Printer-friendly version

The Ivory Tower Crumbled

By

E. E. Nalley Jr.

Chapter One

The Voyage Home

The merchantman sat low in the water, her cargo of bolts of silk stacked from her keel to her waterline weighted her as the westward wind drove her ever closer to home. As the sun slid with regret below the mountains before her, her crew took up the call. The lights of home were on the horizon. The six month journey was over.

Tori Yamato, samurai sworn to the service of the strange western Knight listened to their calls from the small cabin he had shared for six months with his master as he finished the daily cleaning of his Katana, the longer of the two swords that were never out of his reach. The steel of the swords had been folded over a thousand times as the swords had been made and their strength reflected his contemplative gaze as he finished the final polish wipe with a small slip of rice paper.

It was time.

The Katana slipped effortlessly back in it’s scabbard as the Samurai rose in a single, fluid motion, containing a smile at the joyous shouts of the sailors above him on deck. He knew what it was like to be coming home. While he was still intensely curious about the world from which the Knight had come, his own thoughts briefly took him to wonder when his own home coming might be.

A life debt was a heavy burden. He was unsure when his debt to the Knight would be fulfilled, or even if he would ever see the familiar sights of home again. His feet once more in the soft slippers the sailors of his own country used, Tori made his way up on deck to find his master.

The samurai was tall for his people, but was still easily the smallest man on the ship. Yet, perhaps he was the most feared. It had taken only a single day to put the sailors in their place when they had thought to lord over him. He regretted that his master had stayed his hand before he could kill one of them as an example to the others. But, the samurai had to admit his master had been right. There had been no other trouble in six months.

The sea air was cold on his bald head, shaved to make the emphasis of his samurai top knot that much more visible. The remaining hair about the sides and back of his head he wore long and gathered like a crown just behind the bald plate on top of his head. Tori was newly thirty, his round face with it’s endless black eyes had been called handsome by the women who had shared his futon, but none of them could claim him as husband. The pressure of Bushido the Way of the Warrior was too much in his mind, they had told him. Age might make him a good husband, but as yet he was not ready.

Impassively, Tori made his way past the sailors who scurried out of his way as they should have as he moved forward. As he had expected, the Knight was at stem of the great ship, casually balancing on the Bow Sprit, one hand clutching a rope that ran up to the strange masts above them, his eyes fixed on the distant shore. “Konbanwa, Hierookami-sama,” said the samurai with a bow.

“Good evening, Yamato-san,” replied the Knight as he turned from the sight of his homeland to return the bow of his friend and retainer. He pointed out past the jib sails the merchantman was running under to the lights on the horizon. “Look there, my friend. My home.”

Tori was suitably impressed. This was a rich land the knight hailed from. Never had he seen so many buildings of stone and wood. Though the port was small as compared to the smallest of the cities that Tori had been through in his native country, from what the Knight had told him, this was a country of nearly endless size. That was a thought to get used to.

“Tori,” said the knight once more. “I must humbly ask you to be mindful of the strangeness of the customs of my people. I apologize to you that I come from a land where politeness does not hold the high esteem that you are used to, so much the worse for us. I should like for you to address me as Brannick, or, Sir Brannick if you feel you must be formal.”

The samurai bowed as he switched to the crude Western Tongue the knight had taught him. “It shall be as you say, Sir Brannick.”

Brannick Graywolf, a knight in the service of Oboleth, the Primal Lord of Law, chuckled as he jumped down and clapped the samurai on his shoulder. He was twenty five, young for Tori’s people, but a full man in the reckoning of his own. His face was long and firm in the strange fashion of the Western Men, his hair about his shoulders was a deep brown and hung free to billow in the sea breeze, but about his mouth was a hair he wore in what they referred to as a goatee which was of a brilliant red. His eyes changed color depending on the color of his clothing, sometimes blue, others green, and his master granted him control of powerful magic.

Like the Samurai, he wore a pair of swords, katana and the shorter wakasashi which had been presented to him as a gift from the Shogun of Nippon. It was a great honor and Tori did his best to control the feelings of pride he felt in serving such an honorable barbarian. Brannick was dressed in the clothing of his native country, a rich green tunic that was accented with a brilliant yellow at the cuffs of the short sleeves that left his powerful arms bare and the collar that displayed his muscled chest. The heavy gold chain with it’s emblem of Oboleth about his neck. The tunic he belted at his waist with a wide leather belt from which hung pouches and the two swords tucked neatly, ready at a moments notice for their masters need.

Under the tunic he wore the traditional laced pants of Tori’s homeland that he found more comfortable than his own and sandals. The samurai’s own kimono Tori found more comfortable, but he would never question his masters’ sense of fashion to his face.

