Chapter LCVI: Demon of War

The political scene in the Republic of Bastok was not a pretty place. San d'Orians had it easy, for the most part. With all titles and powers assigned hereditarily, only the infrequent heirless noble caused any confusion. All they had to worry about was the occasional coup or civil war. Windurst was even better off, being a theocracy. Once every generation or two they held a fancy ceremony, named a new Star Sibyl, and that was the end of it. There were internal power struggles, to be sure, but those were the games played between politicians. In Bastok the people had the power to elect their own officials, and that meant that any dirty trick in the book to sway public opinion was fair and valid.

To become a leader of men in Bastok meant you were cunning, shrewd, and always on the lookout for the knife about to be stabbed in your back. Winning an election was the easy part compared to surviving politically afterwards. Every action came under scrutiny from opponents, and they in turn passed on their dissent to the voters, often with a good dose of hyperbole. Then there were unions to deal with, activist groups, special interests, lobbyists from powerful mining syndicates - all in all, it was amazing anyone managed to bear the pressure.

That was why Emblim had a great deal of quiet respect for Hrichter Karst. Bastok's President had weathered many a storm both personal and political, and in their current situation he showed not a hint of the intense strain that had to be weighing on him. Dark, smoldering eyes leveled at Emblim were as sharp and penetrating as ever, like a raptor watching its prey from the air. He was still wearing his ridiculous hat, so that took a little bit of the edge off.

"Captain Emblim," the President's tone rode the border between authoritative and snooty, "I understand this is an area you have experience in."

The Hume's eyes drifted around the room. In the Presidential pavillion, a tent three times the size of the next largest down, an emergency evening summit had been called. Karst sat at the head of a crescent-shaped table, the other leaders of Bastok situated around him. All eyes were focused on Emblim and his companions. Erilan, Atreides, Feldin, and Etrien all had gathered, summoned by the council to give testimony in regards to the latest development in the sands of Altepa.

"As you know," Emblim began, "before finding you in Korroloka, we encountered a demon lord, the Marquis Decarabia, in Konschtat Village."

They all shifted uncomfortably at mention of the Kindred lord's name. The horror of the Marquis was still fresh to them, despite the weeks since their battle. Still Emblim could hear the strings of his bloodied harp as he tormented the villagers with his sickening performances. As revolting as his presence was, he was even more formidable an opponent. Had he not underestimated them, they likely would have all been made into parts of his demonic orchestra.

Karst was whispering something to Invincible Shield, the armored Galka nodding silently. Leaning back into his seat, he pyramided his fingers and let his gaze weigh down upon each of them in turn.

"And you killed this demon lord, correct?" He slid one hand back and rested his chin on the thumb, forefinger stretching out over his cheek.

"I sent the devil back to hell, yes," Feldin snapped, looking a shade beyond irritated at being questioned. "Is there a point to any of this?"

A wave of murmers passed through the assembled Bastokans, and Emblim shot him a warning glare. Erilan, on the other hand, barked out a laugh.

"You're not helping," he muttered to the other Paladin, who only rolled his eyes in response.

"The point, Sorcerer Feldin," Karst replied, "is that we have verified the presence of another demon lord within the desert. We are choosing to take you at your word as to how dangerous they are. We want to know if you can kill this one, too."

Emblim was momentarily stunned. He was suddenly very aware of all the eyes on him.

"Wait," Erilan spoke up, stepping in front of his friend. "Why are we concentrating on the demon lord? We don't know anything about what it's doing here yet."

"Furthermore, I fail to see how this problem affects us from San d'Oria." Feldin's brow knit dangerously. "Our only task from this point on is returning to King Destin and informing him that Rabao is safe and determining how to move the royal family here safely."

"And the other survivors from the Kingdom, of course," Atreides said in a not-so-subtle tone to the sorcerer.

He was unruffled. "Of course."

One of Karst's eyebrows slowly rose as each Elvaan spoke in turn. Leaning forward slowly, he let his surprisingly powerful presence call for silence amongst the muttering members of Bastok's council. Once quiet had been restored he spoke again, addressing Feldin directly.

"Sorcerer Feldin, we have decided there are two likely scenarios which have drawn this new demon lord to such close proximity with us." He shifted his gaze to the scarred visage of Commander Volker, leader of Bastok's military, at his side. "Commander, will you inform our San d'Orian friends what it is we have determined?"

"Of course," the brown-bearded Hume cleared his throat, and Emblim caught the grave look in his eye. "The first, most likely case, is that the Kindred have formed an alliance with the Anticans. They have made no move in the desert for the last three weeks save to continue marshaling their forces and making what appears to be preparations to march. The arrival of this demon lord forces us to speculate that they have been waiting for their commander to arrive, and he is it."

"Yes," Karst interjected, "and I doubt the Kindred will want to leave their rear exposed should they march through to Quon. That means Rabao, a San d'Orian principality, will be in grave risk of direct attack by the Antican army."

"Our second theory," Volker continued, looking at Emblim, "is that he is here to exact revenge for the death of the last demon lord, the Marquis Decarabia."

"Tell me, Sorcerer," Karst suddenly barked, clapping his fists down upon the table, "what is the penalty in San d'Oria for murdering a member of the aristocracy?"

Feldin's gaze could have burned a hole through the tent, and he ground his teeth as he responded. "If found guilty of such an onerous crime," he growled, "the family of the noble in question may choose to have another member personally execute the offender."

"I see." The President tapped his fingers against the surface of the crescent-shaped table. "Perhaps now," his tone was quieter, though no less dangerous, "you understand exactly why this situation should be your concern?"

The Elvaan did not reply, though Emblim noticed a spike in the temperature around his person. He uncomfortably moved aside, even as Atreides began speaking.

"Pardon, good sirs, gentlemen of Bastok." He took a step forward, smiling as he rolled the beads around his palm back and forth. "I wonder how we are to go about finding this demon lord and executing him - surely with the Antican army so close by, opportunities to find and strike at the fiend will be slim."

"If the first scenario is true then we are willing to give you time to strategize," Karst replied, once more bringing his fingers into a pyrmaid. "And should the second case be right, this demon lord will likely come to you."

"Mm," Atreides bowed his head slightly. "Your wisdom is appalling."

"Is that the right term?" Emblim heard Etrien whisper.

"Yes," Erilan confirmed, "Yes it is." The other Paladin then cleared his throat, standing tall before the council. "Gentlemen, I have no problem eliminating this Kindred scum, but I don't see why this was necessary. This kind of a gathering reeks of accusation - if you simply wanted us to help you kill a demon lord, you have our support."

"We do not seek your support, San d'Orian," Karst said bitingly. "The only one in this room I am capable of passing down an order to, technically, is Captain Emblim. Emblim, whose ill-advised attempt to pass through the Korroloka Tunnel cut us off from our capitol city entirely. Emblim, whose actions made it impossible to attempt rescue of any of the Bastokan citizens held in slavery by the demons occupying that city."

"Now hold on -" Erilan's tone was scandalized.

"So yes, "Captain" Erilan, I am ordering Emblim to eradicate this demon lord, and do so knowing I will not be risking the lives of any more of Bastok's citizens in the attempt. I simply wanted to make everyone aware of the situation. You San d'Orians may do as you wish. Captain," his stare was a battering ram into Emblim's chest, "you will move at earliest opportunity to kill the demon."

They stood in stunned silence at Karst's outburst. The other council members looked stern, and Emblim knew that this was no surprise to them. This was a decision they had discussed, a consensus they had reached. The worst part of it was that the things they were blaming on him he actually was responsible for. He felt a child being brought to task by his parents.

"President Karst," he replied, slowly bringing his fist up in salute, "as you command."

"Emblim!" Erilan shouted at him.

"Hold still, knight!" Feldin's voice was like a whip. "He has been given an order from his President. This is no less for him than if King Destin himself had spoken to us."

"Then I will stand with him!" Erilan declared. "I will not let my friend confront a demon lord by himself!"

"Your responsibility," Feldin began.

"The royal family will keep, Feldin!" he raged. "What greater threat to them is there than the demon lords in any case?"

"Do what you want," Karst said dismissively. "Our decision has been made. Captain Emblim, be prepared to move out as soon as we locate the demon again."

"Yes, Mr. President," he acknowledged, prompting an angry gaze from Erilan.

"The rest of you are dismissed." Karst waved a gloved hand, indicating the massive tent flaps behind them.

"Come on," Atreides urged them silently. "There is no good in arguing amongst ourselves in front of the council."

"Fine," Erilan agreed, "but the audacity of that man, blaming you for - "

"Excuse me."

They stopped, turning to find Etrien had not moved from where they stood. He was facing down the council, standing eye-to-eye with the President. A tremble went through the young Warrior's body, but only briefly.

"Mr. President?" He went on.

"Your presence here is no longer required, boy," Karst told him, already in discussion with Volker. "Take your leave."

"Mr. President, I would like to be given the task of killing the demon lord as well."

Karst cocked an eyebrow, turning slightly more towards the boy. Emblim stepped forward, clapping a hand on Etrien's shoulder.

"Etrien, stop. Let us handle this."

"President Karst, sir, I was the one who led them to Marquis Decarabia, and I took part in that battle." His voice grew steadier as he spoke. "If the demon is here for revenge, it is as much my fault as anybody's. Also, I am the one who showed Captain Emblim how to get into the city. If there is any blame to be had in what happened after that, I share in it as well."

Karst was staring contemplatively at the young man. "Etrien, stay out of this," Emblim said firmly. "This is a matter for adults."

"Wait," Karst held up a hand. He leaned forward again, rubbing his chin as he settled his elbows on the table. Emblim froze, dreading what was coming next.

The President of Bastok narrowed his eyes, fingers slowly tapping against his desk. "You have a point . . . " he muttered. "But, boy - Etrien, is it? You are neither a Bastokan soldier nor a Musketeer. I cannot order you to do anything directly."

Etrien swallowed audibly. "I understand, sir, but it is my wish to volunteer for the same duty as Captain Emblim."

"Hrm," Kart seemed to mull it over, eyes flicking back and forth between the youth before him and Emblim. "Very well, to that end, based upon established merit in combat, I grant you the rank of Iron Musketeer, 9th class. On a provisional basis, of course, up for review pending the end of this conflict."

"Yes, sir!" Etrien saluted. "I accept!"

"Good, now get out and get ready to be shipped out. Wherever Emblim goes, from now on you're going to follow."

"But sir!" Emblim protested, but Karst was already shooing him out.

"My decision on this stands! Now follow orders, soldier!"

He felt like his teeth might crack. Wordlessly, he spun on his heel and made a beeline for the exit. Not one of the others said a word as he brushed past. His face felt so hot that he was sure he saw steam begin rising when he stepped out into the chill desert air. When he heard the tent flap rustle behind him, the Paladin whipped around, his fury undisguised.

"What are you thinking?" Etrien shrank at the Captain's voice. "Do you know what you're getting yourself into? You were there for Decarabia, Etrien! How can you do this?"

"I - I - " he stammered.

"Dammit, we're trying to keep you safe you little fool! The battlefield is no place for children!"

"I'm not a child!" He shouted, surprising everyone, himself included. "I can take care of myself!"

"How can you - "

"Emblim." He was surprised when a familiar hand clapped his shoulder. Erilan moved beside him, Elvaan eyes looking at Etrien as if seeing him for the first time. "The lad knows what's at stake better than any of us. He's man enough to make his own decisions."

His words felt lodged in his throat. Coherent thought was being lost in a swirl of conflicting emotions as he searched for some way to respond to the other Paladin. It was Etrien who broke the silence, however, drawing their attention back towards him.

"I was there when Decarabia came, Captain," his voice was just above a whisper. "I couldn't do anything to stop him." His head shot up, and his eyes glistened as he shouted. "I'll do whatever I must to keep that from happening again!"

Erilan sighed heavily as Emblim looked at the young man in front of him. Nothing seemed to be the right thing to say.

"I'm going back to my tent," he finally hung his head, giving in. "Good night."

He heard Etrien try to speak up, but Erilan stopped him. Through the cold grasp of Altepa at night, Emblim trudged his way back to the tent he called home, and collapsed into bed.


