Twinsoul, Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Conflict

The road out of Westway was said to be one of the longest, busiest roads in Kayledon; the only trade route to Faarthusia and the only road that could be taken safely to reach the school of Solreth.  It had great significance to the welfare of the western lands, for whenever the road west was impassable, the orcs and gnomes were worse off for it.  It was sometimes referred to as the Path of Pelyphis, the goddess of air, who was said to be able to bring luck with a single breeze.

Varcor hoped that some of that luck would rub off on him, as he seemed to be out of his own.  He sat despondently in the saddle of his horse, playing with the reins and tugging at his glove.  A passing gnomish merchant waved, and he returned the gesture tentatively, all the while shifting uneasily in his seat.  He felt like a trespasser or an invader, and given the nature of his mission, he wasn’t sure that feeling was entirely unjustified.

He had been given four days to do all he had meant to finish before leaving, but it seemed that he would need much more time.  He had wanted to find out more about Reylyn’s connection with the Demon Horde, but his father was using the royal library so much that he could barely begin his search, much less find the books he needed.  Furthermore, he had strict orders to stay inside the castle, so even using the public library wasn’t an option.  The tome that Ganash had given him to investigate was either written in code or a language never seen before by mortal eyes.  Deciphering that would take much more than the few language codices that he owned.

Kronta rode beside him, grumbling every now and then about the mission.  Like Varcor, he had been unhappy with the mission and what it could possibly mean for relations with the elves.  Unlike the soft-spoken prince, he was not afraid to voice his concerns, much more loudly and with twice as much cursing as usual.  He had agreed to follow Varcor only because he wanted to make sure the prince was looked after properly.

He looked behind him, to the six other orcs traveling with them, all from the Silver Guards.  He wondered if they had volunteered, or if they were made to go by his father.  If they had been volunteers, didn’t they know what this mission was about?  After all, they were entitled to know as long as they said nothing to anyone else.  He considered telling them, but figured that if they did know his words were wasted, and if they didn’t know, then perhaps they were better off. 

It was the fifth day out when he talked to Kronta concerning the knowledge the soldiers had of the mission.  “Why would they want to be a part of this?” Varcor asked, after they had distanced themselves from the rest of the group.  “I didn’t ask for a hand in doing this, you should be all the help I need.”

“Then ye forget, we’re supposed ta be goin’ against no less than four adventurers, one a Solreth sorcerer,” Kronta scolded, folding his arms.  “The six what came with me are me closest mates, worth their weight in gold when it comes ta battle.  If that half-elf don’t wanna work with us, we gotta do things the hard way.  There ain’t no way they’d tangle with a group like this, an’ if they do, they be in for a nasty surprise!”

Varcor shook his head.  “I hope it doesn’t come to that.  But I cannot understand why they would want to do this.  Do they know what this whole thing is about?”

“Of course!  I wouldn’t have kept ‘em in the dark,” Kronta claimed.  “I let ‘em know what it was all about ‘fore I even asked ‘em ta come along.”

Varcor looked confused.  “Then why would they come?”

Kronta put a hand on the prince’s shoulder.  “Boy, the only reason they’re here is ‘cause I told ‘em it was you who was in charge of the mission,” Kronta said.  “All they want is to serve their prince.”

Varcor had not considered that.  He turned to the campsite, looking to the six soldiers who were joking and talking around the fire.  “For me?”

“It wouldn’t ‘ave been so three years ago, some of ‘em were glad ta see ye go,” Kronta admitted.  “But they’ve seen how ye’ve grown.  I knew ye was a good kid ‘fore they did, but now they can all see it too; they kin see Flamesoul.  Ye’re our future, and chosen by Faarthus.  Ye’re pretty special.”

Varcor took a moment to digest all the information he just received.  He was not sure what to think at first.  He had been told that he was special for as long as he could remember.  He thought he understood after he found out how he came to be in the world, when he learned he was favored by Faarthus. 

But was this different?  The sincerity in Kronta’s voice and eyes were telling of an admiration not born of wonderment and prophecy, but of real respect.  Reylyn had given him that kind of respect, but she made him earn it first.  Things were much more different now than when he was getting respect without earning it.  He knew now what he owed those who gave him such admiration.  A nation inspired by a respectable leader was a strong nation.

He felt the need to do more for those who looked up to him, to continue giving them a reason to respect him, even if that meant doing something potentially disastrous.

After some time, Varcor nodded.  “I believe I understand, Uncle.  I shall not distress, for the sake of my people.”

Kronta nodded, and rubbed his bald head.  “Well, then ye got a better attitude about th’ mission then meself.”  He yawned loudly.  “Th’ Cave o’ Crystal ain’t far off.  We’ll be there afore tomorrow ends.  Ye should get some sleep.”

Varcor nodded.  For the first time since he came home, he had a feeling that sleep would come easier than it had the entire trip.  He had justification for this mission now.  More than that, he had the strength to do what he must for the sake of the orcan people.

******

           

Evandel had not thought twice about what to do for Zaken’s remains.  Despite questioning looks from Deida and Bargo, he insisted that Zaken’s body was cast into the gorge, with whatever he had been carrying.  He believed that Zaken desired in some way to die and remain in the one dungeon he could not conquer.   

“His path was set before him, we cannot deny him his glory,” Evandel simply stated when they asked him his reasoning.

“Even Zaken knew that there is no glory in death,” Deida argued.

Bargo shook his head.  “That isn’t true, Deida.  What are we gonna do if we take him out?  We’ll end up bringing him home to lay his remains to rest there.  There will be some kind of service, and it’ll make everyone sad.  More than that, we will be holding up our mission.  That’s the last thing he would have wanted.

“If we take Zaken out of here, it will be in our memories.  If we take him out bodily, we will bury him and grieve, and remember that he is dead.  Or, we can tell his tale, of the good he did here today, and remember why he died.  He is a hero, and deserves to be remembered as such.”

“Bargo…” Deida said softly, looking at him in wonder.

The big man gave a half smile.  “You’ve spent a lot of time around elves.  Humans understand that glory after death isn’t just in the hereafter.”

Deida accepted his response with a nod.  With one final prayer to Taelri and Alaron, Evandel and Bargo lifted their old friend from the crystal floor and cast his body into the dark gorge, knowing his rest would be complete in the shadows away from the glowing crystal.

The trek out was a solemn one, made worse to Evandel when he realized that there were five more artifacts left and only two more friends.  He prayed that his unlikely destiny would not get everyone he cared for killed.

No, he told himself.  I can never let that happen.  If it is truly through my power that the world shall be saved, then it will also be through my doing that my friends are kept alive.  If I cannot keep them out of danger, I can at least give them that.  He firmed his resolve by grasping onto the pendant that hung around his neck, the artifact of light that the soul of darkness gave his life for.  Zaken will not have died in vain.  I promise.

Evandel knew something was wrong when he started ascending the tunnel to the hills outside.  He could hear voices outside, could feel the presence of others.  He feared momentarily that it was the gnolls, coming to investigate. 

Cautiously, he stepped out of the tunnel, and surveyed the surroundings.  At first he didn’t notice anything, but then something emerged from the trail, coming toward the abandoned gnoll campsite. 

A young half-orc, with stark white hair and brilliant red eyes, dressed in blood red apprentice’s robes strode down the hillside, one green skinned hand resting on the ruby capped pommel of a longsword, and the other hidden behind his back.  His stride spoke of confidence, and his eyes and expression spoke of wisdom beyond his age.

Behind him came a veritable entourage of orcs, clad in gleaming armor and well-armed at that.  The biggest one among them, a bald headed, brutish looking fellow, toted two heavy looking battle axes, one on each hip, and walked closely behind the red robed figure.

