a pair of Samurai.

“Dammitaru,” Qwid swore from where he stood against the rocky cliffs surrounding the Valley of Sorrows, “this isn’t going to work.” The Red Mage weaved a spell as he spoke, and a blossom of orange light overtook Luma. Moments later, he began mimicking his earlier motions, using the Haste spell upon Hubby as well.

Bongo kicked up the sand as he ran towards the Tarutaru, nocking an arrow in his bow simply out of habit. He never removed his eyes from the tortoise as he maneuvered through the showers of sand kicked up by the battle. Qwid briefly acknowledged his presence, but then returned to keeping Hubby and Luma one step ahead of their foe.

“Goddamn,” Bongo said breathlessly, “this was so much easier when we had linkpearls.” He remembered the demons raining from the sky as they battled Tiamat, and the terrible sound of a hundred linkpearls shattering at once. Forcibly, he moved past the memory and focused on Qwid. “Have you got any ideas? We’ve got to take this thing down, we can’t last forever.”

“Stop it!” Bongo gave a disgusted sigh as November’s voice caught up to him. “We only need to halt Aspidochelone while North – “

“November!” the Ranger snapped viciously, rounding on her with fire in his eyes. “This is Aspidochelone, the island that walks! This thing could snuff us out in a second if we don’t go at it full tilt! What part of this do you not understand?”

The Summoner reared to her full height with a withering stare. “In all of Vana’diel, amidst all the turtles and sea creatures and even the Adamantoise, there is but one Aspidochelone. I won’t have this beast cut down by the lot of you while it is being used against its will!”

“We can’t hold out much longer, November,” Qwid told her, gritting his teeth. Even as he spoke, he was again recasting the magic he was plying the Samurai with. Sweat was starting to bead on his brow as he delved into the reserves of his power. “If we don’t find a way to stop this thing for good – “

“It only has to be until North – “

“We can’t wait for North!” Bongo cut her off. “That jackass led us straight into this, and now the five of us are all . . . “

He trailed off, head snapping towards the battle raging not twenty paces away. Hubby and Luma were doing their best to keep the monster off-balance. Qwid was supporting their efforts. He was here arguing with November.

“Wait a second, where’s Dantrag?”


North sprung through the air with uncanny precision. His heel scraped against Keftenk’s face, and the other Beastmaster staggered with the impact. Skidding backwards, he quickly recovered himself, raising up the red-glowing Guttler.

“I will drink your blood first,” he threatened in the terrible voice which came from his lips but was spurred by the axe. “This is your end.”

The white-garbed King of Onzozo spat contemptuously at Keftenk’s feet. From beneath the revolting tiger head helmet he wore, he growled like an animal back at North.

“Don’t speak so to your betters,” North told him acidly. “Hand yourself over, Guttler. You and that fool are too weak to survive together.”

“Weak?” Guttler’s voice replied, aghast, through Keftenk’s mouth. “Weak? Guttler not weak! Guttler . . . thirsty!!”

Too quickly to follow, Keftenk charged forward. North sidestepped his assault, smartly raising a knee into the other Beastmaster’s midsection as he ran forward. Keftenk stumbled forward, flailing about with Guttler. Some strikes actually came near North, but he easily deflected them with his club.

“I thought you were a Beastmaster, Keftenk,” North mocked, “yet it seems you’ve become nothing but a beast yourself, tamed by Guttler, a mere weapon.”

“I will – “ even as he spoke, the voice of Guttler and Keftenk mingled in the air. “kill – drink – thirst – hate – blood – Die!”

“So articulate,” North sighed, parrying another clumsy strike. Keftenk took an air-cleaving strike at him, and the Beastmaster sprang backwards. Even as he did so, a streak of green and white lanced through the air, and Keftenk shrieked as a trail of blood suddenly appeared on his arm. Spinning in the air, Panzer Galahad turned to face him. North’s pet beetle snapped and hissed, and Keftenk’s eyes darted from one threat to the other as his foes advanced on him.

“Blood!” He cried out. North leaped clear as he unexpectedly lunged Guttler into the sand. Almost instantly, grains turned from their normal white to a deep red. The wave of blood-colored sand spread quickly, and North brought up his club guardedly. His eyes went wide as a monstrous arm suddenly burst up from the sand. Then another, and another, until a veritable swarm of appendages were surging up from the bloodied sands. With a heave and a spray of red silt, a diremite pulled itself from the desert, gnashing and threateningly spinning between North and Galahad.

