Chapter CVI: The Endless Landscape

North closed his eyes as the wind caressed him, a gentle touch drifting over his skin.  The tied drifted in, lapping at his feet and leaving tiny foam bubbles across the sun-drenched sand.  Across the horizon, the sea sparkled as if fireworks were exploding across its surface, the water constantly changing, rippling, flowing, moving with endless momentum wherever the tides bade it.  The Elvaan's iron-gray hair stirred in the wind, lifting from his scalp only to droop back down, and he gave a contented sigh as the scents of the sea breeze mingled with those of the island and wafted past. 

"There are dolphins," he said, pointing towards the shimmering sea, "just a few hundred malms out.  A whole pod, seeking warmer water.  They're further south than they've ever been before."

"They're explorers," November mused, shuffling through the sand to stand beside him.  "Adventurers, seeking their fortune, letting the sea take them where it might."

North said nothing, not wanting to break the romanticized imagining of dolphin life.  He could sense their confusion, their doubt, their pain at being so far from familiar surroundings.  Then again, he considered, perhaps that was part of the adventurer life as well.  Maybe November's assessment was not terribly off-base. 

Purgonorgo's sand crunched through his fingers as he stood, and he let it slip between them and become lost again in the bright beach with its infinite companions.

"I feel like those dolphins do," North muttered, chin drooping towards his chest. 

The tide splashed around his ankles as he looked down.  A moment later and Virtue's voice called to them from her home, beckoning them inside.


The white witch's house was a simple place, a hut of graying wood with a thatched straw roof.  A dirt path led from the beach through Purgonorgo's tropical foliage to her doorstep.  Tiny animal tracks embedded in the soil told short stories of prowling, romping, chasing, and stalking.  North followed them with his eyes as they made their way through the brush, enjoying the tales in every step.  They ran right up to Virtue's door, a collection of planks nailed together and painted cherry red.  Smoke was puffing up from her chimney, despite the tropical heat of the island.

As he opened the door, a hiss of air and a flash of light birthed a flame as Virtue lit a candle, placing it in circle of others on the musty floorboards of her house.  The sunlight streaming in through her solitary window illuminated countless particles of chalk in the air, rising from the six-pointed star she had drawn on the floor.  The smoke from the scented candles was creating a thin, sweet-smelling haze which drew a veil over the room.  North sniffed, detecting the aroma of flowers and herbs not native to the small island.

Virtue's home was littered with a collection of curiosities.   Stout wooden shelves housed rows of books of all shapes and sizes, bound in leather, tied in string, made of paper or parchment.  Some were old and musty, with dog-eared pages and worn covers, others looked practically brand new.  On her wall was mounted a collection of insects, dried and preserved, pinned and labeled in a velvet case.  Maps of areas North had never ventured to were strewn in a corner, alongside stacks of boxes marked in languages ranging from common to Old Elvaan to runic symbols.  Of those he could read, North saw one labeled "Clothes," another "Songs," and yet another "Tonberries."

Odd mathematical instruments cluttered a desk situated before the window.  From their arrangement their purpose seemed to be divided between actual study and weighing down the papers beneath them.  Papers and scrolls were scattered in piles across the maple-wrought desk or shoved into drawers and shelves lining the wall.  Atop one of them was also a glass jar with what looked like an Orc hand preserved inside.  This was just a sampling of the strange an inexplicable collection of the white witch.

Virtue stood up, brushing chalk and dust from the knees of her white frock.  Her star, two overlapping triangles, filled half the room.  Each of its six points contained a runic symbol beyond North's reckoning.  A chalk circle encompassed its entirety, and in the middle of it, laying where Virtue had bade him place it, was Guttler.

"I don't understand," he swallowed, reflexively placing a hand over the scar on his chest.  "None of this was necessary when you aided November."

Virtue crossed the room, taking him by the hand and leading him into the center of the star.  "Lie down," she commanded, being careful not to step on any of the chalk markings herself.

"Tell me what all this is, Virtue," he demanded, standing over Guttler.  It stirred in his presence, but its malice was noticeably subdued.

"Guttler's teeth bit November but once, and she was afflicted with the same choking curse it transfers onto everything.  Few enough survive the axe to realize that it inflicts this suffering upon all that it cuts into.  It is strong, not easily broken, but all her healing required was essentially physical recovery and removal of the curse."

"And what makes this different?"  November stepped towards her.  "This pattern - these preparations - you needed none of them to help me."

"You don't matter to Guttler," the witch told her frankly.  "When it cut you those years back it made no distinction between you and anything else it has hunted.  You received a wound and a curse, both curable without extraordinary means."  She turned her head back towards North, ageless face inscrutable.  "You, on the other hand, Guttler is actively trying to kill.  Even if I remove the curse for now it will inflict it again.  It will fight you, fight against you, turn on you.  The cure for your ill can only be achieved by confronting its source."

North felt a stab of pain his chest as he looked at the axe.  "And how do I do that?"

"Lie down," Virtue told him again, "and take Guttler in your hands."

Silently, she moved towards the cast-iron stove tucked into the corner.  Flames licked the black metal as she opened the hatch, using tongs to remove a tin cup hung over the fire. The amber broth within steamed and bubbled, and North eyed it warily as she brought it towards him.  She repeated her command with her eyes, and reluctantly he obeyed.  Taking the silver-bladed axe by the hilt, he lay down in the center of the star, back pressing against the floorboards as Virtue leaned over him.  Carefully, she extended the cup with the tongs, taking care not to step within the chalk circle itself.

"Open your mouth," she told him. 

"What is all this for?"  He demanded, even as he did so.  She poured the liquid down his throat, and he licked his lips after swallowing.  It tasted like syrup and lemongrass, and he coughed twice before getting it down.

Virtue withdrew, watching North intently.  "I am sending you to meet Guttler," she explained.  "This seal is for protection."

"To guard me from the axe?"

She shook her head once.  "You are on your own, from this point on.  The seal is to protect us."

"What - "

Something suddenly grasped his heart, biting and twisting with teeth made of fire.

He convulsed, trying to shoot up, but found himself pinned to the floor.  The chalk was melting into his skin, and Guttler had burst into black flame against his chest.  Virtue's dark eye were upon him as flame engulfed him entirely, his cries unable to escape his frozen throat.  The world tore open around him, and fire consumed all. 

North screamed with all his being, but his voice was lost in the void which swallowed him up, Guttler's booming laughter following him into the dark.


November looked at North's body, sleeping peacefully on the floor of Virtue's cottage.  He was gravely still, and looked far too much like a corpse with his arms crossed over his chest and Guttler upon him as it was.  Still, he gave no sign of discomfort or distress.  Moments after the witch's tonic had passed his lips he had fallen deep into slumber, and she had kept vigil by his side.

"Will this cure him?"  She asked of Virtue.

"No," the witch raised a hand to silence November's immediate reaction, "but it will provide him with the means to cure himself.  The rest is up to North."

"Then all is well," the Summoner declared.  "North cannot fail."

"I hope the same is true of us."  Virtue gave a weary sigh, sinking into a wicker chair near her desk.  Through some trick of the sunlight, November thought, or odd shadow cast by the particles of dust in the air, she suddenly seemed a much older.  The white witch hunched over the table, the streaks of gray cutting through her hair like twin snowfalls from her temples.  She turned towards November with her eyes hooded, a grave look on her ageless face.  "The demons have followed you."