Bargo and Deida came up behind him, and stopped when they saw that company had arrived.  They both instinctually went for their weapons, but Evandel raised his hand, barring them from showing aggression.

The red eyed orc fixed his eyes on Evandel, studying the half-elf intently.  “You are from Tyhal, are you not?”

Evandel spoke not, but nodded cautiously.

The half-orc bowed.  “I am pleased to meet you.  My name is Varcor Voldur, emissary from Cagar-Tugan.  May I ask your names?”

Evandel hesitated, not used to this level of politeness from orcs.  As changed as the race had become, they could still be terrible at first impressions.  “I am Evandel, born of Tyhal,” he said, indicating that he was an orphan.  “These are my friends, Deida Laiken, and Bargo Tramas.”  Deida nodded her head, and Bargo gave a short bow.

Varcor smiled, apparently pleased.  “I come bearing tidings from the royal family,” he said.  “Your presence has been requested by the king, Evandel.  You are to come with me immediately to Faarthusia, to hear the request of Toras Voldur.”

“Voldur?  Are you his son?” Bargo asked.  Varcor nodded, and Bargo smiled.  “I heard that the orcan royalty were really hands on in their work, but I didn’t think it went this far.”

“Why does the king request my presence, highness?” Evandel asked.

Varcor seemed visibly affected by the term used for royalty, and smiled again.  “For an elf to use such a term for an orc is a great honor.  I thank you.” He bowed gracefully, revealing his right, gloved hand.   “But I digress.  You must all come now, our road is long.”

Evandel nearly lost his breath upon seeing the glove.  He instantly recognized it as the Fire Hand, as shown to him by Warrane.  The prince of Faarthusia had the artifact of fire in his possession!

“You did not answer me,” Evandel said firmly, not moving an inch.

Varcor looked up at him curiously.  “What do you mean?”

“Why does Toras Voldur wish to meet with us, mere adventurers?”

“Ye really want ta question th’ words o’ th’ king?” the bald orc growled, but Varcor silenced his burly friend with a wave of his hand. 

“My father is interested in your potential, Evandel,” Varcor explained.  “He summons you in regards to the Prophecy of Unity.”

Evandel narrowed is eyes, and Deida stepped forward.  “If you can permit, your highness, we need to speak of this in private.”  Varcor nodded, and she brought Evandel over to Bargo.

“What do you think?” she asked them.  “I for one see no reason not to trust them.  Some help from the royal family of the kingdom of orcs would be much appreciated right now.”

“I agree,” Bargo said.  “It’s not every day you get asked to meet with someone that important.  And about the very prophecy you’re supposed to fulfill!”

“No,” Evandel said simply.  “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“But Ev…” Bargo started.

“Do you remember what Zaken’s last words were?  He found something out about Faarthusia that they don’t want the rest of the world to know.  They might even know that we have the treasure he stole from them.  They are up to something, and it might be best if we avoided the orcs for now.”

Deida and Bargo looked at each other tentatively, but gazed back at their friend and nodded in agreement.  Evandel nodded back, and turned back to the orcs.  “I am sorry, highness.  We are on a very important task right now.  Even for you, we cannot disrupt it.”

Varcor closed his eyes.  “I am sorry too, Master Evandel,” he said, “but my orders were to bring you back to Faarthusia one way or another.”  As he finished speaking, the orcs behind him drew their swords, and the big orc beside him took out both axes from their holsters.  He leveled his gaze on Evandel, his face angry and pleading all at once.  “I don’t want to have to hurt you, sorcerer.  This is eight against three.  Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Evandel’s fists clenched on his staff, and anger drove his next words.  “You underestimate me, highness.  My friend died telling me your people are into something they cannot handle, and you are not going to involve me or my friends in your plans.  I will only go to Faarthusia impaled on an orcan blade!”

Varcor drew his sword slowly, his eyes narrowed.  “As you wish.”

Both sides exploded into action.  The six orcs behind Varcor positioned themselves and charged forward, three on each side.  Bargo also leapt forward, standing defensively in front of Evandel. 

Deida, on the other hand, slipped off to the side, trying to get the best angle for her bow shots.  Two orcs dropped, clutching their knees as arrows from her bow passed right through the joints.  Evandel noted the angles, and made a point of it to ask her if that was a Kathilasi trademark or one of her own tricks.

The four remaining orcs adjusted their formation, and closed in on the only opponent that seemed defenseless.  All four of them seemed to move at once, coordinated and trained as the finest warriors in Faarthusia.  Bargo shook his head, and raised his fists defensively.

Evandel raised his staff to blast away the orcs attacking his friend, but a sudden rise in temperature told him he had a different opponent.  Varcor’s raised right hand seemed to be aflame, and it was all the sorcerer could do to raise a shield of water before one of the largest fireballs he’d ever seen roared toward Bargo.   The shield exploded into steam when the fire struck it, but Bargo remained unaffected.

“That’s right, sorcerer,” Varcor called, “best to keep your eyes on me.”

******

Deida was lucky enough to see the big orc start moving before she fired any more arrows at the six after Bargo.  He was deceptively sneaky for a big guy; he had used the magical distraction to move away from the main fray, and now one axe was raised high over his head, ready to throw.

She adjusted her aim and loosed an arrow, more to draw his attention than do any real harm.  He was too well armored for her arrows to find purchase; she would need to take him down up close.  The arrow bounced off his arm guard, and he twisted around to face her.  The arm came down and the axe flew forward.  She grinned confidently as she guided the weapon away from her, gently pushing with the air currents and deftly twisting away as it rushed by.  In mid stride she dropped her bow and took out her daggers, and burst forward in a breathtaking display of speed.

She knew she had the advantage, since it was one heavy weapon against two lighter ones, made even lighter when she adjusted the air around them.  To her surprise, the axe the big orc had thrown reappeared in his grasp, and he crossed them defensively as she charged.

Mentally shrugging at the inconvenience, she lunged at him with the unflagging relentlessness of a hurricane.  She could tell right away that he was an earth principle, as few others weather her attacks as well as he did.  Again and again she struck out, but he patiently positioned his armor and his weapons to absorb her strikes. 

One thrust slipped, and he pushed her arm out wide.  His axe came in with all force of a boulder rolling down a mountain, straight for her arm.

It crashed right into the ground.

“Wha?” he sputtered before he could recover.  The pommel of her dagger screamed into his chin and he staggered backwards.  “Thrice damned wind witch!”

“Get over it, you missed by a mile,” she taunted.

“Ye made me miss!” he growled.  “How in darkness’ name could ye do that?”

“I take it you’re a part of the silver guard?” she said, and waved a dagger teasingly.  “You still have a long way to go before you can match up to a Kathilasi.”

“Black winds take yer heart,” he roared, and he rushed forward, an avalanche of orc and axe.

Deida managed to dodge the better part of his swings, but suffered a single scratch on her leg before she made it away.  She scowled at him and he grinned.  “Wha’ was that, lil’ lady?”

“Lucky swing,” she muttered, but they both knew the truth.  His swings were much too strong for her to dodge all of them, but her air defense at least minimized damage.  At the same time, her attacks were far too agile for him to even hope to dodge, but his armor prevented her from doing any real harm.

She braced herself for an extended fight as he started forward once again.  This was going to take a while.

******

“Draw your sword, human, or you will die,” one of the orcs snarled at Bargo. 

He shook his head, keeping his defensive position.  “I don’t need a sword to fight you off.”

A series of cuts and stabs came his way, nicking an arm and striking his side, but he managed to swat away or block most of the strikes.

