Chapter LCVI: Demon of War

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was unruffled. "Of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Emblim!" Erilan shouted at him.

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

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

"Your responsibility," Feldin began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Excuse me."

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

"Mr. President?" He went on.

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

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

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

"Etrien, stop. Let us handle this."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I - I - " he stammered.

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

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

"How can you - "

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And I am inevitable."

Chapter LCV: The Woman in the Sack

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that the signal?" Erilan asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

"Gil for your thoughts?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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