“Lifedrinker Lars,” Keftenk smirked wickedly, running his tongue along Guttler’s edge. “He wants blood, too.”

“Alright then,” North responded, eyes narrowing. “Let’s settle this like Beastmasters.”

Galahad’s wings flared to life, and the beetle shot through the air towards Keftenk. Lars sprang towards him, a blur of legs and teeth. They collided in midair, even as their masters rushed towards one another. Guttler swung down with a powerful chop, seeking to cleave North in two. The Elvaan blocked the strike with his club, but the shock nearly forced him to drop the weapon. He pulled back almost instantly, letting his weapon work as it retaliated of its own accord. Keftenk struggled as it lashed out at him again and again, the enchanted weapon breaking through Guttler’s defenses and landing several bruising blows against its wielder.

North quickly went in for the kill, but Guttler was too vicious to be stopped so easily. The axe struck like a snake, and North cried out as it sliced open his cheek. Warm blood trickled down his jaw as he pulled back, grimacing. Keftenk lunged forward to strike again, but North caught him with a straight up punch to the nose, followed by a rap against his fur-wrapped ribs with his killer club. The other Beastmaster rolled aside and pounced, North barely avoiding his strike. The blundering Keftenk, he realized, was being guided more and more by the ruthless and bloodthirsty Guttler. The longer this fight was drawn out, the more desperate it would become.

Suddenly, he heard Galahad let out a high-pitched cry. With a gasp, he saw Keftenk’s diremite sinking its claws into the beetle’s shell. Galahad thrashed wildly, trying to escape the deadly beast, but it was being sprayed with a stifling web even as it was wounded further. Lars hissed triumphantly as he prepared to bite down into Galahad’s injured carapace. North ran forward recklessly, trying to reach them in time.

Guttler suddenly flared with power, tearing North from his feet. He rolled over in the sand, coughing and sputtering as the untamed energies of the axe coursed like lightning through his body. He stopped, prone on his back, struggling to regain control of his body as Keftenk surged forward, wild eyes gleaming as he gripped Guttler with both hands and leaped into the air. The sun caught Guttler’s steely surface as it growled, coming down to plunge itself into North’s defenseless chest.

North gasped as a streak of black crashed into his opponent. From the shocked cry that Keftenk let out, he was just as surprised as North was. Lifedrinker Lars gave a threatening hiss, spinning towards its master. Thinking quickly, North lashed his arm out, drawing spiritual energy from Galahad.

“Panzer Galahad, return!” he shouted, and with a flash of red energy, his beetle vanished from the diremite’s clutches. North felt a familiar warmth return to the jug of sap containing Galahad’s essence at his belt. He breathed a sigh of relief, then remembered his situation and scrambled to his feet.

It was Dantrag, the Elvaan Warrior whom had saved him. North watched in something close to astonishment at the sheer ferocity with which the silver-haired San d’Orian attacked his foe.

“You owe me one!” He shouted back at North, even as his two axes whistled through the air. One had a blade as black as midnight; the other was a hulking brute of a weapon, crafted in the Orcish design. He wielded one in each hand, striking at Keftenk with single-minded ferocity.

Keftenk seemed both unprepared and completely taken aback by Dantrag’s assault. He fended off blow after blow as the Warrior advanced implacably upon him. Guttler growled with fury as Dantrag struck at him repeatedly, faster and harder with each fresh volley. The Elvaan struck with both axes simultaneously, forcing Keftenk to hold Guttler outstretched to fend off both deadly weapons. With his body exposed, Dantrag gave him a contemptuous kick to the sternum. The Beastmaster coughed and staggered backwards, clutching to his weapon desperately.

“Guttler – I – spill – how dare – drink – “

“Shut up,” Dantrag snarled, backhanding Keftenk with his gauntleted hand. He spit blood out onto the sand, but quickly shot back a devastating blow, eyes a haze of fury. The air around him was beginning to turn red as Guttler’s anger manifested itself in a hazy aura. Dantrag’s black-bladed axe deflected the relic weapon, and he struck a crushing counterattack with his Orcish axe. It crunched the sand beneath it as Keftenk nimbly leaped away.