“You have a lot of nerve, defying our prince,” the same orc growled in between swings.  “You don’t understand how much you stand to lose.”

“At least I’m not bullying innocent travelers,” Bargo taunted batting away another blade.  “I don’t know what you guys are after, but it’ll be a bright day on the Darkplane before I let you take Ev.”

At a nod from the orc that was speaking, the other three rushed forward, tackling the big man to the ground.  The leader strode forward, and stepped on his shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t strike if I were you,” Bargo warned.  The orc laughed and brought the sword up high, point facing down, then thrust with all his might.

Crunch!

The orc stood for a moment baffled.  Bargo couldn’t see what he was looking at but he had a good idea.  Taking the moment of surprise for all it was worth, the knight pushed up with tremendous strength, knocking all three orcs holding him away.  The orc that struck him backed off, dropping the sword he had tried to put through Bargo’s skull.

The blade was crumpled up to the hilt.

“By the shining flames,” the orc said, awed.  “No wonder you wear no armor.”

Bargo half smiled, and rushed forward, sending a fist into the orc’s chest.  The force of his strike sent the poor orc flying through the air.

The knight errant cracked his knuckles as the other orcs stood up.  “And that’s why I don’t need a sword for the likes of you.”

******

Evandel had kept away from Bargo’s battle, and could see Deida’s struggle from across the campsite.  He would have gone to their aid, or even aided from afar, if his concentration was not focused firmly on the half-orc standing twenty feet away.

“For the last time, Master Evandel: give up,” Varcor warned.  “I bear you no ill will, but I must do as my station demands.”

“And I warn you, Varcor Voldur: I am in a terribly foul mood,” Evandel said through clenched teeth.  “You could not have caught me on a worse day.”

“Do not let that anger drive you,” Varcor yelled with frustration on his features.  “We can be allies!  This whole conflict is pointless.  It will destroy you, me, and our friends.  I don’t know what your mission is, but it cannot be more important than the lives of others!”

“My mission already cost me one friend,” Evandel said in a low tone.  “I’ll be damned if I so easily give up on the mission he gave his life for!”

“You leave me no choice!” Varcor shouted, rage in his eyes.  Flame spouted from the blade of his drawn sword, and leaped off as the half-orc sliced through the air.

Evandel had only a split second to raise his water shield, but when he did, he realized his error.  In order to catch the wave in time, he needed to manifest the defensive magic far too close to his person.  He scrambled away as the fiery wave lashed into the wall of water, creating scalding hot vapor and boiling spray on both sides.  He remained unharmed, but barely got to his feet before another slash of flame screamed towards him.

Instead of creating another shield, he dropped to one knee and set his staff in the ground, as a soldier would set a spear against a charging foe.  He concentrated as hard as he could on the crystal, which began to glow a pale blue.  Once the flames were in reach, the crystal drew them in, sucking them right out of the air. 

Varcor’s eyes widened as the sorcerer thrust the staff forward, converting and channeling his own spell into a speeding pike of ice, leveled right at his throat.  He raised his right hand defensively, and the glove acted on its own, the garnet gleaming brightly.  Orange-red light came from his palm, and engulfed the ominous icicle, vaporizing it on the spot.  Nothing but a cloud was left of the spell, and Varcor silently thanked Reylyn and Faarthus for his gift.

“You aren’t a sorcerer,” Evandel said, more of a statement than anything else.  “I’ve never seen a caster like you.”

“I channel divine power, friend,” Varcor admitted.  “I am favored by Faarthus.”

Evandel had heard of these “favored souls.” They wielded magic much like a sorcerer, but their magic came from a divine source.  Evandel could not counter his spells in the same way he could other sorcerers’, but he could overpower them or convert the raw energies.  But one thing bothered him . . .

“Divine magic is meant for defense and healing,” Evandel said.  “How is it that even as a fire principle you can attack with it?”

Varcor smiled smugly.  “Have you ever met a divine fire principle before?  I would bet my last copper piece that you haven’t.  We are a rare breed, able to attack or defend with our magic.”

“Guess you can’t learn everything in school,” Evandel told himself.

“You’re inquisitive, sorcerer,” Varcor said.  “I like you.  This is not about us, so bear me no ill will for what I am about to do.”  He sheathed his blade and brought his hands close together, and a flame sprung up in the air between them.  Evandel watched that small fire grow as the prince spread his hands.  Evandel had seen a similar technique, called a focus point, used by his teachers.  It was an advanced method of casting that involved storing energy around a single point over time, then releasing it all at once.  It took incredible amounts of stamina and concentration to make it work properly, but Evandel had seen a single focus point lightning bolt shatter an entire boulder, reducing it to sand and rubble.

Unfortunately for Evandel, Varcor seemed to be very good at using a focus point spells.  The half-orc’s arms stretched out almost as far as they would reach.  The flame, nearly two yards in diameter, blazed with focused power. 

Evandel’s mind raced.  He would not have enough time to get out of the way of such a large projectile, and even if he did, he risked it hitting one of his friends.  With no other option, he started to gather the water out of the air as quickly as he could muster.  He did the only thing he could think of, bringing it to bear as a shield of ice.  In moments, he had a curved wall nearly a foot thick, but he knew it would not last long against such a blaze.

In the last moments before his ice wall was formed, he could see Varcor’s eyes through the flames.  No anger, no malice, they appeared calm and almost sad. 

The flames raged forward, carried on the will of the Firelord.  Evandel thought for the briefest moment he could see Zaken’s face, then glaring bright light overpowered his senses as his magical ice and the holy flames collided.

******

Bargo had rendered all but the last orc unconscious, when the bright flare caught his attention.  He glanced over to see a brilliant beam of fire roaring into what appeared to be a continually shifting silvery wall.  Looking more closely, he could see Evandel, his hands pressed up against the ice wall, feeding it with constant cold and keeping it from melting.

“One sec, Ev!” he shouted.  He turned to the last orc, and shrugged apologetically.  “Sorry, but I’m needed elsewhere.”

“You can’t just walk away, human!” the orc cried, swinging for his neck.  Bargo stopped the blade with his arm, and quickly grabbed a hold of it.  The orc tugged at it, futilely trying to break the man’s vice like grasp.

“I said the fight was over,” he replied, reaching for the sword on his back.  The orc’s face blanched, and he let go of his sword, turning to run.

He got about two steps before the flat of Bargo’s sword clipped him in the head.

******

Deida flinched reflexively when the beam from Varcor’s spell blasted into Evandel’s ice wall.  The cringe was poorly timed, and the big orc’s axe clipped her in the shoulder, sending her to her knees.

“Yer slippin’ lass,” the orc said, then he saw what had distracted her.  “By the shinin’ flames!  Tha’s no good!”

“What is he thinking?” Deida shouted.  “He’s going to rip right through the hill with a spell like…” she paused when she noticed the figure on the other side of the wall.  “Evandel!” she cried, and started running for him.

“Don’t even think about it, lass!” the orc warned, catching her wounded shoulder.  “It’ll burn ye afore ye even get close!”

“What do you care,” she hissed through the pain in her shoulder.  “You were about to kill me yourself, orc.”

The big orc shook his head.  “M’lord gave me an’ me lads strict orders not to kill ye if it could be helped.  We only wanted yer sorcerer.”

“Why?  If you needed this so badly, why not kill us all?”

“Methinks it was his way o’ not doin’ any more harm than necessary,” he replied, scratching his bald head.  “He didn’t even wanna do this in th’ first place.”

“Then why do it at all?” she screamed, close to tears.