He did not know how long he was asleep before the glow woke him.

At first he imagined he must be dreaming. Blinking, he lifted himself from his sheets and stared, not comprehending what he was seeing.

There was a light reaching up from the ground. It was dark and purple, practically black, and there was smoke billowing forth from its core. Emblim stared at it, not knowing what to make of this thing. Something about it felt . . . wrong. More than simply the fact that there was a shaft of light swirling forth from nothing in the middle of his tent. It radiated a sensation that made his skin crawl. Within the rapidly moving light, just behind the smoke, he could almost make out distinct faces, contorted in agony.

He began backing away, and as soon as he moved a shaft of light burst from its center and struck him in the chest.

The next thing he knew, sand was covering him. He choked as his throat filled with tiny grains, and his eyes stung as they were assailed. The wind was howling in his ears, and he couldn't free his legs from the ground. Buried past his knees in the sand, he was exposed to the storm raging around him.

"There!" He heard a voice shout. Confused, he turned to see Atreides beside him, pointing at something in the distance. Erilan was there too, he realized, and Feldin. The three San d'Orians were all trapped as he was, trying to keep the raging wind all around them from biting into their flesh.

He followed the Bishop's hand, even as the sense of a presence nearby bombarded him with its force.

Within the storm, standing still and watching them, was a demon.

No, he realized instantly. It was the demon lord.

The fiend stood taller than any of them, taller even than Towering Inferno. He was thick and bulky, massive limbs reaching out from a body like a tree trunk. His wings were also larger than those of other demons, their gnarled black mass draped at his back like a cloak. It stirred in the wind, adding to the effect. The demon itself, however, stood almost completely still, watching them. Its face was hidden behind a helmet, forged from some black steel into the shape of a death's head. Protruding from the sides, stretching down in thick stalks, were the demon's own horns. They ended in skewering points near his neck, protecting the vulnerable area.

Every inch of the demon's body was covered in armor which alternated between jet black and blood red. Spikes stretched out from the joints, and cruel, hooked blades were forged into the shoulders and gauntlets. It was covered in runes Emblim could not even begin to decipher, yet even looking at them turned his stomach. Writ on the monster's body was some dark incantation so profane that it befouled him just by being in its presence.

What most grabbed Emblim's attention was its weapon. Slung over one shoulder, the demon had an axe unlike anything he had ever seen. The blade alone was the size of a grown man, a length of ebon steel the Hume was sure he could lay down upon without falling off. Opposite the axehead on the other side of the weapon's thick shaft, three more blades, these shaped like scythes, stretched out like claws from a tiger. It had to be nearly as long as the demon himself, and at the bottom a crushing steel mace surmounted with spikes completed the atrocious instrument.

Without moving, the demon spoke, and the ground trembled.

"You are the ones who slew the Marquis Decarabia."

They all buckled beneath its voice. In it was the sound of a thousand bones splintering, a thousand fires raging, a thousand swords clashing. In just hearing his voice, Emblim felt like he was in the heart of the most disastrous battle he could imagine.

"We are!" Feldin's voice rose defiantly over the sands. "It was by our hands the monster fell, and we will kill you, too, demon!"

"Yes," it replied, "you will try."

Firmly, the demon planted its axe in the ground. The resulting shockwave nearly tore Emblim free from the sand, rattling his teeth in his skull. Around the weapon a wave of blond grains shot forth, pelting them mercilessly as the wind continued to howl.

With two clawed hands, the demon slid his helmet free, and the four of them felt the same tremor of fear simultaneously.

Burning in the Kindred's skull were two eyes which literally blazed. Tongues of flame licked the air from behind the demon's mouth and within its burning sockets. Beneath his flesh they could see veins of fire pulsing, and with each movement his eyes scattered sparks into the air.

"Decarabia was the least of us," he bellowed, flames dripping from his maw. "He knew nothing of war. He could not savor the sight of his enemy scattered before him. He never felt the jolt up his arm after severing a body's limbs. He knew not the sweet taste of blood running down his throat. Decarabia was a pompous fool."

"Why," Atreides shielded himself against the wind slicing into them, shouting above it, "why have you brought us here?"

With one mighty hand, the demon swept up the great axe he held. Its' blade cleaved through the sand, rending the earth it struck as he leveled it at them. "So that I could properly declare myself. Because I am not Decarabia. I do not slink through tiny villages. I leave them as rubble in my wake. My task has no audience, no bystanders. It involves everyone, touches everything, sweeps it all together within my grasp so that I might crush it!" He swung his weapon aside, sending another blast of wind howling through them. "I am Count Zaebos, mortal specks! I am war!"

Emblim was bleeding, the sand scratching skin from his body as it roared past. He was forcing his legs to remain upright, trying desperately to pull himself free, when just like that, the sand was gone.

Emblim sat alone in his tent. There was no strange light. The wind outside sounded calm and steady.

But there was still blood from his shredded skin dripping down in thick rivulets where the sand had torn at him.

As he pulled back fingers red and wet, a final declaration rung in his ears.

"I am here for you," it said in a voice like steel grinding.

"And I am inevitable."

Chapter LCV: The Woman in the Sack

Emblim was a blinding glare in the desert sun, and he descended upon the Anticans like the hand of an angry god.

With his armor polished to a mirror finish, the intense Altepan sun made him almost unbearable to look at when he stood beneath it. When he swung his sword, it left a trail of light in the eyes of onlookers like fire scorching the air. The Anticans responded without hesitation to his sudden attack, but their weapons hammered uselessly against the Paladin's gleaming shield. He endured their counter attack for only a few seconds before his own reinforcements arrived.

A bloodthirsty howl marked the arrival of Towering Inferno. Wielding a scythe nearly as enormous as he was, the Galka sliced into the Anticans with unrestrained fury. The Anticans shifted their ranks to respond to the new threat instantly, simultaneously increasing their pressure on Emblim in an attempt to swarm over him. Before they could press the advantage in numbers, there was a second shield in their way. It was in view just long enough to smash the closest Antican face against thick steel before it gave way to a flashing blade. Erilan stood beside his comrade with his sword a dizzying spectacle of Antican blood and severed limbs.

Clicking noises streaming from their mouths, the beastmen compensated once again. There were nine of them now, down from an initial twelve, and they broke into three groups to deal with their opponents. They did not shout or scream, or even yell at their attackers. The Anticans only swiftly and efficiently moved to respond to each new threat as it arose.

"These guys creep me out," Erilan complained as he deflected a blow from a morningstar.

"They're not the best conversationalists in the world," Emblim agreed, stepping back as his three opponents sought to flank him.

"Shut up and fight you weaklings!" Towering Inferno's scythe howled as it sliced the desert air. Its cruel blade took an Antican's head off in a single stroke. As it fell to the ground, it continued clicking. The thick antennae stretching from its brow kept moving until the Galka named Riidley brought his boot down, cracking the severed skull like an eggshell.

"Not that our present company is much better," Emblim said sourly as the Anticans restrategized, one soldier breaking off from each of the three on the Paladins and joining the fight against the Galka. Swiftly raising his shield, he braced himself to receive the blow coming his way. In front of him, an ant prepared to hammer its sword down upon its target, but suddenly halted before it could deliver the strike.

Tilting its head, it slowly reached for the handle of the ax now embedded in its chest.

"Is that the signal?" Erilan asked.

"That's the signal. Riidley, let's move!"

In a coordinated move, all three of them broke from their attackers and ran. Pausing only long enough to regroup, the Anticans began marching through the sand after their attackers at a steady and implacable pace. In the lead, the one with the ax in its chest tore the weapon free, ignoring the orange-hued blood dripping from its carapace as discarded it, letting the hungry sands of Altepa swallow it up.

They made it perhaps three steps before they shared its fate, with the ground itself swelling upwards to claim them.

Emblim watched from atop the hill as the rock and earth rumbled beneath the Antican squad. They never screamed or struggled, nor even changed the clicking sounds they used to communicate. Sinking beneath the sands which violently assaulted them, hammering them down into nothing, they only tried to keep moving forward, still intent on reaching their fleeing targets. Suppressing a shudder, Emblim turned to the others.

"Good work out there," he said approvingly. "That went just like we planned."

"Hmph," Feldin pulled the hood of his robe tighter, sinking back into his depths. The San d'Orian's garb left almost no skin exposed to the desert's harsh elements, and he seemed intent on keeping it that way. Traces of the spell he unleashed were still in the air, creating an aura of force around him. "A dozen Anticans means nothing. They likely will not even notice such a number is missing."

"They'll know," Riidley spat. The big Galka was sitting down in the sand, watching the insect-like beastmen be devoured by the ground. "But they won't care. Twelve ants? They probably made three times that while we were busy here."

"Captain," Emblim spun at the sound of his name to see an exuberant young face staring up at him. "Captain, how did I do? Did I get it right?"

Smiling, he patted Etrien on the shoulder. The young Warrior from Konschtat had practically begged to be allowed to come out with them. Ever since arriving in Rabao, he had trailed close behind Emblim wherever he went hoping for a chance to help. "You did very well, Etrien," he assured the youth. "You were right on time and on target."

His face beamed with pride. "Thank you sir!" He shouted emphatically.

"Hey hey," Emblim turned at the sound of Erilan's voice, coming from down the hill. The earth had ceased its roiling, content now with its meal. His Elvaan counterpart was peering down curiously at something peeking up from the sand, just beyond where they had ambushed the Anticans. "What have we got here?"

"Don't touch it." Sliding down the hill, leaving a wake of disturbed sand behind him, Emblim walked towards the other Paladin cautiously. The object was as big as Etrien, lying buried in the swiftly-moving sand which bit against a rough surface. It looked almost like a rock, but when the wind blew strongly enough it shifted in reaction. "Were they carrying this with them?" He asked aloud.

"They were," Etrien's voice called back from atop the dune. "They dropped it after you attacked them. I saw it from where I was hiding."

"Hmm . . . " Erilan looked speculative. "What do you think, Emb? Should we open it up?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "Whatever's inside could be dangerous. Or it could be their lunch, for all we know."

"An Antican lunch is probably pretty dangerous," the other Paladin said glibly. He and Emblim both chortled, but suddenly Erilan brought his shield forward with a flash. Emblim was nearly thrown backwards by the impact of Riidley's scythe against the San d'Orian's shield, and Erilan was literally brought to his knees. Fuming, the Galka brought his weapon up for another blow.

"Get out of the way, Elvaan!" His eyes were red with fury at being denied his initial strike.

"What is wrong with you, soldier?" Erilan demanded. "Stand down!"

"That's an egg sack! There's Antican eggs in there!" He snarled menacingly as Emblim stepped in front of him. "I'm going to smash it and you're not gonna stand in my way, you hear me?"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on, we have no idea what this is," Emblim tried to sound reassuring, but Towering Inferno's face only grew darker. "Look, I've seen the remains of an Antican egg sack, aren't they usually much bigger than this?"

"You've "seen" them!" The Galka snorted. "Fool, I'm not talking about some dried up husk. I've seen the real thing! You want to talk remains? I've seen these in the remains of the Galkan homeland. I know an egg sack when I see one, now stand aside and - "

"Peace, my friend," they all stopped, turning at the new voice. A serene and smiling Elvaan face greeted them, draped in conservative white robes bearing no markings save the Star of Altana upon them. His hood was down, face tanned and hair lightened by the powerful desert sun. He seemed to glide across the sand, laying a comforting hand on one of Riidley's gauntlets. "Hold just a moment, if you please."

"Atreides!" Erilan stood, shaking sand off his armor. "I thought you were staying in Rabao?"

"I heard you were going into battle and came to see if you had injuries to treat." He stared hard at the strange Antican construct on the ground. "Sirs," his voice turned serious, "there is something alive inside that cocoon."

"You see?" Riidley fumed. "Now let me smash it!"

"Wait!" The Bishop's voice was more forceful as he leaned down closer to the object. "Not somethings, something. There is a soul trapped inside."

They looked at it with some uncertainty. Riidley stamped his scythe down, staring down hard at the other three.

"Fine, slice it open, and when you see the eggs in there, just like I said, you break them open and leave them to rot."