“Dantrag, stand down!” North ordered as the Warrior started to give pursuit. “You handle the diremite or something, but do not anger him further!”

“I’ve got this, North,” he said, not looking back. The former soldier marched with an air of inevitability towards Keftenk. North ground his teeth in frustration. He knew what was coming soon.

Then, as if responding to the reference of it, Lifedrinker Lars sprang up in front of the Beastmaster. North gave a start, raising his club by instinct. In the next moment, he dove for safety as a spray of the filamented webbing that had held down Galahad arched towards him. The thought of wasting time on Lars while the true struggle played out in front of him was infuriating. He had no doubt that Dantrag could make quick work of the fool Keftenk.

But he was fighting Guttler. And the result of such a battle was never in doubt.

Dantrag swung down again, seeking a killing blow. Guttler fended off the strike, and the pulsing aura surrounding Keftenk grew darker. Wisps of smoke were beginning to waft from Guttler’s silver-and-black blade. Dantrag paid it no heed. He merely hammered away, battering Keftenk backwards mercilessly. The Warrior moved like a man possessed, and his rampage would have torn a lesser foe to shreds.

This was no lesser foe, however. This was Guttler.

Dantrag failed to notice until it was too late when the temperature shot up around him.


Hubby paused, panting. The frantic pace at which he was moving was taking its toll. Despite his best efforts, he had not so much as scratched Aspidochelone’s impenetrable shell. Luma was faring no better, the Mithra’s breath coming in quick gulps as she hefted up her great katana, dancing backwards to avoid a snap of the monster’s jagged teeth. Some ways away from them, Qwid hunched over, hands on his knees, trying to remain upright.

“November,” Bongo pleaded, “c’mon. You’ve got to do something to buy us some time. Summon something out here to distract it while we catch our breath.”

The Summoner’s dark eyes flashed. “I cannot risk injuring it.” She told him flatly.

“Bitch, what is wrong with you?” Bongo snapped, finally seizing her by the shoulders. “What do you think the first thing that’s going to happen will be once this finishes with us? It’s going to turn around and eat your jackass boyfriend! Now get some magic – “

Furious, November threw his arms down, slapping him smartly across the cheek. “Do not EVER lay hands on me!” She screamed. “I know the stakes involved! But I also know North would never condone the destruction of an innocent beast!”

Bongo almost punched her right then and there, but the moment was lost as Aspidochelone interjected itself into the scene.

Its enormous mouth stretched open. Hubby drew up his sword, and Qwid shouted a warning. Luma stared, dumbfounded, as a burst of bubbles escaped Aspidochelone’s maw. There was a brief pause as they floated into the air. Then, the water came.

A spray with more force than any waterfall or geyser shot forth from the terrible creature’s mouth. Hubby shouted towards Luma as he leaped into her, tackling her away from the crushing blast. Aspidochelone turned its head, following the two, and caught them both from the side. The two Samurai were blown apart from the impact, flying out in different directions on the treacherous current.

Bongo cried out in protest, running towards them as he saw Luma dragged down beneath Aspidochelone’s water breath. Hubby was thrown backwards from the impact, colliding with a rocky outcropping and sliding motionless to the ground. The Ranger rushed towards his friends, but found the ground sticking to his boots. So powerful was Aspidochelone’s blast that it had turned sandy beach into muddy mire instantly. He sank into the muck, angrily struggling to break free and reach either Luma or Hubby. The torrent had stopped, leaving two fallen Samurai in its wake. He could see Luma now, lying face-down in the mud, her body twitching.

“Hubby!” Bongo shouted. “Luma! Hang on!”

And then, a flash of darkness swept across the battlefield, and a terrible sensation of dread followed on its heels.


Keftenk’s eyes glittered with madness, and Guttler sang with power.

“Dantrag!” North shouted, but the time for warning had passed.

One moment, the Warrior was pounding through Guttler and Keftenk with abandon. Then, the air went still, and a stifling heat dried out North’s body. There was a high-pitched wail as Guttler went darker than the night sky. Dantrag halted his assault, realizing now for the first time that something was wrong.

A sphere of energy burst from the axe, and in the next instant the Warrior was lost in its power.