The big orc closed his eyes.  “He’s doin’ it for ‘is people.  He’s our future.”

******

All around him, fire raged and ice sputtered.  Evandel could no longer feel his hands, which were channeling all the ice magic he could manage.  He knew that he would not be able to hold out much longer against the flames, and he prayed that his opponent’s willpower would not last much longer.

His concentration was beginning to wane, his thoughts distracted by images of this fire burning through the forest, ripping through trees until finally it came to Tyhal.  Consumed by flames he could almost hear the pained screams and dying voices over the flame’s crackle.  He could see then the burnt or burning bodies of his mother and grandfather, of Talhaias, and of Bargo and Deida.  Zaken’s specter loomed over it all, and it was all Evandel could do to keep from crying in outrage.

No matter what happened here, there would be no justice.

White light filled his eyes, and he could feel the Sun Symbol throbbing against his chest.  Feeling returned to his hands; and with it a strong energy the he could not describe.  He redoubled his magical efforts, putting all his energy and then some into a single focused spell.

******

Varcor saw the ice wall crack, and began a prayer to Faarthus for the poor soul he was about to free.

When the wall shattered, Golden white light burst from behind it, and Varcor could only watch in horror as a wave of golden justice tore through his spell and right into him.

******

Bargo was not sure how long he had been unconscious, or even why.  The last thing he remembered was a shining golden light…

“Ev…” he whispered, forcing himself to his feet.  He looked around, seeing no movement from the orcs he had rendered unconscious, and noticed Deida’s fallen form.  He started making his way over to her, when he saw the big orc she was fighting.

“Don’t worry, the lass is fine,” he said.  “She hit ‘er head when th’ spell knocked us back.  Yer sorcerer is out as well, but still breathin’.”

Bargo took a quick appraisal of the soldier.  He grasped his right arm as though nursing a wound, and the orc shrugged.  “I guess I took a little tumble meself.”

“Sorry about your allies,” Bargo said, looking at the orcs sprawled out on the ground.

“They’ll be the ones what are sorry,” the orc assured him, “once I’ve gotten on ‘em about losin’ to one man!  Ye must be a knight errant or summat.”

“Guilty as charged,” Bargo admitted.  “You have impressive skills yourself, if you’re able to stand up to a Kathilasi.  Silver guards?”

“Aye.”

“Thought so.”

Moments passed, and nothing was said between them.  Bargo interrupted the silence, saying, “I wouldn’t want to fight you as you are, there’s no honor in a fight like that.  I only want to get my friends somewhere safe.”

“Likewise,” the orc grunted. 

“What about your mission?” Bargo asked.  “You’ll catch darkfire from your king if you return without him.”

The orc grumbled, and pushed on his arm, making a resounding crack.  He flexed it gingerly, then moved to the spot on the ground where his axes laid.  Bargo watched him carefully, inching closer to his fallen sword, just in case.

The orc picked the weapons up, considered them, and then replaced them in their holsters.  “Yer a nice kid.  What’d you say yer name was?”

“Bargo.  You?”

“Kronta,” the orc replied, and grinned a broad friendly grin.  “If anyone asks ye, I was unconscious when ye woke up, and ye left with yer friends as fast as ye could.”

Bargo grinned as well.  “Thank you.  You don’t realize how important this mission is.”

“I reckon I do,” Kronta said.  “Varcor explained about th’ prophecy as best he could, and it seems to me yer elf buddy has some role in it.”

“That’s for sure,” Bargo said.  “He’s the chosen of Taelri.”

Kronta raised his eyebrow.  “Ye… ye don’t say?”  He cleared his throat and motioned toward the hillside.  “Ye better take yer friends and go.  Me men’ll be up any second.”

Bargo nodded, and collected his unconscious companions.  With one last nod of appreciation to Kronta, he carried his friends up over the hill and made for the forest.

Kronta shook his head.  He had some interesting questions for Iksol and the king for when he returned.  He was especially interested in why his majesty would command the chosen of Faarthus to attack the chosen of Taelri.

******

Bargo had been traveling over the hills for some time, and it was starting to get dark.  Uninjured as he was, the going was still difficult carrying two unconscious bodies.  He had far to go to get to the forest, much further still to be out of the gnolls territory.  If they came upon him like this, he could not fight off a group of gnolls and protect his friends at the same time.  He honestly had no idea how he was going to get out of this.

At least until he felt the strange gust of wind, and a figure that looked like a horse galloping across the sky descending from above.

Twinsoul, Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Illusion     

                            

The going was slow at first for Evandel, Bargo, Deida, and Zaken as they trekked through the western parts of the Elderwoods toward the caves in the hills.  The part of the woods near the elvish settlements was safe enough, but beyond that there were all manner of creatures that made their home in the deep, dark places of the forest, many of whom would find a foursome of adventurers a delightful meal. 

Fortunately, Bargo and Deida were well suited for travel here from the numerous times they had been on duty this area.  Deida had led several excursions into the gnolls’ territory, and knew all the best places to enter from.  Bargo was used to dealing with a larger unit, but he knew the area well from his mission with Deida and remembered the spots gnolls tended to frequent in the forest, and where to go to avoid them.  Zaken lent his hand and instinct to the intricacies of making their way quietly and leaving no trace of their passing.  The last thing they needed was a band of gnolls tracking them down and slitting their throats while they slept, giving their quest an abrupt and untimely end. 

Even with their expertise, it was slow going.  The trees were thick, and very little light got through the dense canopy.  It seemed longer still to Evandel, as he thought of what happened the morning he set out on his quest. 

Since Arthil had not forbid the other priests from speaking of the truth of the ceremony, all of the town was talking about it by nightfall.  In a gesture of warmhearted well-wishing typical of the Treehome Village, most of the town had shown up to see off the quartet of questers.  Prayers were spoken, tears were shed, and wishes of good luck were imparted to the four people setting out to save the village, if not the world. 

Both Deida and Bargo saw their parents before they began their journey.  Even Zaken shared a hug with his foster father, a display of affection that the stern man normally would not have made in public.  Arthil had shown up to send off his adopted grandson, but Siali had been absent all morning.  She had not even been in the house when Evandel had woken up that morning. 

To his surprise, he had been spoken to privately by Talhaias, of all people.  In the short time Evandel had known the priest he had perceived him to be cold, aloof, and austere.  Whether that had been a farce or not, the elf had transformed before Evandel’s eyes during their short talk.  With pleading eyes and strained voice, he had begged Evandel to come home from his ordeal, for the sake of his mother.

When Evandel asked him what his stake in his return was, Talhaias looked at him sincerely, saying, “Because if you break her heart, I shall never forgive you.”

Evandel could only blink his poor confused eyes.  Talhaias had went on to explain that he had been seeing Evandel’s mother for three years, shortly after he had come to Tyhal from Fisathvanna.  Siali had promised not to tell her son, for worry that she would disrupt his studies.  Talhaias had apologized for the secrecy, for his earlier behavior, and for Siali’s absence.  It seemed that the whole situation was tearing her apart, so she had retreated to Talhaias’ residence.  The meeting had ended when the priest told him that he hoped for Evandel’s return himself, so that they could start their relationship again on better terms.

Evandel’s mood seemed to shift even as he walked down the trail leading to the hills.  Sometimes he was excited at the thought of having a mother and a father waiting for him when he returned home, other times he resented his mother’s decision to keep him unaware of her intentions.  He was quiet and withdrawn throughout the march, though none of the others seemed to notice, at least until the second night out from Tyhal.

Evandel was the first to watch that night, since he needed uninterrupted sleep to use his magic properly the next day.  He hardly noticed when Zaken had come up beside him to relieve him for the night.