"Very well, Sir Riidley," Atreides nodded to Emblim. "Captain, if you would?" He started and put his hands out as the Paladin lowered his sword to cut. "Ah, not too deep, mind."

"Right," he eased the blade in, finding the substance just as durable as it appeared. With some difficulty, he managed to cut through. Slowly, the cocoon started peeling back, separated folds tearing away from one another. As he worked his sword through the tough material, grunting with the effort, it suddenly ripped apart like sundered cloth, revealing the contents inside.

He heard Erilan's gasp before Riidley's shocked cry. There were no eggs inside the sack. There was a Mithra.


Night's cool breath had swept across the desert, sweeping away the day's blistering heat. On the mainland, winter would be settling in. The desert was no exception to the elements; when the sun dropped below the horizon, temperatures could drop below freezing. As Emblim gazed across the city of tents which had risen up in Rabao, he saw the light from hundreds of lanterns reflecting off the man-made lake around which the town had grown. A thin film of ice mirrored that light back, the result was the impression of a thousand fireflies hovering over the frozen water. It reminded him that they were but weeks away from the Starlight Celebration, when all of Bastok would be covered in brilliant decorations. Moogles would be out recruiting smilebringers to perform random acts of kindness, and children would stay up all night, hoping to catch a glimpse of the red-suited Galka Black Bear as he dashed from house to house, delivering presents to good girl and boys.

None of the thoughts could bring a smile to Emblim's face. They only served to remind him of the demonic blight infesting his homeland. Instead of enjoying the cold air which was such a rarity in Bastok, they would be freezing in the streets. He could picture his people, huddled together, trying to steal a moment of rest from the Kindred slavemasters driving them. His stomach turned as a the thought struck him like a physical blow.

"Gil for your thoughts?"

Emblim turned in surprise to find Erilan leaning against a rock formation behind him. His armor discarded, he instead wore a thick cloak and leather gloves, with a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Unlike many of the Bastokans now staying here, the San d'Orians were more than prepared for Rabao's nights, as the oasis town was property of the kingdom and a popular destination for its gentry.

"The Starlight Celebration," Emblim replied after a moment, turning back to the view. "It looks like it won't be happening this year."

The other Paladin lowered his head, arms folded across his chest. "Have you ever been to San d'Oria during the festival?" He saw Emblim's silent reaction, shaking his head. "No? It's quite a spectacle. A magical time, one might say. We spend weeks preparing for it every year, and the celebration lasts for days. The Moogles can barely keep up with the demand for smilebringers. Everybody laughing and singing in the streets, the Cathedral . . . well, the Bishop can probably tell you what services are like during this time. And if we get an early snow, it makes everything that much more breathtaking a sight." He lifted his head again, breath misting as he admired the same view Emblim was watching. "I'd do anything to have those days back, Emb. I'd fight an army of demons to bring that back to San d'Oria."

Emblim said nothing, but continued to stare out at the dancing lights below. Though Erilan could not see, a smile had touched his lips. He, too, dreamed of bringing the Starlight Celebration back to Bastok.

"I thought you should know," the Elvaan said, leaning forward and drawing his cloak tight, "that woman is awake."

"She is?" He turned with some surprise. "How is she?"

"She's talking. Atreides and Feldin are with her now. Want to go see her?"

"Of course," he replied. "Let's go find out what this is all about."

"Agreed," Erilan began walking forward, descending the path back down into the town. "By the way," he said, looking out the corner of his eye, "there are a few Moogles living here in Rabao. Maybe we should see what their feelings on recruiting a few smilebringers are?"

Emblim tried to restrain his enthusiasm for the idea, but was markedly unsuccessful.

By the time they reached the large brown tent being used for medical treatment, the two had already started planning out how they could make decorations and where to put them. Their rather intense discussion was cut short when a shout rang out as soon as they stepped through into the lantern-lit canvas.

"Captain Emblim!" It was a soft voice to be sure, and one with the distinct accent of Kazham on the vowel sounds. A lovely, lilting note entered in the inflection of his name, and Emblim knew it was a voice he would reocgnize if he had heard it before. So he was immediately sure that he had no idea who this woman was.

"You know me?" He stepped forward to get a closer look at the Mithra.

She pulled the blanket on the cot she was stretched out on closer, looking back and forth from one face to another. Feldin looked nothing more than speculative, whereas Atreides was giving her a comforting smile. Erilan looked at her appraisingly. She had thick locks of red hair over a slim face which matched her slender frame. Her eyes were bright green, and very wide. The San d'Orian raised an eyebrow, using a gloved hand to smooth his hair.

"You were with Those Guys," the name made Emblim's heart skip a beat. "We fought the Steelfleece of Konschtat and you accepted a pearl afterwards. Several times I heard your voice through my pearl."

"You . . . you're a member of Those Guys?"

"I am . . . Eig," she sat up, clutching the blanket closer still. "I do not know how I came to be here. I was with the others, we were being attacked . . . " the distress in her voice was plain. Her eyes were moist as she looked up in alarm. "Lady Odessa! Something happened to Lady Odessa!"

Feldin almost stumbled forward, staring at the Mithra with astonishment. "Odessa?" He exclaimed. The Elvaan's face was intent as he loomed over her, brushing past the Paladins. "Odessa S Canaley, from the village of Myste?"

She shrank under Feldin's scrutiny until Atreides placed a hand on her wrist. The San d'Orian Bishop sat on a simple wicker chair next to her bed, and he directed a hard glare at the sorcerer before turning to Eig.

"Please, do not be worried. We are all friends here. We simply want to know how you came to be with those Anticans."

The Mithra rubbed her eyes, looking around from face to face again. "I . . . I was with Lady Odessa," she glanced at Feldin, but Atreides cut off his question with a glare. "We were in Crawler's Nest, to see the Goblins."

"Wait," Emblim's confusion was plain. "Goblins?"

"Yes," Eig nodded vigorously. "After one of them came to see us in Castle Oztroja . . . "

From there, she recounted exactly what had happened. She told them a story of dragons and demons and a terrible battle in Castle Oztroja. Over their astonishment she told them about the journey to Garlaige Citadel and the rescue of the Jeunoan survivors. To cap off her tale, she told them of the strange messenger whom had come for their leader, Rykoshet, and how after his departure a Goblin had come to plead for help for his ilk, trapped in Crawler's Nest by the Kindred.

"There was a flash of light, I remember," she had reached a point wherein they had just emerged to find one of their comrades murdered, and a pitched battle for survival ensued. "And then I found myself alone, here in the desert." Her voice was weary after recounting the entire story, and her green eyes filled with sadness. "I do not know how long I wandered the sands before exhaustion took me. Then those ants happened upon me and sealed me up in that coffin. Had you not rescued me . . . "

"An accident," Feldin said dismissively. "We routinely eradicate Antican squads which venture too close to Rabao. Should they discover our presence here it would invite disaster."

"Wait, wait," Erilan interjected. "How much of this are we actually about to believe?"

The glare Feldin shot the other San d'Orian was acidic. "Captain, given the string of events which led us here, are you really prepared to dismiss any aspect of this girl's story as implausible?"

Erilan raised his nose, about to respond, before he stopped to think about it. "Alright, point," he conceded.

"I think," Atreides stood, straightening the front of his frock, "that our guest needs some rest. I will send for some food and drink, and then let you sleep for the evening."

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Sir? Do you . . . do you think the others are still alive?"

He smiled down at her magnanimously. "Don't fret over it now, my child. We will talk more when you have recovered your strength."

"Atreides," Feldin protested, "I must know more about - "

"Another time, Feldin," the Bishop's rebuke was quiet yet stern. "It is imperative she rest."

The blond Black Mage's visage darkened, but he did remain silent, pulling the hood of his cloak back over his head. Silently, Atreides motioned for Erilan and Emblim to follow him as he made a quiet withdrawal from the tent.

He rubbed his hands together when they were outside in the cold again, looking up into the cloudless sky above. "Thank Altana the darkness engripping Quon has not reached this far," he intoned. "One can still enjoy the silver light of the moon."

"I do not appreciate my questioning being denied, Bishop," Feldin growled as he stepped into the cold. "If Odessa of Myste is alive we must make every effort to locate her and - "

"We are bound here, Feldin, you are well aware of this."

"But if she is truly in Oztroja then a simple teleportation spell - !"

Atreides sank his hands into his sleeves. "You will not leave here Feldin, and nor shall I. We have made it our responsibility to safeguard Rabao as an eventual settling place for the survivors of San d'Oria. Until that job is done, we will remain true to our duty. Have you forgotten duty, sorcerer?"

Feldin rankled visibly at the accusation, his lip curling back in anger. "Your goddess will be scant protection from my ire, priest," he warned.

"She and I will remember that." He turned his attention to Emblim, his expression softening. "Well Captain, what do you think?"

Taken off-guard by the question, Emblim looked back at the tent momentarily, and Atreides nodded to confirm he was speaking of Eig. "It's an incredible story, but we have no reason to think she's lying." He rubbed a hand through his thick raven hair, still struggling to wrap his head around it. "Those Guys made it through the cataclysm, and are living with the Yagudo. It's incredible."

"You've met this Rykoshet guy," Erilan said, "does all this sound like something he'd be capable of?"

Emblim thought back to the tall, brooding, remarkably skilled Elvaan who led the storied linkshell. "Very possibly," he confirmed. "When I met him he . . . he left a distinct impression. He cares very much about the linkshell, they're like a family to him. It goes the other way, too. They would follow him wherever he led." He nodded finally, putting it all together in his head. "If they did survive the initial invasion, as Eig says, then I have no doubt they would have found a way to endure everything since."

"Well if that part is true, we can assume the rest - the Jeunoans, the Goblins - all that is, also."

"Yes," Atreides agreed with Erilan. "Which tells me, Captain, that perhaps it is time you once again spoke with our friend Cid."


It had been three weeks now since Bastok's Chief Engineer had hastily explained his plan to enter Quicksand Caves. Many of the details remains shrouded in mystery, he was only insistant that they follow his command. In the intervening time, so much had come up in regards to managing the enormous Bastokan camp and providing for both the refugees and the actual denizens of Rabao that there had scarce been time to pursue it. Not only that, but with the sheer number of Anticans always drifting near the town, he was constantly having to ensure none of them drifted so close as to discover them. Whatever schemes Cid had conceived, implementing them had not been much of a possibility by this point.

Which was not to say Cid himself had not been occupied. Emblim found him inside his soot-black tent, thick goggles strapped over his eyes as he pored over a stack of parchment scrolls three feet long or more. His iron-gray hair poked out from behind one of the sheafs he was examining, muttering to himself as he simultaneously took notes with his left hand and drew lines on the paper with the right.

"Shut the damn tent flap," he said without looking up as Emblim entered. "Karst has got me workin' on this blasted water pump day in an' out." With an unintelligible grumble, he tore his goggles from his head and glanced up. "It's you," he grunted. "What is it, Emb? I've got a lot on my plate."

"Good to see you too, Chief." Emblim put his hands on his hips, looking around the tent with mild curiousity. Save for a thin cot in the corner, the canvas was stacked up to the pointed roof with books, scrolls, bits of machinery, and half-finished devices Cid had discarded.

"You come to make small talk or did you want something?" The stress of maintaining the population in an space which was never meant to hold so many people was largely on Cid's shoulders. Foremost in his concerns was making sure they could draw enough water from the lake to sustain everyone, and this endeavor had occupied much of his
time.

"Yes," he took a step forward, catching himself before putting his boot down on anything breakable. "We found this girl, and - well, it's a long story,"

"Emb!" Cid's rasping voice was impatient. "The point! Get to it!"

"Quicksands Caves, Chief." He could literally see Cid's interest in the visit dramatically increase. "I want to know more about what - "

A gust of cold air caught him from behind. Turning suddenly, he was surprised to find Etrien entering the tent. A glance told him something was amiss. The young Warrior's face was ashen, and there was fear in his eyes.

"Captain," he gripped at Emblim's arms, "Captain!"

"Hold on, Etrien, what is it?" He grabbed on to his shoulders, steadying him. "Get ahold of yourself. What's happening?"

The Hume swallowed deeply, forcing himself to calm down. Emblim was shocked to see how upset he was. Something had seriously spooked the young man.