Black lightning arched through Dantrag’s body as he screamed, blown backwards in the total release of Guttler’s power. Parts of his armor blew off of his body, and his weapons were tossed away like toys. The shockwave rippled through him like an earthquake, and the Elvaan convulsed in the air, crashing down to the sand with sparks of Guttler’s deadly strike still coursing through him. The Warrior gasped, blood flowing from his nose and ears, limbs flailing of their own accord. He began choking, unable to draw breath.

Keftenk loomed over him, the dull aura surrounding him now darker and redder than ever. A grim smile played about his lips.

North smacked Lifedrinker Lars away with his kraken club, the creature landing upright some yards back, rearing up with clear intent of violence.

“Guttler!” North shouted, turning Keftenk’s eyes away from the helpless Dantrag. “I’m ready to end this.”

Filled with confidence from striking down Dantrag, Keftenk turned, still smiling. Lars came in closer, and North was starkly aware that he was now in the situation he had placed Keftenk in earlier. But the King of Onzozo had something Keftenk did not.

“Still too weak for me,” North said spitefully, and the smile faded on Keftenk’s face. “Let’s do this again, for real this time.”

His chi coursed through the jug of water he pulled free from his side, and Lars reared back as he emptied the contents on the ground in front of him.

Even Keftenk looked wary as a single flower blossomed from the ground where North had poured out the jug. The water glittered in the sun, and the flower was wet with dew even in the midst of the dry desert.

A moment later, it shot upwards, attached to the segmented, spine-riddled body of a Cactaur.

“Amigo Sabotender,” North addressed his pet, “I can only keep you out for a short time. Let’s get it right the first try.”

Keftenk and Lifedrinker Lars both rushed in simultaneously, not wanting their opponents to have a chance at organizing an offense.

North allowed himself the slightest of grins as they closed in on him.

“Now!” He commanded. “Ten Thousand Needles barrage!”


“DANTRAG!” Bongo cried, pulling himself free as he saw his friend’s body crash to the ground.

“Bongo, look out!” He heard Qwid’s warning, and barely registered it in time to duck down as Apsidochelone’s crushing teeth bit together where he had just been standing. The mammoth creature swiveled its head about, trying to decide which one of them to crush first. The Ranger loosed a barrage of arrows into it, letting out a guttural snarl of frustration as they bounced off it harmlessly.

“Qwid, get to Dantrag!” Bongo ordered. The Red Mage began to protest, but Bongo cut him off, even as he scrambled away from Aspidochelone’s stomping feet. “He’s dying, Qwid! Get to him!”

A plan was beginning to form in Bongo’s mind. A plan that placed him and his friends in a large deal of unnecessary risk, but thanks to North and November they had no choices left. Forcing himself to keep moving and not rush towards Hubby or Luma, he darted away from Aspidochelone, and saw Qwid reluctantly do the same. With the monstrous reptile’s attention focused on Bongo, the Tarutaru wasn’t even noticed as he sped hurriedly towards his fallen friend.

Bongo pumped his legs as fast as he could, Aspidochelone roaring its deep and bellowing roar behind him. Back where he had been, November still stood, observing the scene with eyes racked with indecision. With all the speed he could muster, the Ranger closed in on her, bringing Aspidochelone hot on his heels.

The Summoner barely had time to gasp when Bongo snatched her off of the ground. Aspidochelone’s head rammed into the rock wall behind them as they darted away, creating a spider web of fissures upon the impact point. It turned after them, growling.

“We have only one shot, Summoner,” Bongo shouted at her as he fled, ignoring her demands to be released as she pummeled him with closed fists. “I’m going to set you down and that thing is going to be charging at you.”

“I won’t – “

“I can stop it,” Bongo told her, his tone deadly serious. “I can stop it just the way you want, without hurting or killing it. But if it’s at full strength when I do it, like it is now, it’ll be for nothing. You’re the only one here strong enough to weaken this thing for me, November. Don’t argue. Do it. It’s our only chance.”

Just like that, Bongo turned on his heel. True to his word, he set the Summoner down in the sand, leaving her to face down Aspidochelone alone.

The beast had not moved from where it had collided with the wall, holding off cautiously. Its red-glowing eyes shifted slowly from where November stood to the still-running Bongo. They were far apart from each other now, but still in a relatively straight line. It could charge over them, but it knew they could move quickly enough to fool it. Biting and stomping after them had not worked. Its other attack had.