“Ev? You still with us?” Zaken said, prodding his arm.

Evandel shook his thoughts away, and nodded.  “I’m sorry.”

“Something’s bothering you, I can tell,” Zaken said, leaning against a tree.  He took out one of his two curved short swords and a whetstone, and started to work out the burrs on the blade.  At the same time, he fixed Evandel with his pale eyes, as though trying to read his mind.

“It’s nothing,” Evandel started, but Zaken pointed the whetstone at him.

“Never lie to a better liar, friend,” Zaken warned him.  “They always know when you’re hiding something.”

Evandel shrugged.  “There’s not much to say.  Talhaias talked with me before we left.”

“About him and your mother,” Zaken finished for him.

“By the Five Stars!” Evandel nearly shouted.  “Was I the only one who didn’t know?”

“Alright, calm down,” Zaken said, waving his hands to silence him.  “I happened to hear you and him talking.  I think you’re mom’s heart was in the right place, doing what she did.  She did have the best of intentions after all.”

“Yes, well, good intentions pave the winding path to the Darkplane,” Evandel grumbled.

“Don’t be so upset,” Zaken told him.  “You need to think of this in a much more positive light.”

“How?” Evandel said cynically.

“I don’t have a clue,” Zaken said simply.  “You need to figure that out yourself.  I do know that none of what’s happened recently has been fair to you, and I have a new respect for you with the way you’re handling everything.”

Evandel shrugged again.  He hadn’t really thought of recent events as unfair, but they had been taxing.

“However,” Zaken continued, replacing his first sword and drawing his second blade, “This is not a time to be thinking of things that bother you.  Either put it into a less depressing perspective or forget about it.  Any other option will make this whole trip arduous.”

Evandel thought for a moment.  “It would be nice, I guess,” he said, the phantom of a smile coming over his face, “having a mother and a father waiting for me to come back.”

Zaken grinned.  “That’s the spirit, buddy.”  He pocketed his whetstone, took out his other sword and spun both of them around in his hands before sheathing them, flowing from one motion to the next.  “The path is set before you, and adventure is on the horizon.  You must doubt not, just run into the blinding light to seize your glorious future.”

Evandel thought for a moment, then said, “That sounds familiar.  Where’s it from?”

Zaken shot him a wry smile.  “It’s the Glory Seeker’s credo.  That’s the adventurer’s guild I belong to.” 

Evandel nodded approvingly.  “Good words to live by.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Zaken said, waggling his finger at him.  “It’s the only way to live.”

Evandel thought long and hard on those words before he finally fell asleep that night.

******

The next day brought a thunderstorm that woke up the entire group.  Despite the cover provided by the leafy ceiling, the rain was pounding down hard enough to drench the four friends.  Evandel helped them all dry off by magically pulling the water from their clothes, and helped to keep them from getting soaked further by creating a broad, concave disk of water above him, keeping the rain from ever getting near them.  Today he was confident and spiritually strong, and his demeanor seemed to lift the spirits of his friends.  Today he really felt like a part of the team.

The third day of their march proved to be uneventful, and they made terrific progress.  By the end of the fourth day, they were sleeping out under the stars in the rolling hills of the gnolls territory, not even three miles from the caves Poerna had mentioned.  Evandel spent a long time awake, staring at the stars, for he was too restless to sleep.  Thoughts of the day to come caused a great deal of excitement to stir within him.  They would be in a damp, cold cavern, searching for an artifact that would help determine the fate of the world.  The mere thought of such adventure sent his heart racing in anticipation.

Sleep eventually found him, followed by dreams of high adventure and great discovery.  He woke the next morning in terrific spirits, eager to move on.  His friends were glad of his change of spirit from a few days earlier, but Bargo warned him that they were still in dangerous territory, and gnolls almost never took prisoners.  This advice gave the half-elf better perspective, but did little to quell his bubbling energy.  If gnolls were to attack, Evandel was more than ready to show them what a sorcerer was capable of in battle!

They found the cave easily, nestled at the foot of a cluster of hills.  Evandel could tell just by looking that if this was the right cave, it more than likely went fairly deep under the hills.  In front of the cave mouth was a barren looking area with a fire pit dug in the middle, spring grass poking up through the beaten ground. 

“I’ve been here before,” Deida said, a frown crossing her face and darkening her bright red eyes.

“You have?” Evandel asked, rather surprised.

“Yes,” Deida responded, crossing her arms.  “I don’t think this is the right place.”

“Why?” Zaken asked, his tail twitching.

“It used to be a gnoll supply cache,” she said.  She pointed to the fire pit.  “That’s the campsite where the guards were.”

“Used to be?” Zaken asked.

Deida smiled wryly.  “Right up until the Kathilasi heard about it.”  Zaken shared her smile, surmising her meaning.

“So there’s nothing there now?” Bargo said, scratching his head.  “Is there any other place we could look?”

Deida shook her head.  “Most other caves in this region are already in use,” she said.  “The ones that don’t house gnolls are far too shallow to hide anything but rabbits and foxes.”

Evandel thought about it for a moment.  “Let’s look anyway,” he suggested.  “There might have been something you missed.” Deida gave him a questioning look, and it was his turn to smile wryly.  “I don’t care how good the Kathilasi are, nobody is perfect.  After all, you weren’t looking for anything but gnolls.  There’s a very good chance you passed over something because it wasn’t part of your mission.”

Deida shrugged.  “We won’t know unless we look.”

“Let’s get on with this then,” Bargo said, lighting a torch and making his way to the entrance.  The others followed his lead, ready to be on their way.

The cave started off in a sloping tunnel, which led to a large cavern, empty and silent.  The four split up and each started exploring a different corner.

After only a few minutes of searching, Evandel could tell something was amiss.  There was a vague energy in the air that he could not describe.  The roof of the cave was clustered by stalactite mounds, but the floor was almost completely smooth.  Scant traces of supplies the gnolls left behind were scattered about the floor.  The walls were roughly hewn, jutting out and forming small alcoves, but it was still easy to see everything.

Then it struck him.  The entire cave was visible to him, even from the corner he was standing in.  He canceled the light he had cast on his staff, and even then he could make out the forms of his friends, as though peering through dim twilight. 

“Ev, are you alright?” Zaken asked from across the room.  “Your light went out.”

“I’m fine,” Evandel said.  It then occurred to him that Zaken was not carrying a torch or any other light.  “Where’s your light?”

Zaken shrugged, and Evandel could see his tail twitch in the dim light.  “I can see fine in the dark.”

The sorcerer looked to Deida and Bargo, who were both carrying torches.  “Deida, Bargo, put out your lights.”

The two eyed him curiously, but obliged him.  Deida waved her hand over her torch, and it snuffed out, all the air removed from nearby.  Bargo simply dropped his to the ground and stepped on it liberally.

Yet with all the light sources doused, they could still see each other.

“What the . . .” Bargo said, scratching his head.

Deida looked up, as though the light might be coming from a crack in the ceiling.  She suddenly cried out, then pointed to the roof, her eyes amazed.  Evandel followed her gaze and saw exactly what she was looking at.

Softly glowing stalactites.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Zaken said, chuckling.  “That’s something else.  This must be the place.”

“Yeah, but where do we go from here?” Bargo asked.  “There’s no way out except the way we came in.”

“Just leave that to me,” Evandel said, raising his staff.  He had done magical purges before, and had fared well in his dispelling classes, but he did not know the nature of this magic.  The process was easy if it was merely illusion covering the walls or a transformation on the stone, but something told him that it could not be something as simple as that.