She gave a slight gasp, but quickly collected herself.  "This was not unexpected.  I will protect us while North sleeps."

"Then steel yourself well, November, for they come in numbers, and with murder in their hearts."


The pain left North with a gasp which emptied his lungs.  He collapsed on the ground, head bowed as sweat dripped from his chin and brow.  His hair was matted with perspiration, and the whole of his skin felt hot to the touch.  Eyes closed, he clenched his fingers and grit his teeth, composing himself with no small effort.  Some time passed before he was able to raise his head and stare out across the landscape.  What he saw there locked him in place.

In the distance, further off than a hawk's eye would easily perceive, lightning rained down from roiling clouds suspended over jagged peaks which scraped the sky.  Above him was naught but gray, a grim and lightless sight which stretched on without end.  Suddenly he became aware that a rain, so light as to be a mist, was washing over him.  It left no mark or ripple as it touched the ground, for indeed there was no ground to speak of.

What it was he was crouched upon, he could not say.  It seemed almost a liquid, though he rested upon its surface without sinking.  Colors shifted and swirled below the surface, a maelstrom light flickering and flashing with no discernible pattern.  Here and there images he thought he recognized appeared only to vanish before he could process what they were.  His nails scraped against it as he stood, but the ground rippled and restored itself like a pool disturbed.  The rain continued to fall as North looked around the vast, lifeless landscape surrounding him.  He was unclothed, naked against the elements, yet felt neither warmth nor chill as the wind sifted through his iron-gray hair.

He needed only to look across his surroundings once before taking notice of the rock jutting up through the liquid surface below him.  Several yalms off it stood, the lightning in the distance and the swirl of colors beneath him casting a wicked gleam across its surface, was Guttler.

It was embedded, blade-first, into the protruding rock.  A rumble of thunder crashed somewhere far-off as the two became aware of each other.

Tiny pebbles began to shake free from the craggy stone, and a low growl filled the air.  North braced himself as a wave of contempt swept over him, more powerful by far than the wind or rain.  His heels dug into the ground, impossibly finding traction.  He questioned it not.  At Guttler's core, a lick of flame sprang forth as the axe began glowing red.  The sensation of malice was palatable.

North scowled.  Defiantly, he ran forward, arm outstretched, to tear the blade free from the rock and drag Guttler to submission.  A wall of flame erupted from the weapon, and the Beastmaster halted close enough for them to singe the hairs on his arms.  He bound backwards like a rabbit, halting as he stared into the flames.

The fire was shifting, congealing from a shapeless mass into a distinct form.  As North watched, spellbound, what had been uncontrolled flame formed claws and teeth, eyes and a snout, arms and legs all composed of Guttler's acrimonious blaze.  The fire-beast stood tall as a Behemoth, and thunder answered its call as it reared its head back and let a howl shake the land.  It resembled in some ways an enormous dog or wolf, but was a creature altogether the stuff of blackest nightmare.

Blistering heat and bloodlust swept over North as the rain began to intensify.  Thin drops were now prodding at him, needle-like, as he cast a hateful glare at the beast.  Its flames leaped at him, targeting him clearly, yet they did not burn.  He cast his voice to the wind, howling greater yet than it had.

"Be you weapon or beast, fire or flesh, I will bend you to my will, and failing that I shall exterminate once and for all your blighted presence!  I will not yield!"

The beast roared, and both came forward to join in mortal combat.


"What manner of protection do we have?"

Virtue waved off the question dismissively.  "Had we enough I would not have even mentioned the demons coming.  No sigil or ward will hold them long.  The most we can hope is delay, but this late in the afternoon it only works in their favor."  She cast a look towards the round sun, hanging low in the sky.  "Night is no ally to us, November."

"How long until North recovers?"  the Summoner asked, casting a worried look back towards Virtue's isolated house.  They had moved outside, into the dense rock and jungle which naturally defended the white witch's home.  The wildlife North had so enjoyed when they arrived had grown silent, and an unsettling stillness had gripped Purgonurgo Isle.

Virtue looked at her gravely.  "Minutes, or perhaps years.  Perhaps he will die in the next moment.  He faces Guttler itself in the realm of his own soul."

"Die?"  November sputtered.  "You said nothing of death!"

"It was not important."

"How?  How could the chance that he might die in this undertaking not be important?"

"Because if he did not do it, he would definitely die," she told her, eyes glinting.  "I gave him a fighting chance.  The rest lies with him.  Do not let your confidence in him waver."

November glared sharply at the white witch, but turned away without response.  Her faith in North was unshakable, but under these conditions she could hardly be optimistic.  "I am not concerned for his success, for he is North, King of Beasts, and there is no foe he cannot tame.  I worry we shall falter in this task and demons will take him as he sleeps."

"Then you will have failed, and forfeit my aid in any case, because I am counting defending my home now as payment for my services."  She had taken a long staff from her home, and let it lead her now as they walked.  "Come with me.  Time is short, and we must plan our defense with all haste.  This island is ill-prepared for such a siege, but we must do what we can with what we have."

"Do you know how many of them we face?"

"Too many," the white witch replied, leaning for a moment heavily upon her staff.  "But whether or not we are overwhelmed shall be determined before the night is out."

November followed Virtue out into the bleached sands of Purgonurgo as the sun dipped towards the restless ocean. The witch faced the tide, head tilted skyward. November felt a chill run through her as the wind suddenly changed direction, gentle breeze transforming into a harsh and biting gust. The sand at their feet tore up from the ground and sprayed outwards as Virtue lifted her staff towards the heavens. Tiny granules assaulted them, and November pulled her robe over her face defensively as the wind cut across the island. A blast of air howled past her, nearly knocking the Summoner from her feet, and then in an instant the wind ceased, returning to its gentle state.

Lowering the folds of her black-and-white robe, November blinked sand from her eyes and looked out upon the beach. All across Purgonurgo, etched into the sand, stone, and soil, lines radiating from the point where Virtue stood had been carved out by the wind. Snaking and twisting along the island, a complex web gripped the isle, and November's eyes widened as she felt the steady pulse of eldritch force emanating from the ground all about her.

"This ward will tell us when they arrive, and offer us some defense. As long as its power holds, they shall be weakened while on the island, while our own powers shall be in a small way augmented." Virtue lowered her staff, but seemed unsteady as her hands grasped at it. She leaned on it like a crutch, but only for a moment before straightening. "They will be forced now to wait for nightfall, when their strength is greatest."

"That gives us hours yet to prepare."

"You prepare," Virtue huffed, shaking off whatever weariness she exhibited a moment before. "I will go fix something to eat."

Her ageless face seemed twenty years older for a moment as she turned from the sun, but her stride was strong as the White Witch left November on the beach, alone with the tide, the sand, and a growing sense of dread.


The beast came again, fangs of fire clamping down over North as he pressed his heels into the liquid ground. Where he saw only flame, his fingers found substance, and he held the creature by tooth and by mane as they grappled. His own teeth were bared, eyes alight with the blaze which did not burn. Though  Guttler's fire engulfed him, the only heat he felt was that of his own rage.

"You will kneel to me, monster!" He said from behind clenched teeth. "I will see you bow or I will see you broken!"