Bongo afforded himself a single look back. If the mortal peril hadn’t been so grave, he would have smiled when he saw his plan unfold.

Apsidochelone once again opened its cavernous gullet, and once again water began streaming out from its sides. Bubbles poured from its mouth, and November’s eyes were like dinner saucers as the water jet began streaming towards her.

Like a dam bursting, Aspidochelone’s water breath shot outwards, the pressure enough to turn November’s bones to paste upon impact.

The Summoner drew in a sharp breath as the needle-sharp spray which was the precursor of the full blast swept over her.

Bongo’s hair stood on end as electricity filled the air.

The Valley of Sorrows trembled as Aspidochelone cried out in agony. Its torrent dissipated into the wind as it faced down the awesome might of Ramuh the Olduum, Avatar of Lightning. The black-robed being towered over November, electric force cascading through the very moisture the turtle had called forth to crush its foes. Now it served as the conductor for its downfall.

It writhed as cords of electric fury snaked across its shell. November held out her hands, guiding Ramuh’s power, but her face was twisted in pain. She could not allow herself to die, but she couldn’t kill this creature either. Bongo had forced her hand, but if he had everything worked out correctly, everyone would win.

He drew an arrow from his quiver, focusing his chi into a single point of spiritual energy glowing at the tip.

“Cut it off, November!” He called out. “I’m ready!”

Instantly, Ramuh folded in his arms, vanishing in a haze of lightning that made Bongo’s muscles tense up. He pushed through it, predator’s eyes zeroing in on the intervening distance between himself and Aspidochelone. Smoke was pouring off of the monster’s shell and out of its mouth. It looked confused and hurt, and was in the midst of taking an unsteady step forward. Bongo saw his mark, and released.

The arrow cut through the air. Bongo let the energy he had gathered into it flow. A flash of light appeared over Aspidochelone, darkening the ground at its feet.

It struggled to take another step forward when something reached out and grabbed it.

Crying out in dismay, the beast attempted to escape, but that only made the pull stronger. From the ground itself, from all over the monster, its own shadow suddenly anchored it in place. Bongo’s technique rooted the creature just as surely as if it had been chained to the spot. Soon it could not even move its head, the shadows infused with Bongo’s chi holding it fast and tightening around it.

“Shadowbind, ya dirty slut,” he said with obvious relief. “Gotcha.”

November turned back and forth from the Ranger to the monster, her expression aghast. “What did you – “ she started to say.

“It’s stuck, and alive,” he said, holding his shoulder. It ached from firing so many arrows, but he rolled it through once to stretch, wincing at the pain. “If we can finish the other half of this quickly, we’ll survive, too.”

“Then put your faith in North,” she told him. “The rest lies with him.”

“Aw, shit,” Bongo moaned, lowering his head towards the ground. Then the sounds of battle reached his ears, and he quickly turned to watch the true struggle unfold.


Lifedrinker Lars gave a final twitch. The spines riddling its body had punctured through quite near everything vital. It went still, and then flashed out of existence with a crack of red light. It returned to Keftenk, just as the form of Amigo Sabotender winked out as well.

The blood-stained Beastmaster regarded his own wounds. He had pulled Lars forward like a puppet on a string, using it as a shield against Amigo’s needles. It had worked, for the most part. Stray quills stuck out of his arms and legs, and blood flowed in thin streams from the wounds. It was nothing compared to the relentless storm which had destroyed the diremite, but the pain was still infuriating. The aura around him had grown in intensity, now blazing like a fire burning from his body. Guttler was muttering horrible, violent oaths, promising to visit unthinkable pain upon North.

Keftenk raised a bloodied arm in the air, spittle and foam in his teeth. The sunlight above made his limb a terrible shade of dark red as it fell into shadow. His eyes were twin points of fire burning into North. The two Beastmasters locked gazes as North wiped the trail of blood stemming from his lip away. Keftenk howled like the beast he had become, and Guttler trembled in his grasp.

“You can’t even hold that axe properly,” North growled, spitting blood out the side of his mouth. “Failure. Weakling.”