He activated his aura sense, but to his surprise found no magic.  No matter where he concentrated, there was no magic to be found.  Even the stalactites had no magic.

No, that couldn’t be right; he knew those had magic in them.  He could even sense it without his aura detection active.  There must have been something blocking his detection magic.

An idea struck him, and he scanned the ceiling again.  Most of the stalactites were typical stone mounds, nothing out of the ordinary.  One cluster stood out among the rest, the highest up on the concave ceiling, right in the center.  It was the largest cluster, but it did not seem as though it belonged.  Squinting in the dim light, he could make out a crease between the base of the mound and the roof of the cave.

“We need to break that down,” he said, pointing to the faulty stalactite. 

“Uh huh,” Zaken said wryly.  “How do you suppose we do that, genius?  Your water magic is strong, but that’s solid stone.  We’d need an earth principle to even try it.”

“What am I, gnoll droppings?” Bargo protested.

“No offense, big guy, but you don’t have any aura magic,” Deida said.  “You’ve been magically dry ever since you were little.”

Bargo grunted, and took his large, two handed sword from his back.  Deida instinctively backed up, but he paid her no heed, walking closer to the middle of the room.  Once there, he grasped the hilt underhand, holding it like he would a javelin.  With one swift motion, he launched his blade up to the top of the twenty foot ceiling, embedding it deep into the stone.  The shock of the sword striking the false stone proved too much, and it crashed unceremoniously to the cavern floor, echoing loudly in the chamber. 

After the echoes died and the dust cleared, Bargo moved to the pile of debris and retrieved his sword.  “I learned a long time ago that you don’t need magic to do everything.”

“I stand corrected,” Zaken said, bowing before his friend. 

Bargo nodded, and brushed off his blade.  He looked at the debris, and said, “Hey, this isn’t rock!”

Zaken moved over to the pile, and inspected a larger shard of false stone.  “This is gnomish plaster, good for imitation rock, mixed with . . .” he paused, squinting in the dark.  “I’m not sure what else is in this.”

“How’d you know about that, Ev?” Bargo asked, but his friend wasn’t listening.  His ocean blue eyes remained locked on the top of the cavern, an amazed smile on his face.  Bargo looked up with him, and his jaw dropped.  In the place where the fake stalactites hung was a cluster of a different kind, a vein of silvery white crystals.

“What is that?” Deida asked, transfixed by the glow.

“Just regular crystal,” Evandel said.  “It’s been enchanted.”

“To do what?” she asked.

“My guess would be to keep the other stalactites lit up,” Evandel said, raising his staff again.  “But I don’t think that’s all.”

He reached out his aura sense tentatively, careful not to be overwhelmed in case the crystal’s aura proved too much.  Now he could feel very powerful magic emanating from the entire room, save from the pile of rubble on the floor.  He focused on the crystal vein, one of the largest sources of light magic he ever sensed.  He began to draw the magic out, using the water in the air to act as a magical sponge.  Soon, the crystal’s shimmer seemed to expand into the air around it.  Just as quickly, it dispersed in a flash, leaving the room in darkness.

“Way to go, Ev,” Bargo said sarcastically.  “Now we can’t see anything.”

“Well that’s easy to fix,” the sorcerer replied, putting light back on his staff’s crystal. 

What he saw was a completely different chamber.  The floor was a crystal and glass mosaic set into white stone.  Gone were the rough hewn stone walls, replaced by marble and crystal slabs, with great silvery white crystal arches where bunches of crystals hung down, in the same areas as the glowing stalactites. The crystal vein he saw earlier was actually more of a fixture on the ceiling attached to a metal base, like a chandelier. 

“This is not normal,” Zaken said.  “Did you accidentally teleport us?”

“Teleporting is a little out of my range,” Evandel answered.  “No, we’re in the same place; the tunnel we came in from is over there.”  He moved to the wall across from the tunnel, to find a great door marked with the grand cross, the symbol of Alaron.  “And this is the way in.”

 “How did this happen?” Deida asked.  “Why did it transform?”

“It didn’t transform,” Evandel explained.  “We were being fooled by the illusion magic in the crystal.  There’s such a thing as a tactile illusion, where the bent light can actually be given texture and a semisolid form.”

“You’re saying that the entire cavern was made of light?” Bargo said, scratching his head again.

“Sort of,” Evandel said.  “It’s a little more complex than that, but that’s good enough for now.”  He tapped his staff against the door.  “Let’s figure out how to open this, shall we?  There’s no knob or anything.”

“Just leave that to me,” Zaken said.  “I’ve gotten into places with bigger doors than this.”  He produced a steel ring with what appeared to be several different keys, and started examining the door.  He ran a finger down the crease between the two doors, and then placed one of the keys inside near where he stopped his finger.  He pushed it in gently, and twisted the tip.  Slowly, the doors creaked open.

He held up the ring of keys and smiled.  “Urdez’s Unlockers,” he said.  “They were a gift from the Mistwatch thieves’ guild.”

“Right,” Deida said.  “I bet they only ‘gave’ them to you because they don’t know you have them!”

“Not yet, they don’t,” Zaken grinned.  “I wish I could see their guild leader’s face when he notices these are missing!”

They went through the now open doors into a sloping hallway, darkened as the last room was.  The walls were plain stone instead of marble, but several of the chandelier-like fixtures adorned the ceiling.  The hall continued down for some distance, never veering from its slope or direction.  Evandel led them on, but did not like the fact that there was no light in a temple that was supposedly devoted to Alaron. 

The end of the hall resulted in an archway that gave way to a long, expansive chamber marked by a pedestal in the center and the largest chandelier structure yet hanging from a ceiling too distant for Evandel’s light to reach.  The four once again split up, each to investigate a section of the room.  Zaken made his way across to the far wall, insisting that he could see fine.  Deida and Bargo set to exploring the other two walls, and Evandel found himself drawn to the pedestal.

The first thing he noticed was a glyph chiseled into the top of the pedestal, one that he could not decipher.  It was an exotic twisting figure, but resembled no character in any language he ever heard of.  At the same time, he felt like he should know what it meant.  Ringing the top was a phrase written in common: The truth is unseen to all who cannot believe the unbelievable.

Evandel thought on this phrase for a long time, until Bargo and Deida came back from their searching.

“Nothing on my end,” Bargo reported.

“Same here,” Deida said.  “What have you found?”

“A headache,” Evandel replied sarcastically.  “I’m not sure, but I think this is just decorative.”

“Have you tried touching the rune yet?” Bargo suggested.

“Please,” Deida sniffed.  “It wouldn’t be something that simple.”

“Well, just in case,” Evandel said, lifting his hand up to the rune and setting it down gently.  Nothing happened, and all three of them exhaled. 

Just before he lifted his hand again, Evandel noticed the symbol on the back of his hand was throbbing.  He looked closer at the twisted rune and noticed that basic shape of Taelri’s symbol could be traced within the glyph. 

Something clicked in his mind, and he wanted to slap himself for being so blind.  “Believe the unbelievable, huh?”  He muttered, sliding his finger in the grooves of the rune.  The outline of Taelri’s crystal eye symbol began to glow with faint blue light.  Looking closely, he also found the shape of the grand cross of Alaron and traced it, lighting it with a brilliant yellow

“Hey, I get it,” Bargo said, and traced his finger in the shape of a bear paw print, the symbol of Kumadan, the god of the earth, making that symbol glow golden brown.

“Really? … fine, sure,” Deida said, shaking her head and tracing the open wing symbol of Pelyphis, the wind goddess, and creating a silvery white glow.

“That leaves . . .” Evandel traced Faarthus’ symbol into the rune, lighting it a smoldering crimson.  They waited, but nothing happened.