"Captain, they told me to get you right away," his voice quaked. "Scouts . . . scouts just reported back."

"What is it, Etrien? What's so important?"

He was shocked to see Etrien's face, pale as the moon. "There's a demon with the Anticans, Captain." He swallowed hard. "There's a Demon Lord."

Chapter LXXXV: Agendas, Part Two

Murky and gray, Caedarva Mire was far from a popular attraction of the Empire of Aht Urhgan. Not only was it an unappealing bog filled with vicious insects, at some points the swamp was so thick it could actually swallow a person whole. Parts of the ground which appeared solid to the untrained eye could lead to sinkholes from which there was no escape. Innumerable dead shared unmarked graves in the thick, stagnant waters of Caedarva. Every so often, swelling gases or earthquakes would release these bodies back to the surface. This revolting sight prompted citizens of Nashmau, which stood just on the cusp of the shining Silver Seas and the dull, deadly swamp, to often refer to the area as "Cadaver Mire."

The dangerous environment was only half the problem. With such limited presence by the Empire, the Merrow thrived in the brackish waters, and Lamiae freely roamed the land. Called forth by their power, the ravenous undead remained on endless patrol, waiting for any sign of life so that they might cut it down. Perhaps more ominous than all were the Imps, declared by some to be messengers of the Dark Lord himself, flitting about on their tiny wings, in greater numbers than any other place in Aht Urhgan.

Doshu took a deep breath of the foul air, and smiled. It was good to be home.


His feet glided above the aqueous surface of the mire, never quite touching the thick muck. The Shadow Mantle on his back fluttered as he moved, absorbing the surrounding light and leaving a streak of black. Annihilator was a constant pulse at his side, waiting to have its power released. He appreciated the weapon's thirst for battle. Should a tool not strive to be the best at its specific purpose? Just like him, he thought. He only wanted to do that which was meant to do.

As his thoughts gracefully wove around his elegant plan, he stopped in front of his guests, giving a bow of his head in acknowledgment.


"Good evening, Medusa," he said with a smile. The snakewoman towered above him, her hips gently swaying back and forth. Her scaly flesh glittered in the moonlight, creating the image of a host of fireflies dancing beneath her skin. She gazed at him with fiendish red eyes, the snakes which comprised her hair slithering and hissing as he drew closer. "How does the evening find you?"

"I wonder at this game you play, Dark One," the Queen of the Lamiae sounded more bemused than anything. "You are unlike the other two-legs." She slithered closer to him, her shoulders rolling as she lowered her head to face him eye-to-eye. "Would you like to be my pet, Dark One?"

Doshu extended his hands. "I am flattered, Medusa, but I am afraid I must decline. There's far too much yet to do."

She watched him for a moment, her expression imperceptible, and then reared back up to her full height, making a single lazy gesture with one hand. One of her undead drauger lumbered forward, carrying with it a small bundle wrapped in cloth. "It will amuse me to see what you do next. Is our business complete?"

Doshu carefully accepted the offering, cradling it in one arm. "It is. I must depart at once. Thank you, dread Queen. You have not let me down."

"Complete? Complete! We are far from complete!" Doshu turned an eye in mild surprise to find the Moblin Megomak making his way up to the knoll where he and Medusa stood. The Moblin stood only as high as his waist, and was completely covered in a patchwork of leather clothes and red plated armor. A mask filtered his air, and a pair of scratched goggles wrapped on a cloth band concealed his eyes. The beastman was obviously in a huff, breath wheezing through the mask as he closed in on Doshu, tiny fists waving in consternation.

"Gurfurlur is dead! Do you have any idea how long it will take to make a new one? To find a suitable Troll? To pay for the surgeries? To find the right spells? This is disastrous! My mercenary army is in disarray!" He stamped up and down once, then angrily pulled his feet free of the ground when they sank into it. Instead he lanced a finger Doshu's way. "This is your fault, Imperial. You should pay for this, not me!"

"Megomak," He kept his voice steady. There was no reason to waste energy on this creature. "you were quite well-compensated already for your role, and you carried out your task as well as I could have expected. Please do not try my patience."

He expelled an angry huff. "What about her?" He jerked a thumb towards Medusa, who raised a scaly eyebrow. "They left us in the middle of the fight! You have some secret deal with the Lamiae! You promised not to keep me in the dark, and then you scheme behind my back. This is poor business, Imperial!"

The criminal Moblin the Empire had spent years trying to bring to justice actually cowered as Doshu leaned down to face him, flinching noticeably. "Listen to me," he spoke slowly and clearly. "Go back to Halvung and your Trolls. Enjoy the money I gave you. Your usefulness to me is done. Be grateful you lived up to my needs and leave."

"I would like to make him my pet," Medusa suddenly declared. "I am growing bored with this."

"N-no!" Megomak stammered, moving back several steps. He hit something as he retreated, and turned, giving a panicked cry as he realized that three of Medusa's drauger had boxed him in. The serpent queen glided forward across the murky, half-solid ground. "Wait! Wait!" He screamed.

"Do as you will," Doshu said dismissively, stepping away from the scene.

She closed in, hand reaching out for the Moblin. With a high-pitched yelp, he clapped his hands together, and Doshu drew the Shadow Mantle about himself quickly. A spark flared, and then an explosion shook the ground. It was hardly more than a loud flash, but when it cleared, Megomak was gone.

Medusa straightened, sighing. "No one wants to dance . . . " she complained.

"Medusa," Doshu's voice took on a hint of warning. "They will all come after you now. You must be ready."

She shrugged, slithering off towards the gray confines of her swampland home. "Let the two-legs do as they like. Perhaps it will relieve my boredom." The Lamia's head turned, and with a gleaming red eye she caught Doshu's gaze. "Do not forget, Dark One. When you achieve your goals, my reward will be a dance never-ending."

He nodded once. "You will never run short on pets again, dread Queen. I assure you."

The Gorgon took in his words, not removing her eyes from his. On his finger, the Shadow Ring he wore pulsed, repelling whatever magic she might be directing his way. He only smiled at her, giving her a deep bow as he kept the small bundle held close. She turned away at last, her drauger lurching close behind. "Fare you well, Dark One," she intoned as she left.

"And you, Medusa. And you." A moment later, shadows stretched across him, the blackness carrying him away as if on the wind. Only chirping insects broke the stillness of night in Caedarva Mire.



No sooner had he arrived back in Jeuno than the aggravation continued.

For its part, the Duchy still appeared almost as it always had - the exception being the Vanguard roaming its streets, of course. Ever since his first journey across the Gugru Blue as a boy, he had marveled at the Middle Lands seat of power. Built as it was, a city in the middle of the sea, a metropolis of engineering ingenuity, it could not help but inspire wonder. Thus when they disposed of its unnecessary inhabitants, Doshu made sure that the architecture remained intact. He prided himself on his appreciation for things of great beauty.

The Ducal Palace especially had captured his eye. With its soaring arcs and delicate spires, marble staircases and sweeping ballrooms, it was every inch a match for the Imperial Palace in Whitegate. He was quite enjoying using it as his base of operations. Not simply for the marvelous landscape of the palace and the surrounding Ru’Lude Gardens, either. In a more practical sense, its size allowed him to generously house his allies and commanders. As long as they stayed happy, they remained tractable. The last thing he needed was dissent.

So when he was greeted by a furious Chiz, his mood quickly deteriorated.

“This was a debacle, Doshu,” the Hume’s tone was nothing short of condescending. “All the effort put into keeping that idiot Razfahd in our pocket gone in an instant, and for what? We failed to capture the Astral Candescence. Our beastmen allies were cut to pieces. And now Kkel Solaar is back.”

The Thief was seated upon the banister of a marble staircase, twirling a half-eaten apple in his hands. Between sentences, he took a bite, the juices running down his chin. He never took his eyes off of Doshu. Of all their comrades, Chiz trusted him the least. Likely because he had the most to offer their cause, and Doshu knew it. The others were useful for their power or their dedication. Only Chiz matched him for cunning.

“I never understood what it was you were so afraid of,” he went on, swallowing the tender fruit, “but what I do know is that now Solaar is back, because I was following your orders. How long do you think it will be before the Empire shows up here?”

“They’ve been dealt with,” Doshu curtly responded, walking past him with only a hint of acknowledgment.

“Hey!” Chiz slid down, tossing his apple aside and drawing a knife in practically the same motion. The Hume and the Elvaan stood eye-to-eye as Chiz drew himself up in front of him. “You’re not so slick, Doshu,” he warned in a low tone. “You’ve been going behind our backs. You’re meeting with Angra Mainyu without telling us.”

He glared right back. “Your paranoia means nothing to me. I’ve been dealing with any number of situations right here to make sure that everything we’ve worked for doesn’t fall apart. When would I even have time?”

“Stop jerking me around,” he warned. “If you’re going to make a move without us you better believe I will stop you, pretty boy. We built this thing together, and we’re going to get what’s coming to us together.” His knife edged upwards, glinting in Jeuno’s moonlight as a freezing wind blew past. “Now you better tell me – “

Before he could finish, Doshu’s hand lashed out and clamped down on the Hume’s wrist. The knife fell from his grasp, and immediately it was snatched from him. A moment later he found himself pinned to the wall, his own blade against his throat. Doshu’s eyes were narrow slits as dark shapes swam across his pupils. Chiz looked down at the knife, teeth clenched, breathing quickly.

“I am working tirelessly to make our dreams a reality,” he snarled, “every day some new problem arises which I must deal with. Do I criticize you for failing to kill Kkel Solaar? No, because I have already moved on from this problem. Will I punish Attack for letting the North Wind escape? No, because I have found where he is going. Every time one of you fails, I pick up the slack. Meeting with Angra Mainyu? Pfeh!” He spit on the ground at Chiz’s feet. Pushing his body weight forward, he forced the thinner-framed Hume to flatten himself against the wall or have his own knife move through him. “We meet him together. We plan our next steps together. I would not betray you, and your paranoid delusions will tear everything apart. I swear to you Chiz, if you do this, if you ruin what we have when we are so close,” he leaned in menacingly, speaking through grinding teeth, “I will slit your fucking throat.”

Before another word could be said, Doshu growled in pain. It felt like something had pinched his wrist, and suddenly he could no longer hold the knife. Chiz pushed him back with a burst of surprising strength, capturing it before it even hit the ground. He now had both his blades drawn, pointed squarely at the Elvaan’s heart. The bald man’s face was a thundercloud.

“You want to threaten me, Doshu? You want to play that game?” He twirled his knives without taking his eyes away from him. “Come and try me. I’m the guy you love to have on your team,” the points on his weapons glinted in the autumn moon, “but hate to play against.”

“That sounds stupid,” Doshu chastised, rolling his wrist as feeling returned to it. Then, he deliberately and meaningfully drew forth Annihilator.

Chiz’s expression changed almost immediately. The Thief’s green eyes widened, and he took an involuntary step backwards as the silver gun’s muzzle began to glow. Doshu held it but feet from his head, the Shadow Mantle flaring behind him.

“Stand down, my friend.” He advised, keeping his voice calm. “We can address your concerns some other time.”

Frustration twisted Chiz’s face for only a moment before he lowered his arms, slowly returning his knives to their sheaths. “Fine,” he muttered, eyes still not moving from the gun. “Some other time.”

Doshu let Annihilator pulse for a moment longer, and then returned it to the holster at his side. “Here,” he said suddenly, extending the arm he had kept hidden behind his cloak, “a sign of my trust.”

“What’s this?” He sounded suspicious, but took the small bundle of cloth from Doshu’s hands. It shifted in his grasp, and he gasped, looking quickly back and forth from it to the Elvaan.

“This is the brat?”

“The “brat,” as you say, is going to be crucial to everything. Have the people I requested gathered?”

Chiz nodded absently, looking at the baby in his hands. “They’re in the meeting hall. Except for the Tarutaru and that dumb Galka of his – he still hasn’t recovered.”

“They won’t be necessary.” He said dismissively. He turned to leave, entering the Palace itself. “We will talk more, Chiz. There is still much to be done, and I need your trust.”

“We’ll see,” the Thief replied, and Doshu knew he had done little to blunt his suspicious nature. At least the issue was dropped for now.