“SHUT UP!” Keftenk roared, and Guttler came crashing down, filling the air with the relentless intensity of its power.

North’s breath hissed out of his clenched teeth as Guttler slashed across his chest. A bright right spray issued forth from the deep wound across the Elvaan’s torso. He nearly fell forwards, knees wobbling as he struggled to place a steadying foot in the sands beneath him. One eye closed against the pain, he still stared condescendingly at Keftenk.

“I stood here and you couldn’t deliver a killing blow?” North scoffed, even while clutching a hand quickly filling with blood against his own chest. “Idiot. You’re useless without me. Stupid. Weak.”

The other Beastmaster let out a roar that shook the sand. A wave of energy burst forth from Guttler, sweeping across the Valley of Sorrows. Bongo and the others were forced to shield themselves as a wave of gravel rose up to shower across them, and even Aspidochelone was given pause. The brute struggled to swing its tree-trunk neck around, gleaming red eyes searching for the source of the disruption. North, on the other hand, remained still, and somehow upright.

Keftenk was enveloped now in an aura of fiery red and orange. Guttler’s rage had peaked. With his eagle eyes, Bongo could see there was nothing left of the insane man they had encountered behind Keftenk’s gaze. He was a puppet on Guttler’s strings, and the ax wanted nothing more than to see North dead. The force of the ax’s rage was so powerful that it began getting hotter throughout the entire area. Still, North stood, keeping a hand on his wound, facing down his own weapon.

“Come try to finish me,” he ordered, as if talking to a small child, “try, and fail again.”

Guttler’s indescribable roar burst from Keftenk’s lips, and the duo surged towards North with the full intent of killing him once and for all.

North’s free hand came up so fast that not even Bongo saw him move. Guttler crashed down ineffectually as the Elvaan’s strange killer club sprung to his defense, capturing the silver and black ax directly beneath the crook of its blade. A grunt of surprise escaped Keftenk’s lips as the panting North stared at him.

“You failed, Guttler,” North tightened his grip on his club, even as his abdomen glistened in the sun with wet blood leaking down from his chest. “You’re nothing without me.”

The other Beastmaster growled, a deep and frightening movement from the back of his throat, rising out of Guttler’s projected rage. The aura enveloping him flared, and even from fifty paces back Bongo felt the heat of the ax’s rage wash over him. He could see North sweating, ivory teeth grinding down as his muscles strained to stay upright. Blood pooled at his feet, staining the sands crimson. Even with both hands gripped around its handle, he was struggling to keep the club from shaking as Guttler bore down upon it.

“Burn you, break you, kill you,” Guttler snarled malevolently. Keftenk’s eyes were now pools of red, completely overcome by the fury of his weapon. In the haze of rage, smoke began rising from his body as the sand at his feet began to harden, glazing into glass beneath Keftenk’s dirty bare feet. North sank tremulously down to a single knee, his head bowed as he held the club Guttler now seemed determined to break in half.

“Never . . .work,” North swallowed his own blood, feeling the strength leaving his body, “you’re . . . too weak.” Defiance flashed in his eyes, and the Elvaan leveled a gaze up at the ax crushing down on him. “Without a real Beastmaster to hold you, you’ll never be anything but a weak, useless tool!”

“HATE!” Guttler screamed, and a fresh wave of heat swept across Bongo. Even Aspidochelone cried out, struggling to break free from the shadow holding it down.

The scent of burning flesh struck Bongo’s nostrils, and he gave a shudder of revulsion.

A sound burst out of Keftenk’s lips. A dry, desperate gasp escaped him. He took his eyes off of North, raising them instead to stare blankly at nothing, mouth agape. Beneath him, North tore his club free, rolling out of the way of Guttler’s crushing blow. The strike never came. Keftenk stood frozen in place, heaving and choking as Guttler’s red aura encompassed his bloodied flesh.

“N – n – “ he tried to say, but the words would not form.

Imperiously, North stood up. He stumbled once, bracing himself against his kraken club, but then reared to his full height. The blood on his chest had dried from contact with Guttler’s intense heat, leaving his entire torso a sickenining rust color. He clutched at his wound, not taking his eyes from the struggling Beastmaster before him.