The two friends watched the merchantman come into her home port to the shouts of greeting from the quay as she was tied up. But as joyous as all this was, Tori saw his masters concern as Brannick caught sight of a beautiful woman wearing a flowing blue kirtle, over which she wore a black leather corset that emphasized her figure. Her black hair was loose about her head, falling down to the middle of her back as she serenely watched the ship be made fast. “Brannick-sama?” asked Tori as he saw the looks on the knights face change.

“That is a cleric of Lilith, the Lady of Chaos,” said the knight.

“Do you wish her slain, Sir Brannick?” The knight chuckled as he shook his head.

“Nay, my friend. Her name is Mieri, and our relationship is…complicated.” That Tori could understand; where women where concerned, even simple things became complicated. He followed the knight as they made their way to the plank that was just being put to the ship. Tori shouted out to some of the sailors to fetch his masters’ things and was pleased with their instant obedience.

The woman that so vexed his master was waiting for them as they disembarked from the ship. “Welcome home, Sir Brannick.” Said the woman in a lovely voice that brought to mind a poem to the samurai he would have to write down later. “My Mistress salutes the valiant servant of her adversary and offers her congratulations that your quest was a success.”

She extended her hand, palm down to the knight. Brannick stepped forward to kiss it as he replied. “I humbly accept the congratulations of My Master’s adversary and offer my condolence that she has not yet seen the wisdom and Law and Order.”

The cleric smiled. “You are bold, Knight, to chastise my Mistress so openly.”

As he rose from the kiss, Brannick returned the woman’s smile. “My position offers me few privileges, so I must make use of them as they are available.” Tori watched the two, realizing that the cleric and the knight were Yin and Yang to each other, both loving and hating, yet neither could exist without the other. As he watched, time seemed to stop.

Looking about, the samurai became fearful. Birds were halted mid-flight, the waves still as though the sea was frozen, and even the sailors as they toiled to unload his master’s belonging were affected. He fearfully looked to the Knight, fearing some foul magic at work, but was stunned into immobility. The knight had grown majestic wings from his back and radiated a power that was nearly too bright to behold. Conversely, the cleric now had bat-like wings as well as a lithe, pointed tail that danced behind her as the darkness clung to her even more sultry and tempting form. Then the two creatures embraced.

“Why?” asked the woman’s voice with all the terrible force of a Monsoon. “Why did you take him away for so long? Two years, you beast!”

The winged figure Tori’s master had become chuckled with a voice every bit as powerful as hers. “You know as well as I what needed to be done. Did I begrudge you when you sent her to deal with the Plague Priests?”

“Six months is far less than two years!” she thundered. Tori fearfully drew his katana and sent a prayer to his ancestors to make ready a place for him. His death day was at hand. “He sees us,” said the devil-woman as she placed her terrible eyes on Tori’s own.

“It was time he knew who and what he served. He has a great trial ahead of him, you know,” said the being Tori’s master had become. “Stay your hand, samurai,” he ordered.

Tori had no choice but to obey. His sword was sheathed and he humbled himself before the two powers, bowing so that his face touched the planks of the dock. “A thousand apologies, great Kama, if I may not defend my masters’ honor from your possession, then please allow me the honor of sepeku.”

“That is not your karma, Yamoto-san. Look upon me, I am Oboleth, the Lord of Law.” Fear was not an emotion Tori was used to dealing with. He was ashamed of himself even as he mastered it and forced himself upright. The two powers held hands as they regarded him and Tori worked to keep his body from trembling. “This is my Lady, Lilith, Mistress of Chaos. Your master, my servant, is the only way my Lady and I can share our love. It is your masters’ great honor to hold this position. Do you understand samurai?”

“Hai, Kama-sama.”

“I command you to speak with no one other than my servant or the girl my Lady inhabits of this.”

“Hai!”

The demoness chuckled. “And you accuse me of using fear to intimidate my servants, Oboleth,” she admonished him. “Fear not, Tori-san, both Sir Brannick and Mieri know what they mean to us. Our power is Yin and Yang. Only through their bodies may we touch each other. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“Hai, Kama-sama.”

“Be strong, samurai. Remember your karma for the journey that lies before you.”

Then the world was moving once more and only Sir Brannick and the Lady Mieri stood before the samurai. “Tori-san?” asked Brannick. Tori returned to his native language, which the knight had mastered quickly in his time there. He quickly related what he had seen to the knights’ amusement. “I apologize I couldn’t speak of this to you before, Tori-san.”