“Of course,” was all he said. “I will see you again soon. And you too, Drake.”

With that, he left his cunning ally and the child, entering the meeting hall. Behind its great wooden doors, not even his Elvaan ears picked up what Chiz said next.

“That gun is his only advantage,” he told Drake, looking over the child with mild curiousity. Then his gaze shifted to the doors. “If I had a weapon like that, things would be different. And as it happens,” he picked up the baby to face him. It had bright blue eyes which looked back at him. He was not crying or fussing, and indeed looked only confused regarding his surroundings. Chiz smiled at him, then let it fall from his face at the boy did not return it. “As it happens,” he repeated, “I know exactly where to find one.”

Doshu tried not to let himself be distracted by his problems with Chiz as he looked around his gathering. Half a dozen of his most powerful soldiers waited around an oaken table. It quite a step up from the shadowy hovels Doshu, Chiz, Attack, and Secure first met around all those months ago, when the first part of their plan had just newly come to fruition. Now the others of less power and ability but no less desire to aid their cause sat in the chairs of kings and emperors. He imagined it felt like quite the honor.

Eudon, the archer, sat just to Doshu’s right as he took his place at the head of the table. Beside him, the Paladin and Dark Knight whom he brought with him, Therin Lahhan and Kain MacBeth, anxiously awaited their orders. They were eager, he knew, and hungry for the power he had promised. Eudon was more relaxed, more calculating and better suited for command. He was the right choice, Doshu knew, for leading the second tier of the cabal. Whereas Therin wore highly ornate armor inlaid with silver and gold, and Kain wore a stylized cuirass and helm designed to mimic the appearance of a demon, Eudon wore only what was practical and necessary for his work. He put no stock in shows of power or status. His was simply to perform his tasks, and do so to the best of his ability.

And there would be no shortage of work for him in the days and weeks to come.

Seated to the other side of him were Chiz’s subordinates, generously ceded to Doshu’s command for this endeavor. Rennie was stoic as always, though he appeared perhaps a bit agitated. His failure in Pso’Xja had yet to be addressed, and he knew it was coming. It mattered little to Doshu. He already had his next plan in motion regarding that matter. Next to Rennie, tapping her fingers incessantly against the table was Chiz’s other servant. Her blond hair was undone and loose at her shoulders, stopping just short of a suit of deep blue armor, forged from the same adaman which comprised Rennie’s mail. She was gnawing on her own knuckle, eyes darting back and forth at those gathered. Doshu knew better than to suspect madness or nervous tics on her part, though. Ainsoph was simply eager to begin shedding blood.

Then there was their sixth member, at the end of the table. His languid posture and lazy eyes made him look nearly half asleep. He wasn’t even wearing armor, though it had been provided for him. Instead he had on only a simple tunic and breeches, with a heavy cloak around his shoulders to ward off the chill. Lazily brushing a strand of red hair from his eyes, the Elvaan acknowledged Doshu with only the slightest inclination of his head before slumping back in his chair. The seeming disinterest did not bother him. He did not hire the mercenary Mertron for his manners, just his strength.

"Thank you for gathering here," he sat down, pyramiding his fingers before him. "And thank you especially to Eudon." Sprading his hand magnanimously towards the archer, he accepted his quiet nod of response. "When I sent him to scour the countryside for survivors I never expected the results to be quite so fruitful."

"I was there too," Kain blurted out, almost starting to his feet. "I was there, we helped find them."

"Yes . . . of course." Doshu brushed past his hunger for recognition. He turned his eyes to Rennie, a subtle shift without turning his head. "I should not have to tell you that you will not be receiving another chance after this."

The Hume stared forward, his expression undaunted. "I was interfered with the first time. It will not happen again." Doshu let his eyes slide away. He had plans for Rennie which necessitated his presence, but could not let him think himself more valuable than anybody else. Clearing his throat, he got down to business.
“I won’t take up any more of your time than necessary,” Doshu said to start. “There is much to be done and we must start right away. You each have a specific task to perform, so let us get right into it.” Removing a scroll from the pouch near his back, he laid it out on the table. The map of the Meriphataud Mountains unfurled for all of them to see. “Listen carefully,” he continued, “this is how we will take Castle Oztroja.”


Three days had passed since Secure's army had begun leaving Sarutabaruta. Across plains of browning grass tipped with white frost, thousands of tracks had left a trail trampled up from the fields to the mountains. For the first time in weeks, the grasslands were clear.

From Heaven's Tower, Meowolf looked out his window and watched. Just as he had every day since the remnants of Secure's army began their withdrawal.

The atmopshere in Windurst had been as euphoric as the citizens could manage. Seeing the Vanguard which remained on the field of battle suddenly disperse sent a tidal wave of relief flooding through the city. Valiant as they were following their victory, the Federation Army simply had nothing left to give. They could rest easy though. After enduring nearly inconceivable loss and devastation, Windurst at last was safe again.

Death and destruction had taken their toll, however. All over the city tents or crude shelters dotted the landscape. Funeral pyres had burned for days now as the Mithra honored their dead in the Olzhiryan tradition. The Tarutaru buried their fallen, The Star Sibyl presiding over sorrowful mass services. Lines stretched around city blocks as those left homeless and orphaned waited for food. It was not uncommon to find families huddled together in the cold Windurst evenings, struggling to stay warm. The council was doing everything they could to provide for the people. With so many of the Federation's greatest mages dead, injured, or simply too weak to cast spells, and such a multitude to keep safe, their resources were stretched beyond the breaking point.

That Secure's army would simply leave was a cause for celebration. They could now try to fish from Sarutabaruta's streams, and gather what little it had to offer in the way of food before the winter settled in. There would be a little bit more to go around, and every scrap helped. It would take them years to recover fully, but at least now there was no visible threat. They had time and safety, which was more than they could claim since the invasion began.

Meowolf strapped his new shield across his back, wincing at the lingering pain in his chest. His bag was loaded with bread and dried meat, and he had a canteen filled with water from where the Starfruit Trees grew. His arms and armament had been repaired or replaced, his wounds tended to until his strength returned. Checking himself over one last time, the Galka slipped quietly from his room, shutting the door soundlessly.

Heaven's Tower was almost devoid of inhabitants these days. Those who were able spent nearly every waking moment out in the city, trying to repair buildings and lives. What few people did still wander its halls were mostly those walking back to their chambers so they might catch some sleep before returning to another day of rebuilding. The ministers and professors of the five Ministries, especially, were practically never around anymore. Day in and day out they were combing through the wreckage, trying to recover as much as they could. Untold numbers of magical items and invaluable tomes of knowledge could be lost if they did not act quickly. So as he wound his way down the corridors of Windurst's center of government, Meowolf encountered no one. It was better that way, he knew. It would be difficult to explain himself if questioned.

In no time at all, he was on the bridge outside. Dark skies greeted him, though he knew it was nearly noon. Heaving a sigh, he wondered if he would ever see the blue sky again. The pall of Dynamis was so thick now it was hard to remember what sunlight looked like. The grayish blob which hung overhead seemed nothing more than a blot in the sky, unable to pierce the thick veil of darkness spreading across the world. Meowolf turned his eyes away from the heavens. He had no desire to reflect on the misery quickly pervading all of Vana'diel. There was only one thing he needed to do now. Keeping his purpose firmly at the forefront of his thoughts, he crossed the bridge and left Heaven's Tower behind him.

Somewhere in the city, Tyrian and Sinti were helping manage one of the many large medical tents set up all across Windurst. Sinti had healed people until her magic ran out, and when that happened she began applying more traditional care. With his training, Tyrian knew all about setting bones, bandaging wounds, and making poultices. They, along with every White Mage who was capable, administered as much care as they could while resting their magical powers. There was no end to the demand for their services.

Elsewhere, Klades was helping to rebuild that which had been destroyed. To the dismay of the citizenry, it had been decided that restoring the city walls was paramount in the interests of Windurst. Thus far, however, no one challenged the notion that they should be prepared to be attacked again. The Onion Samurai worked day in and day out to transport new stones and timbers back and forth between construction zones. Slowly but surely, the skeletons of new walls were beginning to take shape.

Yasuchika was often away in high-level meetings. As the leader of the Capricornian War Warlocks, he the largest collection of mages still functional in the city. Magic was a precious commodity now. Thus his work required him to be constantly made aware of when and how it could best be used. His days were long and nights often restless as he coped to bear the burden of a Windurst which needed him more than ever.

All over Windurst, the people Meowolf had met and come to know fought now to restore their city. Ryce-Rizzle and Harutaru led the Libran War Warlocks in handing out food and medical aid. Titania and the other Mithran Rangers scoured grasslands and waters for food. Semih Lafihna and Kaita kept watch over the city with the Patriarch Protectors, dissuading thieves from taking advantage of the beleaguered people. Even the personnel of Heaven's Tower he had barely met, such as Zoranos and Tskeun, were running themselves ragged keeping lines of communication open between all the city districts, making sure care was allocated quickly where and when it was needed.

There were some who could not help, no matter how much they wanted to. Captain Jaydeena remained bedridden, her condition constantly touch-and-go from the injuries she sustained. The Pythons surrounded their Captain's tent day in and day out, letting none but requested visitors and physicians enter. No one was sure when, or even if she would be able to fight again. In a similar condition was Captain Dieggo, or, as Meowolf knew him now, Semina-Baruha. Meowolf had been to see him once, in the triage where he was being cared for. Summoning Fenrir had taken everything from both the Tarutaru and the Terrestrial Avatar. The Great Beast had used everything he had to destroy the Behemoths and the Apocalyptic Beast. It now slumbered once more within Full Moon Fountain, and Dieggo's strength was just as depleted. Under his guard of the few remaining Ariesians, he slept most all the time, waking only fleetingly. Sometimes he would be conscious for an hour or so, sometimes just a few minutes. It was hard for Meowolf to see a man whom had been so full of fire, so defiant in the face of the adversity, reduced to such a state. He could only pray his friend would recover.

It seemed wherever he went, the Paladin found the people of Windurst banding together to help one another. Fighting together for so long, losing so many comrades-in-arms, and finally surviving against all odds had created a bond in all of the Federation's citizens. They were fighting past their weariness and injury. Now more than ever, they believed in Windurst,

Fighting down a pang of guilt at not staying to help, or even saying farewell to his friends, Meowolf slipped through the unwatched city gates. Taking a deep breath of the cold air, he left Windurst behind him.

He had saved a great many people during the war, but not all of them. There was one person left he had promised to protect.

The sun above providing no light for anyone to see him depart, Meowolf left to find Cullen.


The parapets of Castle Oztroja stood defiantly in face of the late autumn chill. Even in the arid landscape of Meriphataud Mountains, the changing seasons and lack of sunlight were causing the temperature to drop. Mornings would dawn with the scant vegetation in the area enveloped in its own frozen dew. Fog was rolling in as the air pressure fell, creating gray, depressing days. Standing atop the battlements and staring outwards, Rykoshet could not help but let the weather affect his mood.

Vile had not yet completely recovered. Though he was awake and aware, the burns he suffered battling Attack had gone down to the bone. Lethe was taking his time repairing them so as to not leave any lasting damage, and the process was arduous. Beyond that, the news which had greeted him upon his return was also sobering. Fated and Raidom were both injured. Eig was missing. Middlesky was dead. Odessa was beside herself with grief. She had proven inconsolable at first, but in the days since they had returned from the Northlands she had slowly come out of her reclusive shell, fueled increasingly by anger. She wandered the halls like a roving storm cloud, and no one was foolish enough to get in her way.

He leaned over the parapet, elbows resting on the carved stone. Looking out across the mountainous landscape, the Elvaan let the chill wind sweep through his blond hair. Once again, he did not know where to go from here.

"Your thoughts are troubled, Rykoshet,"

The Dark Knight turned in surprise to discover Fill standing in the doorway behind him. The North Wind smiled comfortingly, and Rykoshet sighed, turning back to his musings.

"I don't suppose you could do anything about the cold," he grumbled, rubbing his shoulders as another breath of wind blew by.