“I warned you,” the Elvaan intoned, “both of you. You could never work together.” Keftenk was sinking to his knees. Smoke was pouring from his flesh as Guttler shrieked incomprehensibly, furious, guttural shrieks with incomprehensible lust for blood. Keftenk was trying to pry the weapon from his own fingers, but the hilt had been burned into his flesh. The heat around him was so great that his skin was beginning to pop and sizzle.

North gave him one final glance, and then lowered his eyes with a somber shake of his head. “Too weak,” he said again.

Keftenk gave a silent scream, lost to the heat stealing his breath before he burst into flames.

He sputtered like a candle as fire enveloped him. Skin and bone melted like wax, hands twisted into desperate pleading falling away to naught more than charred stains in the sand. Keftenk twisted and writhed, collapsing now to his back in a convulsive fit. His eyes had boiled in their sockets and his mouth hung open, the muscles which worked it no longer functioning. North kept his distance, drawing ragged breath as he observed the tortuous affair.

The ruined remains of Keftenk gave a final, definitive flash, and then a cloud of acrid smoke filled the air. All that remained of the rogue Beastmaster was a pile of ash quickly mixing with the sands, to vanish forever into the Valley of Sorrows.

Bongo was so transfixed by the turn of events that he failed to realize his Shadowbind had been broken until he felt the breath of Aspidochelone upon him.

With an angry roar, the notorious monster lunged. Bongo was struck full on by its massive skull, sending him sailing through the air. He skidded on his back for several feet after touching the ground, the wind driven from his lungs. Pawing about desperately for his bow, he found only sand as his eyes darted to the hulking form bearing down upon him. Aspidochelone reared its forelegs terrifyingly, coming down to crush the Ranger beneath its incalculable tonnage.

The Valley of Sorrows quaked as Aspidochelone crashed its full weight down to the ground, a wall of sand bursting out in all directions upon the epicenter of its impact.

Bongo opened his eyes, gaping at the tree-trunk appendages on either side of his prone body. Aspidochelone’s massive head was perched directly over him. The creature looked down at him, its wet breath steaming in the air as it regarded the helpless Hume beneath it.

A hundred paces away, atop the detritus which had once been Keftenk, North raised Guttler high. A burning blue aura engulfed the axe and its rightful owner. Unlike the raging red inferno which had burned away Keftenk, this glow was steady, concentrated, and calm. Blue light escaped from behind North’s eyes as he held the weapon in the air, its black and silver mass gleaming in the desert sun. The club he used was now slung at his side, and his free hand was covering the still-bleeding wound Guttler had inflicted upon him. November was rushing to his side, even as he stared out across the sands at the mighty Aspidochelone.

“Do no more harm, Aspidochelone.” North said, and his voice boomed throughout the entire Valley. “Return to your sleep.”

From above Bongo, the colossal tortoise let out a low, reverberating growl. Then, the sands shifting around it, the island-like monster turned away from the Ranger. Slowly, cautiously watching Aspidochelone stomp away, Bongo stood. His limbs felt weak, but he managed to make it to his feet. Brushing a leather-gloved hand through his ink-black hair, he swept a gaze across the battlefield.

Luma was on her knees, hands clutching her great katana’s hilt, the blade plunged into the sand. Her head was down, and save for the occasional breathless laugh, she said nothing. Some distance away, Hubby sat barely propped up against a rock. His own weapon was several feet from him, but he made no move towards it. The powerful Samurai had given his all to fight such an epic foe, and it was all he could do now to stay conscious.

Beyond them, Qwid was perched over Dantrag. The Tarutaru had his hands on the Warrior’s chest, and a white glow encompassed his body. His silver-haired patient drew a ragged breath, fingers clenching in the sand as Qwid fought to save him from Guttler’s onslaught.

And then, past them all, standing tall, was North. The sun was at his back and Guttler in his hand. The Elvaan looked pale from blood loss, but his gaze was steady, eyes locked on Bongo in that unfailingly regal manner which had so often before made him want to throttle the man.

Today though, as he stood triumphant, opponent reduced to ashes and his treasure reclaimed, one of the great beasts of Vana’diel tamed by his hand, Bongo saw something he never had before. He was not looking at any ordinary man. The Labyrinth of Onzozo might not have been a proper kingdom, but there was no doubt North was in every aspect a king.

The Beastmaster king held his treasure high. Now, it was time to go home.