It only howled in response, tearing itself away from his grasp and swatting at him with burning claws. Though the fire was harmless, flesh was torn away from him. North staggered back instinctively, clutching at his chest to find a fresh red rip stretching down the length of the scar Guttler had already given him. His blood bubbled and boiled away in the heat. The rain was coming down in torrents now, washing over both of them and leaving the beast only a ruddy glow behind he sheets of water. No matter how much poured down, it would not extinguish. North sneered at it, wiping wet strands of hair from his face.

The beast lunged, and North quickly sidestepped its claws. He delivered a swift kick across his muzzle which it barely even acknowledged. It came at him with its maw wide, but he ran directly at it, leaping up as it lowered its head to bite him, and planted his foot in its snout. Immediately it jerked backwards, but North used the momentum to gracefully propel himself into the air. At the apex of his flight, he spun completely around and extended his leg. He gathered speed like a plummeting stone, and came down directly upon the back of the beast's neck like a guillotine. It collapsed forward, and North went with it, skidding to a halt some dozen or so feet away. No sooner had he regained his feet than it was already recovered, howling with fury at the assault.

Surging forward through the rain, North closed the distance between himself and the beast and sprang into the air. It snapped at him with its jaws, but he twisted acrobatically and evaded. When he landed upon its back, he grabbed fistfuls of what his eyes told him was fire but his hands perceived as thick strands of hair. It roared as he pulled back upon it, rearing off the ground, trying to dislodge him. North held firm, digging his heels into its sides and pulling even harder. The rain was pouring so hard it felt as if his skin was being scoured, yet still the flames of Guttler's monster burned. Lightning danced around them, and deafening thunderclaps shook the endless landscape. The Beastmaster was tossed like a rag doll as the beast thrashed, yet still he held on.

Then, with a roar to rival the thunder, the beast reared as high as it could, and then came down upon the aqueous ground. The shockwave rattled every bone in North's body, and the surface beneath them, which had shown not a ripple or divot or any sign of disturbance through their entire struggle suddenly surged outwards. With a mighty heave, the beast finally broke North's grasp, and the air rushed from his lungs as he struck the ground. The flaming creature loomed over him, paw raised in the air. Its malice was so intense that it burned where fire could not.

In the next instant, the ground it had forced away came rushing back like the tide. One moment North lay on his back with the beast perched over him, and the next he was overcome with the feeling of being swept away by some massive undertow. When he gasped for air, his eyes shot open and he found himself now surrounded by darkness.

The beast was there with him, the shining silver blade of Guttler gleaming at its core. Together they fell, no end or beginning in sight, and North realized that the were going to fall forever.


Virtue turned an eye on North as he lay perfectly still within her circle of protection. His breathing had grown shallow, but he gave no other sign of anything he might be feeling. Resting on his chest, Guttler was dull and silent. A draft blew in from an open window, and the candles surrounding him flickered. For a moment, the flames cast a shadow which resembled some manner of great beast, but the impression faded in the blink of an eye.

The White Witch stood, leaving her ceramic plate on the table. The last few scraps of her meal went untouched. Outside, the last feeble rays of sunlight were sinking beneath the waves. Never before had the darkness swallowing the mainland felt so near.

She took one last look about her ramshackle little house, allowing a thin smile as she stepped out the front door.

In the distance, close to the shore, a jet of fire suddenly filled the night. The sound of beating wings and guttural howls was near, much nearer than she would have thought.

Resolutely, Virtue took hold of her staff and swiftly walked towards where November was. She had done everything she could for them.

Now it was time to die.

Chapter CV: Scars

"Blood," Guttler's unmistakable voice cried out, "Me want more blood!"

"Blood," North's voice echoed, and the ragged sound of his own breath slowly draining from his chest scratched at his ears.

He was stripped to the waist, ankle-deep in mud as rain slicked down his taut, powerful muscles.  The Sanctuary of Zi'Tah was silent save for the constant beating of the late summer storm upon the canopy of trees.  The soft forest loam mixed with centuries of fallen leaves and undergrowth now formed a thick stew of muck at his feet.  It was cold, but steam rose from North's arms and torso as his palm dug into Guttler's rigid hilt.

As rain washed over him, the blood coating his forearms and torso ran down across the white fur coating his legs, staining it red and brown.  He blinked water from his eyes, looking out at a world tinted the same colors.  His breath escaped from him again, slow and ragged, rattling like an animal trapped in a cage.

Yards away from him, desperately clutching at the staff held in its thin-fingered grip, the remaining Goblin cast its gaze about for the escape which had eluded its fellow.  Four others lay face down in the mud, the dark blood pouring from their wounds mingling with the rain and soil.  The ground was red around their corpses, and the stench of death rose up, clinging to the blood-smeared trees.

"Please," the Goblin pleaded, its knobby knees shaking in the mud, "please don't kill me."

"Blood," North spat, watching it run from his hands.  Without it coating his body he felt the chill the rain ushered in.  His steely, gray-eyed gaze settled on the Goblin.  He needed more blood.

Raising Guttler's silver blade, he took a step forward.  The Goblin reared back, a sob escaping from behind its leather mask.

A tree fell behind him, the deep trench Guttler had cut in it finally giving way.  The flames licking at its bark were quelled as it splashed into the muck.  Ash swept up past North's feet, but the fire and the smoke were quickly being suppressed by the rain pouring down from the sagging gray sky.  A wave of heat did nothing to warm him.  Only blood could thaw the ice in his veins.  Guttler's deep voice urged him on, guiding his hand towards what it desired - what he desired.

Panicking, the Goblin threw lightning from its staff.  North stopped, his vision blurring as the muscles in his chest constricted.  The stench of his own sizzling flesh filled his nostrils.  His lip curled back, saliva dripping from his teeth as his arm pulled back of its own accord, dragged by Guttler over his head as he felt his legs keep pumping.  Mud sucked at his feet as he pulled them free, advancing on the beastman as a howl he was barely aware he was making escaped his lips.  It screamed, terrified, placing its hands in front of its face as North bore down upon it, Guttler still drenched in the blood of its companions.

The mud struck his arm like a lash, wrapping around his forearm with a tautness it should not have possessed.  He lurched, halted in mid-stride as his feet flew out from underneath him.  His whole body twisted, trying to anchor itself to something as the dirt and water pulled him down.  Tendrils of mud wrapped tight around him, and he sank into the bubbling goop which greedily swallowed him up.

He opened his mouth, snarling out a protest, when his tomb of muck sealed up around him, embedding him beneath the ground as rain continued to pound down upon the Sanctuary of Zi'Tah.

All at once, the ground hardened and cracked, the mud becoming thin, fragile clay.  A great pulse of heat boiled away rainwater and turned the dark-brown loam a pale tan.  The flames surrounding them roared higher, defying the downpour as they exulted in the new life being breathed into them by Guttler's rage.  North tore free of his earthen constraints, his bestial eyes searching for the power which had dragged him down.  With a throaty grunt, he spun round, the muscles in his arms twitching as he laid eyes on his attacker.

November was nearly doubled over, her hand clutched across the gaping wound splitting open her side.  Her eyes were glassed, her face haggard as she breathed in slow gasps.  Her green robes were stained with mud and blood.  She was leaning heavily on her staff, the golden jewel affixed to the top of it sparking and pulsing intermittently.  Behind her, the normally monstrous body of the Earth Avatar, Titan, appeared ephemeral, as if only halfway between this world and the next. 