Fill shook his head. "The North Wind is not known for its warmth." Rykoshet gave a single grunt in response. A moment of stiff silence passed between them, untl the bearded Hume glided to the side of his host.

"Rykoshet, tell me what is on your mind." One of the Elvaan's dark eyes flicked towards him. "A great many things pass by on the wind. I can help you if you but ask."

"Help," he scoffed. "What could help us now?"

"I am the North Wind, Rykoshet. I am among the four most poweful sorcerers in Vana'diel." His tone had gone from soothing to coldly serious. "I can see your heart, and your soul. I know you have not yet given up."

He leaned forward, shaking his head as the wind stung at his ears. "It's hard, Fill. Everyone here is counting on me, and it seems that even when we win, we still end up losing."

"Do you intend to let them down?" Rykoshet said nothing. Fill smiled again, spreading his hands. "Then ask me what you want to know."

The Elvaan did not look at the North Wind, and instead kept his gaze firmly on the horizon. "I want to know why this is happening."

"Not an easy question," Fill's tone was somber. "If I were a defeatist, I would tell you it was because the Winds failed in their duty. But Dynamis remains constrained to its ancient borders due to our efforts. No, this is solely the work of greed, Rykoshet. Greed and a lust for power beyond anything mortals should strive for. Here, outside of my shelter, thing are being slowly revealed to me."

"Like what?"

The color of Fill's eyes shifted and swirled as he lifted his chin skyward. "The names you were after. I see them now. There are many, as a conspiracy of this level requires such. But now, just as I stand revealed to them, so too are they to me." Closing his eyes now, the North Wind spoke in a voice which came from all around Rykoshet, rather than the brown-bearded Hume's lips. "The one we encountered at Pso'Xja is named Attack. He hails from Windurst, expelled long ago for the nature of his black arts. Working with him is Secure, from the Far East. He is a man of great wealth and stature in his homeland, but he yearns for more, always more. There is also Chiz, whose point of origin lay in Norg. His cunning is without equal. Finally there is Doshu, from Aht Uhrgan. Of him, much is still shrouded." He opened his eyes ,which had returned now to a solid, unmoving color. "There are others working with them, but they are only subordinates. Those four orchestrated the rupture between worlds which freed the horrors of Dynamis upon Vana'diel. And they have only just begun."

"All for power," Rykoshet shook his head. He clutched the broken linkshell still tied to his neck. "What are our chances of beating them? Of bringing things back to normal?"

Fill's gaze was hard. "Before you rescued me, infintesimal. Now, only slightly greater."

The Elvaan turned to face the North Wind. "So, why did we rescue you? If you're so all-powerful, can't you wave your hand and make all this disappear?"

He actually laughed in response, a hearty chuckle from deep in his throat. "Oh, Rykoshet, were it that simple don't you think I would have done so already? My power notwithstanding, I, and the other three Winds, are but mortals. We can be rended by blade or burned by spell just the same as you. We are also bound by rules as old as time itself." The comforting smile returned, but with something else behind it. His eyes were intent as he stretched his hand out towards the Elvaan.

"What are you doing?" Rykoshet asked, and then felt a chill pass over him as the North Wind's hand took hold of the linkshell strung on its leather cord around his neck.

"What will win this, Rykoshet, is the power of your friends. You have a knack like no one else in the world to unite others of great srength and talent under your banner. Already they have come to you, and will still come, but some you must seek out. They will be out there for you to find. Brought together, I know that not even Dynamis itself will be able to stand before your might." As Fill spoke, the dust surrounding them swirled at his feet, and a bright green aura flared around him as his robes whipped about in a wind of his own creation.

The feeling sweeping through Rykoshet changed as Fill closed his fist around his cracked linkshell. The bone-chilling cold suddenly became soothing, like fresh water splashing across his face. He took a deep breath, gasping at how startlingly crisp and delicious the air was in his lungs. A moment later it died down, and the North Wind released his grasp. Folding his hands back in his sleeves, he let the Dark Knight see with his own eyes what had happened.

"I still dare not exercise my power to its full extent," he told Rykoshet, "but something like this is but a trifle."

Disbelivingly, Rykoshet took hold of his linkshell. It was glowing a vibrant pink, pulsating with the energy coursing through it. Warm to the touch, he could now hear it humming softly as he ran his fingers across its surface. The break was gone, the crack sealed completely.

With a burst of child-like astonishment, he laughed out loud as he channeled a trickle of his chi into the shell, and a single, perfectly spherical pearl dropped into his palm.

"It's back," he whispered, looking back and forth from Fill's smiling visage to the pearl he held between two fingers. "It's back!"

"Use it well, Rykoshet," The North Wind bowed his head. "Do you mind?" Stretching out his hand, he opened his palm to the Elvaan. Rykoshet shot him a fierce grin.

"Not at all," he said with a fire he hadn't heard in his own voice for months. "Fill the North Wind, welcome to Those Guys." Handing over the pearl he had just created, he felt the familiar tingle of spiritual energy as it passed over to the Hume's ownership. A gust of wind shot up from his hand, and the tiny pink bauble began floating on it, suspended just behind Fill's left ear. He smiled at his new adornment, and also at Rykoshet's renewed enthusiasm.

"Rykoshet," a voice suddenly called. He turned to find Odessa, her long white hair tied in a braid behind her, opening the door to the castle tower. "Your - "

"Odessa," he took three easy strides on his long legs, bridging the distance between them. She looked startled as he suddenly closed in on her, and even moreso when he pressed his hands into hers. "Welcome to Those Guys.,"

"What are you talking ab - " she stopped, tearing her hands free only to realize something had been placed in her grasp. The White Mage stared, dumbfounded, at the linkpearl she now held. "How?" She blurted out, gaping both at the pearl and Rykoshet.

He gestured towards Fill, who gave a slight inclinaton of his head and indicated his own new pearl.

"This is . . . this is amazing," she whispered excitedly. "Rykoshet, I've never even heard of a shell being repaired once broken. It's a miracle." Her eyes were wide as she stared at the pearl. A smile breaking across her face for the first time in weeks, she brought the pearl to her lips and spoke. "Hello," her voice was uncertain, and she bit her lip right after speaking.

"Hello to you, Madame Odessa," Fill acknowledged, the pearl behind his ear sweeping around to his mouth. She heard his voice clear as a bell, but not through her own ears. It vibrated out from the pearl she held. With glee, she gripped it tightly, like a precious gem. Wordlessly, she walked over to Fill and embraced him. For his part, the North Wind looked rather embarassed.

"Thank you," she told him. He gave her his familiar smile, stroking a hand against his beard.

"It was the least I could do. The rest lies with Rykoshet."

"You didn't have to say that," she said, her expression souring. Still, Rykoshet could see the smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she rolled her new linkpearl around in her hands.

"I've got to go get these out to everyone right away," he said. "This changes everything. We've got to make plans. I'll need to talk to Baeladar and ask him how we can best use this to our advantage. I'll call everybody in the castle together . . . "

"Oh!" Odessa's exclamation stopped Rykoshet in his tracks. Her eyes had gone wide, and he could see a touch of the color leaving her face. "Rykoshet, that's why I came up here in the first place! You've got to go to the main hall, right away."

"What for?" He already had his hand on the door leading back into the castle.

"Your Master is here, Rykoshet," the cold wind swept strands of her silver hair loose, brushing them across her face. "And he wants you to come with him right away."


Emblim took a long, appreciative look at the sunset as it settled against the mountains of Western Altepa. For all the weeks he trekked from San d'Oria to Bastok, the sky grew ever darker. Here, where the sun still shone, the light was welcomed back like an old friend.

Rabao was a small settlement of San d'Oria meant to lay claim to the otherwise abandoned Zepwell Island. With so great an Antican presence, as well as the other powerful monsters which roamed the desert, they never made it further than the oasis. Situated as it was, however, the town was ideal for their purposes. Surrounded by treacherous desert mountains, the only way through was a single enclosed pass which no army would be foolish enough to storm. While the Antican army was on the move, alll of Altepa was unsafe, but Rabao remained untouchable.

Reminded of their presence, he regretfully took his eyes off the hazy red glow in the distance, and raised the invention of Cid to his eyes once again.

"This really is an amazing device," he commented. "I've seen the spyglasses sailors use, but these are just as potent and far more compact. And no squinting." Through the lenses he pressed to his eyes, Emblim could see the antmen stretching out across the blond sands of the Western Altepa Desert. They seemed endless, as numerous as the stars slowly beginning to twinkle above.

"Thanks," Cid commented from beside him. The two men were crouched low against the rocks. From this distance, they did not believe they could be spotted, but were taking no chances. "I based the design on the Hume eye itself. The lenses work like a secondary set of eyes enhancing yer normal ones. So you've got a binary set of oculars."

"What do you call them?" Emblim asked, again peering out at the Antican horde.

"Cid-Scopes." He said proudly. "That's just a prototype, I'm workin' on gettin' these out to every scout in the field."

Emblim slid the set he had into his belt, turning away from the rock face. Sliding down, he landed against the sand and looked back up at the inventor. "I don't think we're going to learn anything new today. Might as well call it a night."

"Yer right," he sighed. "Best be gettin' back."

The gray-haired engineer joined Emblim on the ground, and together they made their way back into Rabao. It was a small town, built as it was against a man-made lake. In what had to constitute a nigh-miraculous feat of engineering, windmills pumped in water from beneath the surface to keep the lake filled, and it was even stocked with fish. The architecture all around was unique unto desert housing, designed to keep sunlight out and cool breezes in. Emblim knew that this time of year winter would be settling over the Konschtat Highlands, with cold winds blowing off from the Pashow Marshlands bringing in freezing rains and sleet for the rest of the season. Here in the desert, it was still bright and sunny every day, with hardly a cloud in the sky.

He was happy he got to see the sun again before the Antican army swept over all of them.

Hundreds upon hundreds of tents had been erected in the town, encircling the lake and pushing out into the small herding ranges and the San d'Orian auction house. The people and soliders of Bastok had taken refuge here, and were preparing to bear the brunt of the storm coming their way. There were many other refugees here, as it turned out, making the quiet desert town a sudden bustling hub of the international community. Emblim was worried they would push the scant resources of the town to their limit, but so far strict rationing had kept things relatively stable.

"We should see if any of the scouts came back yet," Cid suggestd, and Emblim nodded in agreement. They pushed their way through the crowded sands, the Paladin tugging at the unfamiliar deset clothing he wore. His suit of armor was a constant companion, but hardly suitable for wandering the streets of a sun-bleached village. Both he and Cid had taken to the light, airy robes which kept sand out of the eyes and burns off of the skin. His sword and shield waited for him back in the tent he shared with the others from San d'Oria.

Finally they came to a white, domed tent, the sigil of Bastok upon its entry flaps. The two entered, and Emblim was surprised to find Erilan waiting inside.

"Emblim!" The Elvaan said in surprise. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

The two clasped hands. "There's nothing much new to see, so we thought to check up on reports from those in the field."

Erilan nodded. "I had the same thought. We're talking ourselves in circles over at military command, I wanted to see if any new information had come to light." He too had donned the robes native to Rabao, and looked far more comfortable in them than Emblim did. He realized that for San d'Orian knights and nobility, Rabao was likely a popular and exotic vacation spot. Indeed, Erilan's robe was not only cut better, but he wore it in the most recent style. Emblim shook his head, wondering what he had gotten up to in this provincial town with its provincial girls.

He spotted the quizzical look Erilan was giving him and quickly brought his mind back to the present. "So," he brushed past the moment, "anything come in yet?"

"One of the scout was supposed to be here," Cid murmered, looking about the expansive two-room tent. "Hey!" He boomed, planting his fists on his hips. "Towering Inferno! Are you back yet?"

Almost instantly, the flaps to the back portion of the tent flared open. A gargantuan Galka surged forward, fire in his eyes as he bared his teeth angrily. Emblim gaped. Stripped to the waist, the alabaster-skinned giant easily broke seven feet of taut and toned muscle. His fingers were like sausages, his fists giant hams. He had a chest thicker than a barrel, and arms straining with sinew. The black hair on the back of his head bristled as his eyes fell on the Chief Engineer.

"I told you never to call me that!" He bellowed. "That's a slave name! My name is Riidley!"