“That’s weird,” Deida said.  “We got all of them, didn’t we?”

“Well, yeah, except Forgotten,” Evandel said, remembering the lost god of darkness.

“How are we supposed to know the symbol for a god nobody’s worshipped in centuries?” Bargo asked.

Evandel shook his head.  He could see that there was a line that was still untraced, but parts of it weaved in and out of the other five symbols.  They only way to solve it would be to actually know what the symbol was.

“Everyone else finished?” Zaken said, coming up to join them.  “I found the door, I think.  My keys did their job, but there’s nothing beyond it save a very far drop.”  He looked at the symbols on the pedestal.  “What’s all this?”

“It’s a glyph that combines the symbols of the gods, but we don’t know the last one,” Evandel said.  “You wouldn’t happen to know Forgotten’s symbol, would you?”

Without a word, Zaken traced his finger around a path on the glyph, setting a purple light in the shape of jagged, asymmetrical dagger.

The rune flashed, and all of the other lines except the ones that constituted Alaron’s symbol disappeared.  A light blazed from the pedestal to the crystal chandelier above, and the entire room was engulfed in radiance as though the sun itself shone from above.

“So that’s what makes those come back on,” Zaken said, ignoring his friends’ disbelieving stares.  “I bet all the other ones are lit up, too.  Let’s go check the door again.”

Evandel shook his head, and followed his friend, whose mysteries were beginning to compound themselves. 

The door Zaken led them was indeed a drop off, but now that there was light all about, they could see a set of indentations that started at the edge of the drop and went all the way to the floor.  On the opposite wall was a series of lanterns that housed glowing crystals instead of candles.  Evandel understood that they were now much deeper than he originally thought they might go, and began to suspect that this was not an entire temple, but perhaps a catacombs or an understructure of some sort.

At the foot of the drop was another archway, leading into a cave-like chamber that appeared to be made entirely out of crystal.  Instead of crystal lanterns or chandeliers, the room itself seemed to be glowing. The far end from where they stood featured a pair of roughhewn crystal archways.  Between them was a ten foot tall statue of an angelic guardian figure, clad in full plate armor.  A great stone spear was held upright in its mailed hands, speaking of a patience and vigilance not known to the mortal world. 

“Wow,” Deida said, eyes glittering with the shimmering crystal around her.  “I’ve never seen this much crystal in one place before!”

“Are you sure it’s crystal, and not just another illusion?” Bargo asked, looking to Evandel for confirmation.

“I think we’re past the part where the makers of this place needed to disguise it,” Evandel answered.   He reached out his aura sense, just to humor Bargo.  “No, this is genuine glowing crystal.”

“You mean no tricks at all?” Bargo asked.  Evandel nodded, and the big man’s eyes went wide.  “Wow, no wonder this place is sacred to Alaron.”

They walked across the room to the archways, but Zaken stopped in front of the guardian statue.  Evandel turned to him when he stopped, seeing the apprehension in the man’s pale blue eyes, and his tail seemed to quiver uncontrollably.

“What is it?” Evandel said, stepping closer. 

“I should not have come with you,” Zaken said, his voice wavering as he drew his swords.  “I’m not wanted here.”

“What are you talking about?” Evandel started to say, then turned to the statue and paused.  Hadn’t the sentinel been looking forward, not down?

Without warning the guardian stepped forward, its limbs creaking to life.  It angled the spear at the thin man, and spoke in a deep, grating voice, “Soracht!  Hevonis soracht!”

Hearing the commotion, Bargo and Deida rushed back into the room.  Bargo drew his sword, and Deida took her bow off her shoulder and notched an arrow in one fluid motion.  Evandel could only lift his staff and prepare for the worst.

The guardian poised its spear to strike the man before it, but as the tip closed in an orb of water collided with it, driving it aside.  An arrow bounced off its stone helm, then two more crossed in front of its face.  When it turned toward the source, Bargo dashed forward and swept his blade at the back of the sentinel’s knee. The impact knocked the guardian’s feet from under it.

“Let’s go, now!” Bargo shouted, pointing to the archways. 

The four of them scurried out of the room, even as the animated statue picked itself up.  They followed a short hallway to another crystal cavern, split by a vast gorge.  Spanning the gorge were four glass-like bridges with no rails that weaved over and under each other, splitting off in various directions, some ending abruptly and others curving up at angles that were impossible to climb.  At the bridge’s end stood another archway, sealed off with a crystal gate.

“What was it saying?” Evandel asked.

“Traitor, Heaven’s Traitor,” Zaken said solemnly.  “It means me.”

“Why?” Evandel said.  “What have you done?”

“Not what I did, what I am.”

“What . . .”

“How many other people do you know are born with tails?” Zaken asked, sheathing his short swords.  “I’m not human, Ev!”

“Then what are . . .” Evandel started, but a memory flickered to life in his mind, from his planar studies classes.  “You’re a tiefling, aren’t you?”

Zaken smirked wryly.  “Half-demons, darktouched, The last scar of the horde, nightmare children, or yeah, you could use that one.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Bargo said.  “We wouldn’t have cared!”

“I couldn’t let anyone know, friend,” Zaken said.  “If anyone outside the village found out I lived there, zealots and demon-haters from all over would burn me at the stake and set fire to Tyhal for housing me.” 

“But you haven’t done anything wrong,” Evandel said.  “You’re as innocent as any of us!”

“It must be programmed to attack anything that even remotely resembles a demon,” Deida reasoned.  “We slowed it down, but it won’t be long before . . .”

“Sorachtes!  Osala sorachtes vi hevonis! Vamore!” the sentinel bellowed from down the hallway, its steps crashing on the ground like thunder.

“What now?” Evandel asked, backing away.

“It’s calling all of us traitors now,” Zaken said.  “I guess if you help a demon, you’re just as bad.”

The group started for the bridges, just as the sentinel crashed into the chamber. 

“Split up!” Evandel called out.  “All to a different bridge!”  Just as he commanded, they scattered, Zaken taking the far right, Deida taking the far left, and Bargo and Evandel taking the inner left and right bridges respectively. 

Evandel looked over his shoulder as he ran, eying the movements of the sentinel.  It stopped before it got to the bridges, which seemed too thin to support its weight.  A flicker of hope sparked in his heart, and hoped they confounded the guardian.

That hope was snuffed out as the stone wings on the sentinel’s back unfurled and magical flight took it flying after Zaken.

“Zaken!  Look out!” Evandel shouted.  Zaken seemed well aware that the construct had followed him, and with great agility darted under an overhanging bridge as the sentinel passed over.

Onward they scurried over the enmeshed walkways, moving as swiftly as they could while simultaneously trying not to fall over the sides.  Evandel watched as Bargo reached his bridge’s end first, and Deida shortly after him.  The half-elf had taken a path that had sent him under most of Zaken’s bridge, and so was able to keep an eye on his friend’s progress as he followed his own way to the end.

Zaken’s tenacity was incredible.  He sprinted from shelter to shelter, from overhang to opposite bridge with the swiftness and lightness of a spring zephyr.  He narrowly missed being skewered by the sentinel’s spear several times, but with each time he became wiser, avoiding the same sort of situations. 

Evandel looked ahead and saw Zaken’s path split, a low road and a high road. Slightly ahead he could see a bridge that curved up at a right angle, one of the impossible climbs.

“Take the low road!” he called out.  “I’ll meet you there!” 

Zaken nodded as he leapt from his hiding spot, dashing for the low road.  Evandel hurried along his walkway until he came to the spot he had seen the paths diverge.