"Run," she rasped at the lone Goblin, which had stumbled back against the trees, clutching and sobbing, scratching at the bark with yellowed nails.  It blubbered at her incoherently, looking back and forth from her to North to its dead companions, bleeding out in the dirt.

"Run!" She screamed at it again, and North's powerful legs carried him forward, growling insanely as he swung Guttler towards her.

Titan's fist caught the blade in the air, and a great shockwave shook the trees around them.  The fire immediately surrounding them died as the wind rushed away, starving it in an instant.  Black flames ran the length of Guttler's blade as North pressed forward, racing up Titan's arm and sinking beneath his rocky skin.  The Avatar's figure faded, losing substance one second and gaining it the next as November's staff erupted in a fountain of golden light.  Sweat ran down her face, black hair clinging to her in matted clumps as she forced all of her might into maintaining Titan's presence.

North tore Guttler free and struck again, and with that second strike the mountainous form shattered like glass, all that he was dissolving into the mud beneath.

November collapsed forward, but instantly North's hand was on her throat.  The breath left her body in a rush as she was slammed down, sinking into the mud as the Beastmaster clenched down, a froth at his mouth as he raised Guttler up again.  She stared feebly, no power left in her to resist.  North was choking the life from her, the silver-bladed axe crying out to have its thirst slaked.

And then the Goblin was there, a flurry of shrill screams and furious strikes with its staff, engulfed in an aura of air so cold that North's skin turned black where it struck.  The Elvaan rolled off of her, tumbling through the wet sod.  Leaves and mud clung to them as they struggled, North caught off-guard by the ferocity of the attack.  It struck at him with its tiny gnarled staff and scratched at him with long, broken fingernails, leaving jagged scratches in his skin.  Between gasps and sobs and foul curses it beat at him with arctic air.  November found the strength to roll over, trying with flagging strength to push herself up from the muck.

The assault lasted all of a handful of seconds before North lashed up like a snake, his teeth sinking into the Goblin's neck.  It cried out in agony as he bit down, tearing away with a bloodied chunk of flesh in his teeth.  It staggered back, but before its feet had fully sunk down into the ground, Guttler separated its head from it body.  The two pieces hit the ground with a wet thud, turning the mud a murky red.

North hunched his shoulders, and the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears.  It was a slow, aching rasp, the rattle of a starving beast.  His skin was burning, even where the Goblin's ice had frozen his flesh to the point of hypothermia.  With the hand not grasping Guttler, he brushed the coarse and bloodied strands of hair from his eyes, grunting as he sniffed the air.

November was standing in front of him, he realized, and even as Guttler reflexively came into the air, she smeared her hand across his shallow and unshaven face.

"Here, North," she choked, "here is my blood.  Take all that you want."

A coppery taste filled his mouth as November collapsed in front of him.  Her hand left a crimson trail down his neck and chest, cutting off at his abdomen as she fell face-first into the mud.  He stood still, rolling the taste on his tongue, letting his mouth hang open as blood ran down his cheek.  Another flavor mingled with it, a bitter, salty tang which left him numb.

Guttler sank into the ground, its hilt toppling into the mud as North fell to his knees.  A wail broke from his lips, a mournful howl which was carried by the wind through the Sanctuary of Zi'Tah and into the weeping skies above.

"November," North sobbed, his tears disappearing into the rain, "what have I done?"

She gave no response.  She only hung limply in his arms as he clung to her.  He looked at his hand in horror as it slid up the side of her robe, covered in blood from a wound he had dealt her.

"Keftenk," he muttered, and then raised his voice to a shout.  "Keftenk!"

The forest was still, rain squelching the last of the flames borne from Guttler's rage.  Then, from behind a charred cedar a figure stirred.  Keftenk, his face ashen, peered uncertainly out from behind the tree, eyes darting about the scene in abject terror.

With a mighty heave, North took hold of Guttler's hilt, screaming as black fire raced up his arm, and hurled it towards the other Beastmaster.  It splashed into a brown puddle, and Keftenk looked down at it in wide-eyed horror.  He clung to the tree, his words coming out as incomprehensible blubbering.

"Take it," North growled as he stood, cradling November in his arms.  "Take it to the dragon's treasure, and leave it there."

"M . . .Master . . . " North's apprentice stammered.  His eyes were still filled with fear, but now also desperation as he bit his lip.  His diremite familiar was pushed back into the bush, unwilling to venture out. 

"DO IT NOW!"  The Elvaan's voice shook Zi'Tah, and before he knew what he was doing, Keftenk had stooped down and taken hold of Guttler's handle.  He swallowed hard, holding it like a live serpent.  The axe was spouting furiously at North as he turned his back.

"I'll make this better," he was whispering to November, "I promise, I promise, I will make this right."

Keftenk watched his Master disappear into the Sanctuary of Zi'Tah, holding the Summoner close. 

When next they met, it would be in the Valley of Sorrows.


North awoke to the feeling of a cold spray hissing as it drizzled across his face.  His eyes squeezed tight once, then opened to find the strangest thing greeting him.  A ray of sunlight was streaming down from above, and the sun peeked out from behind a string of puffy white clouds drifting lazily across the sky.

The pain in his cheek and his chest were stabbing at him, though they felt dulled today.  Whether it be that it had actually subsided or because he had grown used to it, he could not say.  His stomach rumbled with hunger, and he slowly sat up, taking care of an ache in his back which was explained when he realized he had been sleeping on rounded wooden logs.

He looked out at his surroundings, and inhaled deeply as a warm breeze blew over him from across the sparkling depths of the blue sea.

"November," he said, "I notice we are now quite far from Onzozo."

His response came in the form of a smart rap on the back of his head.  He turned, rubbing the spot she had struck as he turned to look up.  The Summoner was there, hands now gripped tightly on the tiller of the wooden ferry which bobbed up and down on the waves gently buffeting the craft.  Gingerly, he started to stand.

"Don't strain yourself," November warned him.  "You'll pass out again."

"I'm fine," he replied, bracing himself against the railing.  With some effort, he managed to upright himself, surprised at how weak he still felt.  Contrary to his physical weariness, he was more alert and awake than he remembered being in a long time, even during their trek through Buburimu.  Squinting across the sun-dappled sea, he peered off into the horizon.  All around them the water stretched, frothing happily around their small vessel as it rocked them to and fro.  The gentle hum of the motorized engine driving it forward was interrupted only by the calls of ocean birds.  He breathed in the sea air, savoring its taste. 

"The darkness hasn't stretched this far," November observed, voicing his thoughts.  "I'm glad you're awake.  You've been in and out for days, I hoped you'd be able to enjoy the sunshine."

He did not reply, only stared out into the sea.  The last few days were lost in a shroud of pain and half-remembered flights from the Baronet Romwe and his demons.  He remembered November carrying him onward, always onwards, as they moved south.  Of how they came to be on the open water he did not know, but he was thankful now to be awake again, and once more aware of his surroundings.

Slowly, his eyes slid down the craft towards the shaggy furs he had been laid out upon.  The kraken club was resting in place, laid out beside his gloves and horned, fur-lined helm.  It twitched occasionally as the waves rocked the ferry, the enchantment upon it amusingly reacting to the motion.  The weapon seemed almost puzzled as to what it should be doing.