"How in Altana's name were you hiding back there?" Erilan wondered aloud, astonished. "You're a giant!"

"Oh, is that all you see," Emblim was beginning to rapidly see how Towering Inferno got his name. "A big ol' field hand, huh? Maybe a nice pack mule for the mines?" Riidley's words seemed more confusing to Erilan than anything. "I am a solider, and I am back in the land of my birth. I was communicating with the land of my ancestors, ripped away from their home."

"Yeah, so," Cid stepped up to the Galka unafraid. He barely came to the hulk's chest. "you were sleeping. It's a good thing you don't snore, or yer like t'inhale th tent."

Riidley's eyes burned as he stared down at the old man, but Cid stared right back up, setting his jaw. "You think you understand - "

"Enough chit-chat, boy! Tell us what you saw!"

"Boy?!" Riidley's voice was an indignant rage.

"Riidley!" Emblim stepped forward, gently but urgently pushing Cid out of the way. The Galka glared down, his face a thunderstorm. "Riidley - what is your rank, soldier?"

"Sergeant of the Iron Musketeers, sir," he put a spiteful emphasis on the "sir." Emblim suppressed a grimace. Bastok was full of Galkas who - perhaps not without justification - thought themselves held down by the Humes. It was clear Riidley counted himself among their number.

"Sergeant, I'm Captain Emblim of the Mythril Musketeers." Riidley was slow to return his snapped salute. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the smaller man in front of him. "We're trying to deal with the Antican threat as soon as possible, and so we need the information you've gathered. I'll accept your report now."

"Oh, so the ants push my people out of our home and the Humes don't bat an eyelash, but now that it's inconveniencing you, you can't get rid of them fast enough. I get it."

"That's not - " Emblim was cut off as Erilan suddenly spoke, his voice practically scandalized.

"That's how you let subordinates talk to you in the Bastokan military?" He looked at Emblim, amazed, and then turned to Riidley. "And you, soldier, that's how you address a commanding officer? What is wrong with you backwards Bastokans? You'd be court martialed in a heartbeat in San d'Oria."

"What do you know, Elvaan?" Riidley shifted his bulk forward, his head nearly scraping the top of the tent.

Erilan stared up at him. Taller than Emblim or Cid, he was still dwarfed by the Galka. Still, his blue eyes pierced through Riidley's burning gaze with an intensity Emblim had not known his friend to possess. "I know that the San d'Orian army is the best one in the world, and we wouldn't put up with this kind of behavior for half a second. Your commanding officer made a request of you. You call yourself a soldier? Then you damn better well honor it, Sergeant. That's what military life is about."

Riidley stared down at the Elvaan, breath rising in his chest. His hands clenched and unclenched as he set his teeth together. After a long pause, he twisted his head slightly, looking down at Emblim again.

"Got nothing to report," he rumbled. "The ants are all over the desert. Quicksands Caves is practically emptied out, they're all on the move north. I didn't see leader or any demons or any of that stuff we're on the lookout for. Just ants."

"Wait a second," Cid's face had suddenly lit up. "Quicksands Caves has been abandoned?"

"You heard me - " Erilan coughed mightily, and Riidley shot him an angry glance. "Yes, sir," he ground out through clenched teeth. "There''s only a token guard still in place. The entire Antican army is on the field."

"My boy, you've been more help than you know." The old inventor's eyes were alight with ideas swirling behind them. Riidley shook his head, brushing past him and into the back.

"Whatever, old man. I'm going back to sleep."

"You didn't ask - " Erilan was about to speak, but Emblim cut him off.

"I wouldn't push it," he whispered, "but thanks."

The huge Galka folded the tent back up behind him and settled to the ground as Cid urgently rushed Emblim back out into the twilight. Erilan followed, curious as to what was happening.

"We've got a chance," Cid said immediately upon exiting the tent. Emblim peered at him, not sure if he had heard correctly.

"What are you talking about?" The Paladin responded.

"Quicksands Caves, boy! Emb, listen," he drew the Hume in close, and spoke in conspiratorial whispers. "You can't tell anybody, not yet. But I'm hiding something there."

"In Quicksands Caves?" Cid gave a start when Erilan chimed in, having forgotten he was there.

"Curse yer Elvaan ears," he muttered, "but alright, yer a friend of Emb's so you must be trustworthy. Listen up, meat shields. We've got one chance to get this right, but if we do, it means we all go home."

As the plan to save the people of Bastok began to take shape, dusk claimed the skies of Rabao, and a cool desert breeze began to blow in from the west.

Chapter LXXXIII: Bastokan Round Table

“So,” Cid asked as he took a seat around the roughly-hewn table, “how did you make it from San d'Oria to Bastok?” And so the story of their journey from the demon-overrun kingdom began.

Emblim looked around at the faces of those gathered. Gratitude to Altana’s mercy had swept through him after Cid had shown him through to the temporary refuge of Bastok’s citizens. When they had come upon the city, swarming with demons and Quadav, despair had gripped him. Now his hopes were climbing, though still tempered with the news the Chief Engineer had shared. However, seeing the people who had made it out and were now working to resist the Dynamis invasion, he could still believe they would succeed.

At the head of their makeshift meeting table was President Hrichter Karst himself. The elected leader of Bastok was an easily recognizable figure. Diminutive in height, he made up for his lack of stature in the way he carried himself. In most situations, Emblim would see the President garbed in the finest regalia, suits of Eastern silk tailored specifically to his dimensions. Adornments of office decorated his clothes, along with precious gems which he boasted represented the boundless wealth of Bastok's mines. Meticulously groomed and styled, his mustache was also as defining a characteristic as any. Though he was closing in on fifty, the politician looked as spry and able as a man many years his junior. He had worked many years to radiate an aura of authority, and it had worked admirably. The President was a formidable foe for his opponents in the Senate, and, in Emblim's experience, a great boon to the people of Bastok. Though he was hard to get along with, and preoccupied with notions of class and status, he nonetheless worked tirelessly to promote the welfare of the Republic.

He retained his air of dignity, but his clothing looked a bit worse for the wear. He had traded in his fine coats and suits for a drab cloth shirt and simple breeches, though he maintained his ornaments of rank. That famous mustache was looking fairly untrimmed, and his face was showing creases of worry and strain. Karst's most ridiculous article of clothing, in Emblim's opinion, was the foppish purple hat he insisted on wearing. Now even that appeared worn, and with an obvious tear down one of the seams. It had been some months now since the initial incursion of Dynamis. It was clear that time had worn hard upon the President.


Standing beside Bastok's leader was his personal bodyguard, Iron Eater. Ever present guarding the office of the President, the bulky Galka had not changed his occupation following the outset of the crisis. Heavily armored and wielding a massive great axe, he stood by Karst's side, solemn and unmoving. Short-cropped brown hair protruded from his armored face mask, and he had his tree-trunk arms folded in front of a barrel-thick chest. Not a single movement escaped his quick brown eyes as the meeting unfolded around him.

Seated next to Karst was Emblim's direct superior, Volker. Bastok's greatest warrior, the hero whom had struck the killing blow against the Shadow Lord himself during the Crystal War. The Mythril Musketeer's leader wore his standard battle armor, a sword strapped to his side. Tattoos marked his face, and his hair was intricately braided in a style not often seen outside the Far West. Volker's presence was a great relief to everyone gathered. He was a hero among heroes in the Republic, a Hume warrior to be feared and respected by his foes.

Equally formidable in prowess, yet not nearly so comforting in presence, was the Dark Knight who remained standing, back to the cave wall. Arms folded in front of his chest, he watched silently through his ebon mask as the meeting progressed. A pitch-black great sword was slung across his back, matching the hue of the steel armor he sported. No one was quite sure what to make of the tight-lipped Galka, but they opted not to question his attendance. Still, Emblim occasionally found his eyes drifting towards Zeid, uncertain as to what motivated the enigmatic man.

Cid sat to Karst's left, and beside him were Naji and Ayame. The raven-haired Samurai was dressed in red and black, her great katana laid respectfully down on the wooden table. Ayame was stiff-backed and made eye contact with every speaker, her voice clear and her points concise. Naji neglected to speak at all, only dutifully following in whatever Ayame said. More than once, however, Emblim noted his sharp eyes moving to catch a gesture or exchanged glance that no one else took notice of. The young Musketeer was held back far more by his lack of confidence than any inability to perform his job. Emblim found himself comparing him to Etrien, and wondering if, when all this was over, he couldn't set the adventurous young villager up as a new recruit.

Rounding out Karst's assemblage was Bastok's greatest tactical mind, Invincible Shield. The brown-haired, heavily armored Galka sat to the left of Naji, thick fingers pyramided before him. The brazen, blunt-spoken soldier wore little in the way of decoration. His armor was made for war, not parades, as he often told his men. As the Legatus of Bastok's 3rd Division, he was among the highest-ranking officers in the entire military. He had been a hero in the Crystal War, and maintained a powerful presence ever since. While his greatest achievements were those won in naval combat, his skills on land were never in doubt.


The rest of the table was filled out by Emblim's own entourage. Erilan, Atreides, and Feldin sat together. The San d'Orians had been given time to wash and eat, giving them a far more rested appearance than their last few harrowing days would have otherwise afforded them. Atreides had taken time to properly care for his raiment, regaining the simple, quietly forceful aura befitting a man of the cloth. Erilan had worked out the dents in his armor, burnishing it to a suitable military gleam, if not perfection. For his part, Feldin simply sat where he was and glowered, moving little and speaking less. The blond-haired, pointy-eared trio provided what they could in the way of answers, for there were many questions for them.

Emblim sat opposite the President, with Erilan on one side of him and Etrien on the other. Rummaging through the supplies of Bastok's stores had yielded a serviceable lorica for the boy to use as armor. Red plates of steel were sewn in over a black leather breastplate, providing far better protection than the simple scale mail he had been wearing. He had managed to straighten his dirty blond hair and clean his face, the unlined visage reminding everyone at the table he was ten years younger than the next youngest person there. At his side he had two brand new axes, the short-handled weapons sharpened and ready for battle.

"So, that's our story, Mr. President." Erilan concluded. "After we killed the Marquis Decarabia, Etrien told us about the raft which ferries back and forth between Palborough and Zeruhn, and that's how we got to where we were."

"A fantastic story," Karst mused, two fingers drifting over his mustache. "If even half of it can be believed." He leaned forward, placing an arm on the table as he peered across at Emblim. "Captain, I'd like to hear from you now. Several questions remain unanswered."

"Yes, sir," Emblim said automatically, straightening in his seat.

Karst's hazel eyes looked him over, and then passed to Erilan, Atreides, and Feldin in turn. Slowly they shifted back to the Paladin as the President lifted up his chin. "You have said repeatedly that you simply walked into Palborough and waited for the ferry to arrive. How is it that you were not overcome by the hordes of Quadav which reside there?"

Emblim nodded. It was a fair question. "There were none, sir. The Quadav have left Palborough Mines."

Karst's eyebrow climed upwards. "Left, you say?"

"We suspect," he looked at the others, and they nodded affirmation of what he was about to say. They had discussed the theory many times upon discovering the mines abandoned. "We believe the Quadav have willingly joined forces with the demons. The group we encountered in Zeruhn Mines were not the nightmarish breed we've seen wandering the city. They were normal Quadav."

"The fools . . . " Zeid murmured, and several sets of eyes fell on him in surprise before Invincible Shield began talking over him.

"Those blasphemous, ugly, cretinous . . . " the old soldier's fingers dug into the table as he placed them palm-first on its surface. "Quadav wandering the streets of Bastok. The very thought of it sickens me down to the bone."

"Steady, Ginuva," Volker said softly. The seasoned veteran looked over at Emblim with flashing eyes and an expressionless face. He had always found it impossible to tell what the man was thinking, and now was no exception. "Emblim, if you made it into Zeruhn Mines without a problem, how did the Quadav discover you?"

"It was my fault," Etrien replied hastily. "I misjudged when the raft would start floating back, and it made a lot of noise along the chains, and the Quadav came to investigate and - "

"No," he raised a single hand, cutting the young warrior off. "Securing transportation and infiltrating Zeruhn went flawlessly. It was my fault we were discovered."