They doubled back on themselves! The low road was the one that headed for the impossible climb, not the high road!  He started to call out again, but he watched as Zaken sprinted down the low road.  Flustered, Evandel rushed on, hoping he had not just led his friend to his death.

******

Zaken cursed as he watched the path before him start to climb out to the erect part of the bridge.  A quick look behind him told him he did not have enough time to think again; the sentinel was hot on his heels. 

He started to spring over to the other side, but a quick look down the way told him that was futile as well; the bridge on that path had been broken off.  Any way he went, his path ended before the goal.  He quickly surveyed the other bridges in the area, and formed a plan. 

Using all of his skill and agility, he made a mad dash for the erect bridge.  He leapt at the upward bent path, and focused his aura to his feet.  Concentrating with all his might, he pushed up instead of forward with each step, climbing in what looked like a vertical run up to the top of the dead end bridge.

The angelic sentinel slowed and eventually hovered in front of the spire-like bridge.

“Your tainted soul must be cleansed, traitor,” the sentinel demanded, its spear poised.

Zaken, balanced perfectly on the edge of the twisted bridge looked down to affirm his path, and gave a sly smile as the sentinel closed.

 “Fool.  Tieflings don’t have souls.”

He thrust his hand forward, loosing a black bolt on the sentinel’s face.  It reeled backwards, and thrashed forward meaning to impale the dark man.  It instead crashed into the upturned bridge as the foolhardy tiefling leaped off into the darkness.

******

Evandel felt his breath leave him when he watched Zaken leap from the spire into thin air.  With no time to concentrate on levitation, he could only watch him plummet.

And land on the bridge behind him.

A part of Evandel wanted to strangle Zaken for being so reckless, and another part just wanted to cheer for such a spectacular stunt. 

The dexterous rogue rushed forward, and smiled at his friend.  “That darkness won’t faze him long, we need to get moving.”

Evandel nodded, as though automated, and followed him down the final stretch of the bridge.

Bargo slapped Zaken on the back, laughing heartily, and Deida let off a continuous stream of berating about how stupid he was and how he could have been killed, then settled down and threw her arms around him and admitted that she had never seen anything so incredible.

“What about the gate?” Zaken asked, gently pushing her away.

“There’s an indentation like a handprint,” she said.  “We tried it, but nothing happened.  I think it needs Evandel’s hand.” 

Evandel nodded and started forward, but then turned as Bargo gave a warning shout.  The sentinel was flying straight for him, its spear set to impale.  It was moving too fast for him to do any casting, so he just lifted his staff in a vain effort to deflect the crazed construct’s weapon.

A split second later, Evandel stood, wondering why he hadn’t been skewered.  The spear was stopped before it reached him, but not by his staff.

Zaken stood, swords crossed, between him and the sentinel, the tip of the stone spear poking out his back.

“I guess I needed to be more firm,” Zaken growled between clenched teeth.  His swords emanated dark energy, and he flung them into the sentinel’s face.  The blades embedded themselves up to the hilts, and the sentinel dropped its spear and just seemed to halt.  With no magic left to keep it aloft, it crashed on the ledge, and slipped into the abyss.

Zaken toppled backward awkwardly, and Evandel caught him before he fell.  He guided his dear friend down to the floor, realizing just what had happened.  Tears began to well in his eyes, and all the rest of the world seemed to fade away.  He barely heard Deida’s cry, or Bargo’s roar of defiance.  His eyes were fixed firmly on the now incredibly pale man dying in his arms.

“Told you I shouldn’t have come,” Zaken hissed through clenched teeth.

“Don’t talk,” Evandel whispered.  “Deida can try to heal you.”

Deida was already rushing forward, and in moments she knelt beside them.  She weaved the air into his wound to try and staunch the flow of blood, but she shook her head.  “I can’t do it, the flow is too strong!”

“Keep trying!” Evandel nearly shouted between his tears, but Zaken raised his hand.

“Don’t worry about it, Ev . . . I’m done.  I did what I wanted to here, and I’m ready to go.  This is nothing to cry about.  I’ve been ready for a long time, actually.  It comes with the trade.”

“Zak . . .” Evandel sobbed, as though pleading his friend to stop.

“There are some things you need to hear, and I don’t have long.” Zaken reached to his belt, and drew out a black bladed dagger, the same shape as the symbol he drew on the rune.  “This is a key to something very important.  I stole it . . . from the Faarthusian orcs.  They want it for something . . .  I thought I might try to get there first.  But now I know what they’re planning, and it doesn’t look good.  I don’t know if this has something to do with the dawn crystal . . . I’d rather we didn’t find out.”

He handed the dagger to Evandel, who took hold of it tentatively.  Zaken’s other hand held his firmly, and his eyes spoke of urgency.  “Do not let them have this, Ev!  Keep it safe at all costs, and stay away from Faarthusia . . .”

“I will …” Evandel said, choking on the promise.

The tiefling leaned back, letting go of the sorcerer’s hand and smiling as the light left his eyes.  “I’m glad I met you all.  Maybe I do have a soul after all . . .”

The silence that followed was more than Evandel’s heart could bear.  He did not weep; Zaken had asked him not to.  Instead he placed the dagger in his belt and closed Zaken’s eyes.  He looked to his remaining friends. Bargo had closed his eyes, and seemed to be praying.  Deida seemed to be simply staring sadly into the distance.  They had seen death before on the battlefield, but Evandel could tell this had truly shaken them.

A curious strength crept into his heart, and he stood up.  He knew that he must go on, for the sake of his friends.  Bargo and Deida looked to him as he stood, and he nodded to them.  He walked up to the gate and pressed his right hand into the handprint in the center of the gate.

The crystal dematerialized at his touch, opening the way to a small stone chamber that was lit by a single crystal above an altar.  Upon the altar was a pendant, or at least half of a pendant.  It was a piece of ivory in the shape of a half-sun set with ambers, hanging from a thin gold chain.  The flat edge of the pendant was ridged, and looked as though a second half was meant to be attached.

“That must be the Sun Symbol,” Bargo said quietly.  Evandel nodded, and approached the altar.  He reached out for it and closed his fingers around it.

No sooner than he touched it, a blinding light surged into his mind.  He closed his eyes, tried to look away, but the light was all consuming, and he felt himself falling.  Soon after, he felt a presence in his mind, not unlike telepathic contact.

“Greetings, Evandel of Tyhal.  I am known as Warrane, leader of the United.”

“You’re the leader of Unity?” Evandel asked.

“Yes, young one.  Long have I awaited you and your allies.  I am at once glad and troubled that you come; troubled that the prophecy has come to pass so soon, and glad to see that you are willing to rise to the challenges that now await you. 

“You must be off soon, Deepseeker.  The artifacts you seek are wide and far upon this land.  The Serenity Sapphire is kept in a place of great knowledge.  The Stone Bracers are held by a denizen deep within the Urdor Mountain.  The Wing Circlet can be found where the sky and earth are as one.  The mists of the gnomes’ homeland hide the home of the Moon Glyph.  The Fire Hand resides with a saddened soul deep in the heart of Faarthusia.  Go to them, and find the one who shares your fate.  Together, with your friends, you may give our world its second chance.”

Images of the artifacts whirled around in Evandel’s mind, and he could feel himself rise again into the real world.  He stood as he once did, with his fingers gripped tightly on the Sun Symbol. 

“Evandel?  Are you okay?” Deida asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.  “You seized up all of a sudden, like you were in pain.”

“No, I’m alright.” Evandel said.  He put the Sun Symbol's chain around his neck, and turned to his friends.   “I think we need to get a move on.  We have a very long way to go.”