Then he found Guttler, on the opposite side of his blankets as the club.  The axe was still, eerily so, making not a move or sound.  Just the sight of it made the scars across his chest and cheek begin to ache.  Unlike everything else on the ferry, it had not a drop of water on it, and the logs it rested on were bone dry and peeling.  As he looked upon it, the gleam of its silver blade flashed in the sunlight, and North averted his eyes.  He could look no more upon the cursed thing.

Instead, he made his way to the front of the boat, watching as it cut through the water, feeling the pulse of sea birds and schools of fish and crustaceans and reefs; the immense and intangible force of life which was now so absent from land.  He drank deeply from that well, relieved to once again feel in such magnitude the thoughts and impulses of the animals.

For a long while, they were both silent.  They listened to the whir of the engine, to the calls of the birds, to the endless rolling of the restless sea.  The sun was dipping west, but sunset would still be some hours off.  All was peaceful, and they were content.

A sharp pain like an electric shock against his cheek jostled North, and he put a hand to his jaw as he winced.  A sigh escaped his lips as the feeling passed, not fading away entirely, but becoming tolerable.

"We're going to Purgonurgo Isle."  It wasn't really a question.

"Yes," November said simply.

He turned towards her, a shame he had long thought buried in his eyes.  "November, I," his head dipped as words seemed inadequate.  "I had a vision as I slept.  I saw . . . I saw Zi'Tah, again."

Her face did not change, she merely adjusted the till again as they crested a wave.  Her eyes scanned the horizon, unreadable, and North looked away.

"Was Keftenk's fate my fault?  Would he have never gone back for the axe if I had cared enough to find him again?"  She gave no response, but he wasn't really looking for one.  He let himself slide down to a sit, turning his head towards her as he leaned against the ferry's rails.

"I failed many people when I took up Guttler.  I failed myself.  I failed you, November."

"You came back to yourself," she replied, making obvious effort to keep her tone steady.  Emotion choked her throat.  The memory was a hard one.

"And if I hadn't?  If I were a mindless slave of Guttler, no better off than Keftenk?"

"You did," her tone spoke more than her words, "that is all I wish to speak of this."

The pain came back to his chest, but as he squirmed in discomfort, he saw November wince as well.  Her breath was suddenly labored, and she shuddered slightly.  Her knuckles turned white on the till, but after a few moments she composed herself, relaxing her grip.  He grasped the rail again, pulling himself back up with a hard gaze directed her way.

"It still pains you?"  He asked in surprise.

She shook her head.  "I have not felt it in years, not since last we came here," as she spoke, her eyes moved towards Guttler, and then she closed them fiercely and turned away.  "But ever since you recovered the axe, it has ached again, off and on."

"Let me see."

Her head slumped slightly, damp black hair forming a veil around her face.  Slowly her hand drifted to her side, and she lifted the side of the short black-and-white robe she wore up to her midriff.

It was no more than a single red line now, but the scar from Guttler's bite remained.  He shuddered, the memory still vivid.  He could feel the shock of resistance up his arm as mystic steel met fragile flesh.  Her scream still echoed in his ears, the scent of her blood was fresh, the taste of her fear and terror.  As if sensing what was happening, Guttler suddenly gave a low rumble.  North's own scars began to burn, and in two quick steps he had made his way to the weapon, taking hold of it with a new-found fury.

"I should toss you into the ocean," he growled at it.  "I should rend you in the fires of Ifrit's Cauldron, or toss you into the Attowha Chasm.  I should rid this world of the blight you bring once and for all, and to hell with the oath I took!"

"North," November's tone was placating.

He stared at the axe, which was making biting and snarling sounds in his hand.  Disgusted, he tossed it back down, the blade sinking an inch into the wood and staying there.  His face a storm cloud, the Beastmaster stared out at the water again. 

"I forgave you a long time ago, North," she told him.  "You are a fine and noble man, and you took on a terrible burden."

"I might have killed you - "

"But you did not.  You regained yourself, and you have not gone down that path since.  You are a Beastmaster, not a beast."

He looked out over the horizon.  They would still be many hours on the water, with this painful topic between them.

"Let us change the subject, North," she once again could read his thoughts.  "The sunlight seems to keep Romwe away, and by nightfall we will have reached Purgonorgo Isle and be safe.  If we are to have a moment to speak of lighter things, this is it."

"You're right," he said, nodding.  The sea was dazzling, innumerable points of light dancing across its surface where the sun caressed it.  The air was warm, the water was cool, and they were surrounded once again by life.  It was a good day.

"What shall we discuss?"  November was smiling, seeing the change in North's demeanor as he relaxed.

His jaw set, and he looked about.  "Well, for starters," he began, turning to face her, "where did this boat come from?"


The sun had not quite yet finished its dip beneath the western sea when they made landfall   Scents of coconut and wildflowers wafted by, mingled with the tang of the ocean.  Purgonorgo's blond sands crunched beneath their feet as they walked ashore.  Cerulean crabs scuttled past as they waded onto the isle, and a great Uragnite, its browning shell covered in moss and algae, gave them a brief regard before turning away to do things which concerned it more. 

They tied the ferry securely, using a length of rope they had found in its stores to fasten it round a tree sprouting near the beach.  Guttler was muttering angrily, growling out half-formed words and protests, but, relatively, behaving itself.  There had been enough fighting during their flight to sate it temporarily, but as night fell it was growing restless.

North walked ahead, surveying the towering rock formations greeting them at the beach's edge which led to the inner parts of the isle.  It was there that their destination wait.

"We will have to find a way to announce ourselves," November advised.  "She will not like being surprised."

North nodded, feeling a choking fit coming on but suppressing it as best he could.  A few hacking coughs escaped, and November walked towards him in concern.  His scars were heating up again.

"It's nothing," he waved her off.  "I'll be fine.  Perhaps I can send Galahad ahead to alert the witch woman of our presence."

"Perhaps she already knows you're here."

Both of them looked up in surprise, and sure enough, her back to the rising moonlight, was the witch.  She was sitting atop a rocky outcropping, bare feet dangling over the side as she looked down at them.  Her dark, almond-shaped eyes were hidden by shadows, and her midnight-blue hair brushed behind her, carried by a salty sea breeze.  The white robe she had on was illuminated by the pale glow behind her, creating an aura all around her.  Lightly, she dropped down, falling nowhere near as fast as one should, and landed gently in the sand below.

"Welcome back, North," she spoke, her voice deep and smoky.  She was tall, as tall as he was, and though there was a streak of gray at either of her temples, her face seemed ageless.  "November," she nodded to the Summoner, "I am happy to see you again."

"How did you know we were coming?"  North queried her.  "Magic?"

"I keep a spyglass, I saw your boat some miles off."

"Oh," he was a little disappointed.  "We need your help again.  The curse - "

Before he could continue, another fit of coughing struck him.  The sand crunched under his fingernails as he fell to all fours, struggling to breath.  Guttler was laughing audibly, and the scars on his face and chest were burning like never before.  He gagged, and drops of red dotted the white sand beneath him.  November was already at his side, clutching him and saying things he couldn't hear. 