"Oh?" Karst gestured for him to continue.

Emblim took a deep breath. Erilan clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly, and he offered the other Paladin a weak smile. Not making eye contact with anyone else at the table, he told them the truth. "I had to see it," he said simply.

"Had to see what, Captain?" Naji asked, and Ayame rolled her eyes.

"Bastok," he responded, looking off distantly. "I only saw it from afar, in Gustaberg. Zeruhn lets out directly into the mining district, I . . . I just wanted to see the city again." Once more he lowered his head at the memory of what he had found.

"Emb," Cid's voice was low, "what's happening in Bastok?"

"It's . . . " his voice left him. He realized he was trembling, and took a steadying breath. His nerves as calm as they were getting, he told them.

He told them about the Quadav roaming the streets freely. The tall, gray-skinned variety from Dynamis were massed in the mining district, overwhelming in number. Demons stalked across rooftops and flew through the skies, their hideous language filling the air. The regular Quadav troops patrolled the city, squads going back and forth as they exulted over the demolished buildings of their long-time foes. Everywhere he looked, there had been a smoldering ruin or burnt-out husk of their once-proud architecture. The sight of the Metalworks, high atop its perch looking over the city, engulfed in flames would stay with him longer than the lingering sent of heated cermet and melting darksteel. Their enemies in the city and their homes torn down was far from the worst of it, though.

Emblim took a good look around at the faces surrounding him as he spoke. President Karst was white with restrained fury, Cid held only a sad, mournful expression. Invincible Shield was visibly livid, and Iron Eater's eyes told of a similar fury. Naji looked close to tears, and from her hidden expression, Emblim guessed Ayame was in much the same state. Only Volker and Zeid remained unreadable, simply listening and learning.

So he told them about the bodies.

Some were stacked, like cordwood, awaiting their ultimate disposal. Some were simply left rotting in the streets. A few, here and there, had been strung up like warnings, but they were few and far between. It was clear there was nothing alive which required warning. He told them about the blood which stained the grounds of their city. Smeared handprints against white walls now stained brown, marking the desperate last moments of those they belonged to. Fighting the lump in his throat, he described as precisely as he could the corpses of every man, woman, and child whom the Dynamis horde had found. Splinters of wooden doors told of those whom had been forcibly torn from their homes and cut down in the streets. Piles of bodies in a dead-end alleyway spoke of a chase and a futile, panic-filled flight. Left to rot in the open air, vermin and birds feasted upon their desecrated remains. People Emblim recognized, some he even knew, were strewn like garbage across their own city. With as much detail as he could remember, he told them what he saw.

He told them about the families. He could not escape the picture of what he had seen in the streets of Bastok Mines. A father desperately clutching his son beneath him both laid face down, the ground stained with their blood. The older man's back was torn down to the bone where he had tried to use himself to shield his child.. Even after death, he had kept the boy underneath him, away from the swords and claws which had torn him apart. Still lodged in his body was the broken handle of the spear they had simply shoved through him to impale the boy. A mother lay face up, her stomach exposed, dried entrails rotting in the open air against her bloodied dress. A few feet away from her was a little girl, or at least the top half of her. Eyes stared blankly into nothing through tumbling blonde tresses matted together with blood from her mother's severed hand, which was still in the little girl's grasp.

Those who had not escaped Bastok found no refuge within it walls. Without exception, they were massacred by the demons.

His words cut off abruptly as he realized he had lost the will to speak them. Every eye was focused on him, but he could not go on. The gruesome sight which had greeted him when he tried to sneak into the city was etched into his mind forever. The wanton slaughter of Bastok's citizens had stilled his voice. Helplessly, he looked out at those assembled, hoping they realized what it took for him to describe what he had.

"Emblim," Atreides said from beside him, his hands clenched in silent prayer, "you have said enough. You do not have to remember any more."

He nodded, even knowing that the images would haunt him yet. "That is my report," he managed. "They discovered me outside the mines and gave chase. That is how we ended up here. It was my fault." Never had the thought of something made him feel so completely powerless. Hundreds of pairs of unblinking eyes stared up at him from Bastok's bloodied streets. His hands clenched across the mail lining his gauntlets as he tightly shut his mind to the memory.

Nobody at the table spoke. The silence hung over them like a shroud. Pale faces greeted Emblim's news. Cid was visibly shaken by the news, and Karst had his white-knuckled hands digging into the table. Iron Eater and Invincible Shield avoided looking directly at anyone, and even Zeid had his eyes downcast. Volker accepted the news with a silent, blank visage, though his shoulders trembled at Emblim's words.

It was Karst who broke the silence, clearing his throat as he rose. His almond-colored eyes glanced around the assemblage, and then he spoke.

"So that settles that. It's time to move on." He cast his eyes upwards towards his hulking bodyguard. "Iron Eater, begin making preparations. Alert the camp. We head out immediately."

"Yes, sir," the Galka replied quietly, excusing himself from the table.

"What's going on?" Emblim queried, confused as to what had just happened.

"Hm?" Karst looked back at him, as if he hadn't heard. It took him a moment to register the Paladin's question. His mind was clearly elsewhere. "Oh, yes. Well, I'm busy now. Cid, you explain. I expect everyone to make preparations for departure as soon as you're done here. Meeting adjourned." The President of Bastok gave a perfunctory nod of his head, and then followed behind Iron Eater down into the twisting tunnels where the survivors of Bastok lay hidden.

"Cid?" Emblim asked suspiciously. "What's this all about?"

Solemnly, the Chief stood, looking gravely at the others. "Come with me," he beckoned, gesturing them to follow him down the caverns of Korroloka Tunnel. Emblim and the others looked around, exchanging glances of uncertainty.

"I see no point in this, we can simply be told whatever we need to know," Feldin murmured.

"Some things can only be believed by seeing them, though," Atreides countered.

Feldin scoffed. "A fine sentiment for a man of the cloth." he quipped.

The White Mage stood, quirking an eyebrow. "Don't be obstinate simply for the sake of it, Sorcerer. I'm going to follow Chief Cid."

"Aye, there's nothing to be gained from sitting here any longer, clearly," Erilan acknowledged as he rose from his chair. "Whatever's going on, we'll likely need to know about it." The Paladin adjusted his sword strap, looking over at Emblim. "Coming?"

The dark-haired Hume nodded. "Etrien, you come with us, too."

The boy looked startled. "Me?"

"Of course." He turned to face the sandy-haired youth. "You can't go back to Konschtat now with the tunnel blocked. You're with us, now."

"Oh . . . " his face made it plain he had not considered that aspect of his situation, but then it quickly brightened again. "Alright then, sir, I'll make the Mythril Musketeers proud."

Emblim smiled. "I have no doubt."

"Glorious," Feldin sighed. "I believe I shall follow the engineer, if only to escape the fear of retching." The blond Elvaan pushed his seat out, smoothing his dark robes before marching off after Cid. They all followed shortly thereafter, wisely keeping their distance from the irritated Black Mage.

When they caught up to Cid, he was in the base camp of the Bastokan survivors. There were a scattering of military standards and rough lean-tos, but mostly just tents backed up against the walls of the tunnel. There were crude firepits dug around communcal cooking areas. Guards formed a circle around the encampment, fending off the wandering monsters which inhabited the tunnel. Against so large a gathering, they steered clear anyway, merely watching curiously from afar. People waved to the Paladin as he passed by, smiling and bowing. Two boys ran in a circle around him, laughing as they played their game of knights and goblins. Emblim was taken aback by the number of women and children, or elderly and infirm amongst their numbers. Able-bodied men seemed to be the minority by a vast number. He was about to ask why that was when Cid began speaking.

"Y'see, Bastok's got a pretty darn good set of emergency procedures. You should know about them, Emblim."

He nodded. "I was actually hoping to find some survivors in the tunnel." He looked back at the San d'Orians, noting their curious eyes. "Bastokans have a standard evacuation procedure for civilians in the event of invasion. Just like I noted you have in San d'Oria."

Erilan confirmed the truth of it. "Yes, we have tunnels set up through the royal Chateau which can be accessed through several points. But this time the invasion came from inside the city - the demons just started appearing in the southern district."

Cid nodded, leading them forward. "It was the same here. One minute it's all quiet, the next the mines are overrun." He hung his head with a sigh. "We would've saved a lot more if they'd shown up in the Markets district, or the port, or . . . " he trailed off. Straightening himself, the old engineer hurried on. "C'mon, we're almost there."

"You were saying, about the evacuation?"

"Right," Cid responded to Emblim, "right. So, the Metalworks naturally has a number of escape routes. So do the barracks, and there's another out through the residential district. We keep another in the Chocobo Stables, thank Altana for that one, and one hidden in the Auction House at the markets. Those are just a few - Bastok's designed to keep its people safe."

"So why are there so few of us here, Cid?" Emblim gestured back at the camp. "Did something happen to the tunnels?"

A half-grin broke out on the Chief's face. "Nope, the escape routes are fine."

"Then . . "

"We did make it out, Cid. A lot of us. Everyone in Metalworks, practically, except for the Musketeers who stayed behind. Everywhere except the mines, soldiers were our biggest casualties, because they were fighting to get the civilians out."

Emblim scratched his head. "I don't understand. Where is everybody?"

"We moved 'em out, Emb. We're already out in Rabao. Got 'em out into Altepa, and then out to safety. We were staying behind to make sure there weren't any stragglers. Once you came and let us know about the people in the city . . . " he sighed somberly, shaking his head. "Well, ain't no more point to staying here now. No one else will be joining us."

"Mr. Chief?" Etrien spoke up, and they turned to face him. "There were other survivors, sir. In the outlying villages, a lot of us got away. Once Sir Emblim and Sir Erilan freed us from the Marquis Decarabia, the villagers in Konschtat got away, too."

"That's real good, lad," Cid said, offering him a smile. "and I hope the best for 'em out there, but with the tunnel blown we're on our own now." He noted the crestfallen look on Etrien's face. "Don't make any mistake, it warms my heart to know there's more Bastokans out there. And one day we'll get 'em all back, too."

"Cid, this is great though," Emblim said excitedly, raising a gauntlet to shield his eyes as they stepped out into sunlight. He realized they had exited the tunnel, and the scathing winds of the Altepa Desert started whipping at his skin. Above them the sun still burned brightly, not yet touched by the pall of Dynamis. Atreides smiled broadly, closing his eyes and raising his face to the light. Even Feldin sighed with relief, letting the heat wash over him. They stood on a precipice, high above the bleached desert, its rolling dunes sweeping out in front of them for miles. "If we've got so many in Rabao, we can take the time to reorganize and counter-attack. I'm sure we can clear the tunnel, or find another way around. Once we're ready we can march into Bastok and reclaim the city."

Cid squinted into the distance. "There's a problem with your plan, Emb." He raised a finger out towards the horizon. "One we didn't know about until after we'd already put nearly all our people smack in the middle of it."

Puzzled, Emblim followed Cid's finger with his eyes. Peering forward, he covered his eyes and stared hard into the endless twirling sands of Altepa.

His heart froze within him as he saw what Cid was indicating.

Battle standards, just barely visible on the edge of the undulating sands. At first he thought it might be a mirage, an illusion brought on by the heat and fatigue, but when they began moving he knew there was no mistake. There was an army out there, carpeting the horizon, slowly moving across Altepa.

"No," Emblim whispered, but Cid's dour look confirmed his fears.

"It's the Anticans, Emb. They're massin' together in numbers we ain't seen since the Crystal War." He looked the Paladin square in the eye, making sure he understood the situation. "The largest Beastman army in Vana'diel is on the move, and we put the people of Bastok square in their path."

Desert winds assailed the Paladin as he looked out at the distant, slowly-moving black mass. Emblim stared at their numbers. They were miles and miles away, just a speck on the horizon, but so great that they occupied all of what the eye could see. A great sea of blond sands gave way to a line of black, spread out against the edges of the desert.

"Alright," the Bastokan said, his voice even, "so. How do we beat them?"

Erilan laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder as Cid gave him an incredulous look. With the sun climbing high overhead, Emblim made it clear that after all they had gone through, there was no way he was about to stop fighting now.