He took an amazingly deep breath.  It felt like all the tastes and smells of the entire island and all the ocean flowed into him at once.  It was the best breath he'd ever taken. Guttler made a noise he'd never heard come from it before, like the yelp of a wounded dog.

The witch removed her hand from his head, drawing it back with a serene expression.

"Thank you," November said fervently, "thank you."

"Do not thank me yet," her tone was grave.  "It was very different with you, November."  North slowly was making his way to his feet, panting as he recovered from the fit.

"Can you help me?"  He asked plaintively.

She nodded.  "Am I not Virtue, the white witch?  Come to my home, we shall begin in the morning."

"Why wait until then?"

"Do not be impatient, Lord of Beasts.  It will take some time to prepare for what must be done.  Besides, you look more than a little in need of some food and good sleep."

He heard a rumbling he knew did not come from his axe, and placed a hand over his aching stomach.  "Perhaps there is something to what you say," he admitted, and both she and November laughed.  After a moment, he joined in, and the three of them were soon on their way.

Dinner was a meal of noodles with butter, mixed in with fresh spinach and carrots and served hot with tomato sauce.  Crystal clear spring water washed it down, and Virtue had an astonishingly delicious dessert of ice cream she made herself from seaweed and antlion's milk, flavored with the cocoa bean which grew on the island.  After eating and talking, answering all the questions she had, Virtue gave him a tonic which sent him off to a deep, deep sleep, undisturbed by any pain or hellish dreams.

The next day, North would learn that the witch's cure was just as deadly as the disease.

Chapter CIV: The Wounded King

Clutching at the alabaster furs which protected him from the biting cold, North pressed forward through the bitter winds assailing Buburimu Peninsula. He kept his head held down, but it did little to shield his wounded face from the stinging pain in his cheek. When Bongo struck him with his bow, the heavy wooden weapon sliced directly across where Keftenk had cut his cheek open. A ugly, puffy scar now marred the Beastmaster's face, and every touch of the freezing cold further irritated it. It had grown black and puffy, and November feared he had an infection.

Guttler was like an anchor at his side. Strung from his belt, the ax constantly rumbled and growled to be given use. It sensed his weakness, trying to tug at his strings as it had done with Keftenk, and came away even more enraged when it found his will more indomitable. It alternated between being searing hot and ice cold, depending on its mood. More than once since they had started their journey, he had words with the relic weapon. The effect of his threats seemed to wear off faster and faster each time. At present it was mumbling about blood, and instead of trying to burn North, seemed content to weigh him down.

A few more miles, two days of travel at the most, and he would give Guttler all the blood it wanted. Its silver blade would drink deeply from the demons infesting Onzozo.

November trailed just behind North, her figure bundled up in a cloak and heavy furs. North looked back at her once, the cold wind bringing tears to his eyes, then turned forward again. He knew she hated feeling so helpless. It was her own power as a Summoner which prevented her from treating his wound or keeping them warm. While most of the nightmarish creatures infesting Buburimu had left, demons still patrolled the entire region. If she were to summon an Avatar it would be like sounding a gong to announce their presence. So she followed behind him, waiting patiently, despite the obvious pain it caused her to watch him struggle so.

His festering wound was the least of his concerns. Beneath his fur-lined leather jackcoat, he could feel the throbbing pain of the other mark Keftenk had given him. Across his entire chest, Guttler had ripped him open, and he had yet to fully heal. November had treated him as best she could, but it lingered as did the cut on his cheek. He did not tell her about the severity of the pain it gave him, but it felt like his skin was constantly tearing itself apart. Every time his coat rubbed against his skin a fresh wave of pain shot through him, and it was a struggle to keep moving. That he had managed to brush off as simply wanting to keep sure footing through icy ground.

The other side effect, unfortunately, had been more difficult to hide.

He felt it coming on again, bracing himself against what he knew was coming.

When it came, he first shuddered with his whole body. His chest constricted, the cut on it suddenly throbbing as if it might burst. The Elvaan raised a hand to his heart, clutching at his breast as his breath escaped from his throat in a dry wheeze. He managed to stagger forward a few more steps before sinking down. His knees struck the ground, and at his side Guttler felt heavier than ever.

"North!" He felt hands upon him as he gasped for air. The pain was blinding him, but he recognized November's voice. Every breath was like fire in his throat, and he choked, gagging as his fit worsened. Guttler was burning again, keeping him weighted down and trying to smolder through his clothes. Consciousness was starting to leave him. His lungs were burning. He could no longer draw breath. Distantly, the sound of November calling his name echoed as the air somehow became even colder than ever, and the sky had never been darker.

His chest rattled, thrusting up suddenly, and then the King of Onzozo went still.

He gasped as his eyes shot open, heart pounding like an earthquake in his chest. Involuntarily, his body shot up, sucking in air and reveling in its taste. For a drawn out moment he sat straight-backed and wide-eyed, trying to keep from hyperventilating. His ears twinged as the sound of rushing water filled them, and he turned rapidly to find its source. November was standing over him, wrapped in an ethereal blue aura

The ground at her feet was pulsing with magic, rising up and swirling all around her. Hands outstretched, she held a staff with a gleaming blue jewel attached to the end of it, a spark of the summoning magic she utilized still burning in its core. Around her, cerulean scales glistening as its serpentine body coiled tightly, the Avatar of Leviathan slowly faded from view, drops of his healing water still brushing lightly against North's skin. She lowered her hands, her blue-glowing eyes returning to their normal color as she looked down upon the Beastmaster.

"Thank Altana," she whispered fervently.

"No - " he sputtered, coughing violently before taking a long, gasping breath. "November," he managed, "do you realize what you've done? The demons - "

"North, you were going to die." Her voice was hard. "I will not stand by and watch that happen."

"This has happened before, I would have recovered! If you just gave me a minute - "

"North," she cut him off, "I started healing you half an hour ago."

He stopped, gaping at her momentarily. "That's impossible," he said bluntly.

"Look around," the Summoner swept her arm out, indicating their surroundings. His eyes darted quickly, assessing the situation. There were high rocks encircling them, and a narrow ledge leading down to a path below.

"This is not where we were."

She shook her head. "I had to move you. I've been trying everything I could to get you breathing normally. A few minutes ago you stopped entirely - I had no other recourse. I had to use magic."
Gingerly, North reached up and touched his face. The scar on his cheek was still there, and still throbbing. Beneath his coat, he could feel the mark on his chest burning as well. He had learned not to be surprised. Several times she had attempted to heal him, but Guttler's wounds stubbornly remained in place. Pain still wracked his body, but his breathing had returned to normal.

"This is south of where we had been," he noted. He could taste the salty tang of the Gugru Blue in the air, off to the east. They were closer to Mhaura than anywhere else.

"Yes."

"Why? Onzozo is the other way, November."

She glared at him. "North, you're dying." Her blunt tone caught him off-guard. "Guttler's curse is affecting you more and more every time it takes you. We have to get you to a healer."

"There is no time!" He cast his fist out angrily. "Every second we delay is one more moment the beasts of Onzozo suffer under the usurper who cast me out in the first place. He stole my kingdom from me, and I will reclaim it amidst a river of his blood."

"You will die," she told him, "and your kingdom will crumble."

"What would you have me do?" He raged. "I cannot sit by and let that demon scum occupy my throne!"

"We must heal you, North." Her voice was steadfast and determined. "We have to take you to the witch woman."

He scoffed at her. "That journey would take days we do not have!"

"And yet we will make it regardless, for I will not have you die and Onzozo fall into ruin!"

"November, you - "

He froze, the stinging wind slicing across his scar. A feeling like spiders crawling across his spine made him shudder, and a gasp escaped him. November started forward, worried that another fit was about to overtake him, but he threw a hand up in warning. A cloud of tingling darkness gathered at the base of his brain.

As a Beastmaster, North could feel the life energy of living creatures within a certain radius. Others of his ilk could sense monsters within a short distance, some perhaps up to a mile or two. Some of the more skilled ones could even tell you what type of beasts they were sensing, and lock on to one life sign to track it. The most experienced and seasoned Beastmasters would be able to command those monsters even from a distance, communicating their will across the ether.

North could sense every monster in the winding, twisting depths of the Labyrinth of Onzozo, and their movements, at the same time, and command them all at once. There was no way to sneak up on the him, as he could feel a presence and know exactly where it was headed and what its intentions were an hour before he ever laid eyes on its source. That was the reason every fiber of his being was screaming at him to run. A force of unbridled malice, directed squarely at him, was headed his way.

"We have to move." His tone brooked no questions. "They're coming."

"How much time do we have?" November asked. Both were already walking quickly, and soon it broke into a steady jog as she followed North's pace.

"Not enough," he grit his teeth together as the cold assailed them. Pulling his coat tightly over his face, he concealed his scar from the elements as best he could. He increased his pace as a feeling of dread swept over him. They were coming from above. Ten of them - no, eleven - closing in rapidly on them.

"Give us cover," he ordered. He looked back and caught the look on November's face. "They've already found us, no sense in trying to hide your magic now."

She nodded, skidding to a halt as she turned back, bringing out her staff. She plucked the blue jewel at its tip off, placing it in a pouch at her side just as she quickly snatched another gem from it. This one was a brilliant green, and sparks shot from it as she affixed it to the point of her stave. The dust at her feet began swirling as the wind suddenly gathered around her, a miniature twister of dirt and ice rising as an effluent emerald light burst up from the ground.

The winged form of Garuda, Avatar of the Wind, materialized in the air above the Summoner. She stood what must have been seven feet high, with feathered wings stretching out nearly twice that length. Her entire form, that of a thin, green-skinned woman with hands bearing talons like those of a bird of prey, was ethereal as the air itself. She was the manifestation of wind itself, harnessed by November's power.

Chanting in an arcane language, the Summoner swung her staff skyward. Garuda tilted her head in the direction the wind was blowing, and suddenly every breath of air was swirling towards her. The ice on the ground and the frozen sea spray began gathering rapidly in the air, swallowing them in an envelope of frigid mist. Within moments, all visibility around them was obscured, the thick cloud Garuda had gathered hiding them completely. November ended her chant, and the Avatar folded her wings over herself, dispersing into the wind from whence she came as the green aura around the Summoner faded.

"This won't keep them from finding us long," North warned. "Keep moving."

The Hume nodded, and they both began moving forward again. His eyes were useless in the dense mist, but his senses were more than enough to guide them. Crabs on a beach digging futiliely at the frozen sands for food told him where the beach was. Scavenging birds flying above told him what the ground ahead of him looked like. Worms crawling beneath the surface let him know where to run. Nature was North's guide, and as they ran through Garuda's cloud it never let him down.

"How are we doing?" November asked, panting slightly.

"They know we're in here," North grumbed, trying to search for another place to hide. "They're right above us."

He scoured the thoughts of the animals nearby. Not a one saw any cove nor cave nor outcropping anywhere near their position. Their concealment was limited to the extent of the summoned cloud, the length of which was rapidly running out.

"North," November called worriedly. The sound of snarling was reaching them.

He continued moving forward. The pale yellow glow of searching eyes was penetrating through the mist. It would be only moments now before they were upon them. His mind was desperately searching for some way out. Eleven points of darkness radiating nothing but murder were closing in around them. They were on the ground now, scouring the mist. Some remained in the air, watching any point of escape.

"North," November said again, more urgently this time.

His thoughts were racing. The scar on his chest was screaming in agony as the cold air seeped in through his clothes. It was hard to breathe, and for a moment he worried another fit was coming on. Guttler was burning at his side, sending a constant hiss into the air as it steamed. He reached down to grab its hilt and throttle it into silence. As soon as he touched it, fire shot up the length of his arm as Guttler's unrestrained bloodlust burned through him. He ground his teeth, and could feel the ax reacting in the same way.

"North!" November shouted this time as searching claws began swiping through the mist, inches from her head.

"Fine," North snarled. "We'll do it your way."

He turned, tearing Guttler free from his belt. With the other hand, he tore loose his kraken club, brandishing both as the flaming blue energy from his silver ax burned away the clouds around him. The feeling of malice filling the air focused solely on him as the demons became aware of his location. He returned it in spades.

A demon's hand burst out from the dissipating mist, and then smacked against the ground as Guttler separated it from its arm. A demon's howl rang out, cut off a second later as the kraken club crushed its throat. North spun quickly, claws catching the lining of his cloak. The Elvaan lashed out both weapons as he turned a full circle. Guttler sliced the demon's stomach open in a single motion, and in the next instant the kraken club tore into the cut, spilling its smoking entrails out onto the ground.

"Get the ones in the air," he told November as he rushed past her, both weapons singing in the wind.

The next two demons came at him at once, as a third rushed him from behind. The cloud obscuring them was all but gone now, and the rest were closing on him rapidly. Flames burst from the staves the demons held, shooting out towards the Beastmaster. North held out Guttler, and the ax greedily drank the fire as it called out for him to drink their blood.

It's blade sank into the chest of the first surprised demon as the second sprang back, hissing. The third was upon him already, this one bearing a curved blade. His kraken club arched back, catching the blade as he ripped Guttler free, along with most of the muscle and tissue in the first demon's chest. It fell convulsing as he spun to meet his attacker, crossing blades with him rapidly as the fiend howled at him. North grimaced, and with a single stroke he shattered the demon's blade, his other arm swinging around and crushing its face with a single powerful blow from his club. The weapon kept swinging, pulping its skull and as its horns broke, splintering across the ground along with its shattered fangs.

In the next moment, North was brought low as a shocking bolt of electricity struck him in the back. Every muscle in his body contracted, and the scent of his own flesh sizzling wafted into his nostrils. It lanced through him, boiling his blood as it burned his skin. He fell to one knee, bracing himself against the ground with his club as he turned his head to find the demon he left alive preparing another surge of foul magic. Above him, the remaining six demons still in the air circled overhead, preparing to swoop in and finish the job.

He fought to regain his footing, but his body was still trembling from the lightning spell. The demon was already preparing to unleash another strike, yellow eyes balefully staring its target down. North's eyes widened as it let another bolt fly, aimed straight for his heart.

The wind swept past him as the bolt caught the palm of the enormous being now standing next to him. North craned his head up to find the hulking form of Titan rushing by, the earth quaking at his heel.

Screeching, the demon wizard took flight as Titan bore down upon it, but it was too late to escape the Earth Avatar's might. With one enormous hand, the elemental, his body a pale mismatch of Buburimu's white sand and the ice frozen within it, snatched the demon out of the air before it could get away. With a single contemptuous squeeze, the fiend's head burst open as dark blood gushed out. It tossed the carcass skyward, towards the gathered demons flying overhead. They flitted out of the way as it flew by them, spiraling through the air until it was out of sight.

November's arm slipped under North's as she helped him up. Once back on his feet he slipped away from her grasp, balancing and standing straight. Gathering himself with a steadying breath, he looked up at the demons circling above them, casting Guttler towards them threateningly.

"Fly away, peasants. You are not prepared to deal with a king."

To his surprise, they huddled in close, and the growling, guttural language of the demons reached his ears. November stood by him, glancing up in uncertainty as Titan loomed behind her. Her staff now bore a clear, golden-colored jewel which flared brightly in the Avatar's presence. After several moments of conversation, their wings folded in and the small group of demons dropped rapidly to the ground.

Five of the demons bore no distinction from one another besides their armament. Two were unarmed, but their teeth and claws were threatening enough. Two others bore ebony-bladed great axes, the weapons gripped tightly in their long, powerful fingers. Another held a staff, and North detected a tinge of worry in the wizard's eyes as it glanced at the form of Titan behind them.

The sixth, however, wore a crimson cape of some fabric which looked like blood. Its hands were covered with thick metallic gauntlets, and a golden necklace dangled from its neck. Demons were already tall, most of them standing six feet at least, but this one was closer to seven, with horns which looped once like a large ram. He took several steps forward, prompting North to raise Guttler in warning. The demon stopped, and what passed for a smile crossed its lips.

"Good day, your Majesty," it hissed at him, making a shallow bow. The sound of its voice was like a thousand icicles rapidly breaking.

North's eyes narrowed. "Get away from this place while you can. My ax still thirsts for blood and I am of a mind to oblige it." Guttler roared hungrily, affirming his words.

"You must be the displaced King of Onzozo. The master has been awaiting your return." Its pale yellow eyes were firmly affixed on him. "I am Baronet Romwe, noble Kindred of Zvahl." A sneer of sorts crossed its face. "With the arrival of the Royal Family my position has been relegated to this pathetic backwater. Fortunately, your arrival will help me get back into the palace where I belong."

"Do not presume to speak so freely to me," North warned. "Your low position hardly affords you that right."

The ugly smile on Romwe's lips melted away. "You are nothing but a foul primate," it spat at him. "A king of your land is as good as a worm in ours."

"And you are nothing but an errand boy," North responded. "Leave now and you'll live to tell your master that I'm coming for him, next."

The demon aristocrat chuckled. It was a grating noise. "You have no idea how far beneath us you are."

"November," North commanded, "show the Baronet which of us is beneath the other."

The Summoner nodded, and a golden glow swept over her as Titan suddenly sank into the ground.

Romwe hissed, throwing himself into the air with one thrust of his powerful wings. An instant later Titan re-emerged with a rage-filled roar, bursting up from beneath the gathered demons and tossing them from their feet. They howled angrily, rushing in to attack the Avatar. November chanted rapidly, and in response Titan drew back its fist and let loose a punch which could shatter a mountain. The demon it struck, one of the ones bearing a great axe, burst apart on impact. Wet chunks of its shattered body rained down on the others, leaving an acrid smoke as it hit the ground and blood spilled out.

Then, to North's surprise, Romwe swept back down. He snatched the fallen demon's axe from the ground, and in his hands it erupted in foul, black flames. The Kindred folded his wings and sped forward, spinning the great axe rapidly as it flew directly towards Titan. The Avatar growled, rearing back its fist once gain, thrusting forward to crush the demon in mid-flight.

November gasped as Titan's arm fell from its body. The Baronet erupted from its back, a gaping hole where the left side of its chest used to be testament to his attack. Titan's massive form staggered around, trying to swipe at the demon with its other arm, but Romwe easily avoided the strike, leaping underneath it as he brought his burning axe up once again. The terrible sound of rock grinding against metal made North's stomach clench as Romwe swung his weapon. Titan stood mutely, arm still outstretched, beady glowing eyes staring forward.

Then, the top half of its body slid away from the lower, and both parts crumbled back into the sand from where they had come.

Behind him, November staggered as if she had been struck, a sheen of sweat lining her face. The aura around her flickered and died as Romwe smirked, showing his fangs.

"Now then," he said, "I believe - "

"Guttler," North swung the black ax up as he began running forward, "Onslaught!"

The weapon was only too happy to comply. At North's word, the same howling tunnel of flame and burning energy Keftenk had been unable to harness struck out true, consuming the entire group of demons in the same torrent. The two unarmed demons were swept up instantly, the dark flesh melting from their bones as they were caught in Guttler's path. The wizard threw up a shield, chanting furiously as North pushed forward. It screamed as the staff it was holding started to melt, and began to flail in panic. The mistake cost it its hands, extended past the reach of its shield, and then scorched completely off the wrists they were attached to. Only Romwe and the other axe-wielding demon avoided it, managing to soar quickly above the path of Guttler's blast as it consumed their comrades.

Romwe scowled darkly, flaring out his blood-red cloak and leveling his gaze at North. With an indignant huff, the demon swung his own burning axe around, and made a nose dive directly for the Beastmaster.

North roared, bringing both his weapons forward, catching Romwe's axe under its blade and across the shaft. Black flames licked his body, chilling his skin where they touched. Guttler snarled like a beast, spouting off fire, but weakened by its recent release of Onslaught. Romwe towered over North, pressing down, seeking to grind him into the dirt.

"If you ever returned," the Baronet hissed, "the Marquis Andras ordered your body be brought to him, so to string up in the halls of his new lair."

"The demon aristocracy have vision beyond their means," North rebuked, and with a powerful thrust of his arms he tore away from Romwe's axe. The demon jumped back, brandishing it's burning weapon as North did the same.

The Baronet eyed him carefully, both of them circling slowly. "You are a powerful one," he commented, "perhaps beyond my means so long as you hold that ax. The Marquis, however . . . he will flay the skin from your bones."

"Then let him come," North said darkly. "And we will settle this ourselves."

Romwe lowered his brow, lip curled in irritation. "Think of this not as mercy," he told him, flaring out his wings. "I leave now only so that I may return with more might with which to crush you."

"Bring as much from Onzozo as you want," North replied. "The more I slaughter here the less I will have to deal with later."

The demon scowled, and then shouted something in their terrifying language to the one surviving member of his party. Both demons slowly took to the air, and then began flying back towards the Labyrinth of Onzozo, Romwe's axe trailing black fire as they went.

"North, we have to get out of here," November rushed to his side as they flew away. "When they return, we will - " She stopped, pulling her hand slowly away from the Beastmaster's trembling arm. "North?" She asked, her voice small. "North?"

The Beastmaster gave a single heave, throwing his body forward as he violently hacked. A moment later he was choking again, pain arcing through every inch of his body. The two scars Guttler had left him were throbbing so much he felt they might burst open. His spine convulsed, and he felt the back of his head strike the ground as he struggled to breathe in.

November desperately calling his name was the last thing he heard before his world went black.

Chapter LXVI: What Makes a Man a King

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It only has to be until North – “

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

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

“Wait a second, where’s Dantrag?”


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t – “

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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