“It is not necessary for you to apologize to me, Brannick-sama,” said the samurai with another bow.

“There is trouble,” said Mieri in her pleasant voice. “I must speak with you over this at once. I am sorry to spoil your homecoming.” Brannick smiled.

“The sight of you could never spoil anything,” he said with a smile. “Lead on.”

* * *

A dock side tavern where dinner was purchased became the venue for the story the Lady Mieri had to tell. Tori held his revulsion at the lack of cleanliness around him as he took his chopsticks from their keeper in his obi, the wide cloth sash around his waist. The barbarians ate with their hands, save for his master who also had a pair of chopsticks and the Lady Mieri whose eating tools were made of metal.

Tori was used to the strange food the Westerners ate by now, but his palate longed for the taste of food from his own land. “Andwin was destroyed three weeks ago by a red dragon,” the Lady said once the edge of their hunger had been abated. “He’s young and has nested somewhere in the Dragon Spine mountains to the west. The High Priestess of my Order has commanded me on behalf of the Magistrate to assemble a group to slay him.”

“Why did the magistrate come to the Priestess of Lilith?” asked Brannick with a frown. Mieri shrugged her ignorance.

“You were away, and it wasn’t known when you would return. Since I had a vision of your homecoming from my Mistress, I waited for you. The dragons’ hoard is to be divided three ways, one for the Town to help rebuild Andwin, one for my Order for our troubles and one for the group to split who kills the dragon. My Order will guarantee resurrections if needed.”

Brannick was thoughtful. “This is most troubling, what is more so that my Master has not spoken to me over it. Who have you gathered for this party so far?”

The raven haired priestess smiled. “You know most of them. There is Therrian the Centaur for our mage.”

“An able Confineist, to be sure, though his size might be a problem. Still, the dragon would likely have nested in a large area. Who else?”

“Myself, you and your friend here, as well as Asaloth the Elf and a half Elvin scout named Rebecca.”

“Asaloth is a good fighter,” mused Brannick. “This Rebecca, I don’t know. Scout is usually a euphemism for thief. Is that the case?” Mieri chuckled.

“She is a member in good standing of the Lock Smith’s Guild.” Brannick snorted as he drank a gulp of ale from his tankard.

“So she’s a clever thief. Very well. When do we start?”

The Lady stood and offered her hand. “It is time for sleep, good Sir Brannick. We ride out at first light.” The knight sighed as he stood with a smile.

“The work of the righteous is never done. Sleep well, Tori, I’ll wake you at the fourth watch.”

Chapter Two

The Road to the Dragon’s Spine

The dawn was just making its coming known as Tori preceded Brannick and Mieri from the tavern where they had spent the night. The samurai had been uncomfortable not sleeping in the same room as his lord, but was a worldly enough man to know when a master needed protection and when he needed privacy. Last night privacy had outweighed protection.

He had not slept well as the moans of passion had escaped the door at his back where he had spent the night. But that had not been as disconcerting as the waves of magical power that had washed out when the humans had finished their lovemaking and the Powers had occupied their bodies to cement their own homecoming. Tori was surprised he was as well rested as he felt.

In the street outside the tavern the group had been assembled. He returned their curious gazes at his appearance with an indifferent scowl of his own. Centaurs were rare in his home land, and this one was magnificent. His mane and tail were the color of a new bonfire over the powdery snow of winter that had not yet melted from the heat of it. He was slightly larger than the horses he stood amongst and they docilely deferred to him. Save for Brannick’s roan stallion that tossed his head and boasted his confidence every so often.

The Elves were another matter entirely. Tori did not stare, which would have been impolite, but was careful to discretely observe the lithe forms with their cascading blond tresses. The male, Asaloth was full blooded and it showed in his narrow features and the pronounced, sweeping point to his ears. From the way he cradled the bow he carried, Tori had no doubt he was an expert archer. He was dressed in greens and browns to mimic the forests colors and all of the accessories he carried about him on his belt and the quiver across his back were lashed down so they would make no noise.

The other was female, her hair a darker blond than the male and the sweep of her ears not so pronounced, but still present. Her lithe, sensuous body was encased in richly tanned and oiled leathers that also made no sound as she moved. She shamelessly locked her blue eyes with Tori’s own and the samurai could tell he was judged and found wanting. His hand itched to grasp his sword and cut off her insolent head.

Asaloth stepped forward to greet Brannick, placing his hand over his breast as he did so. “Welcome home, my friend. I trust your quest was a success?” Brannick was cheerful as he clapped the elf on his shoulders before sweeping him into a massive hug.

“It was, my friend. It is good to see you again. I shall tell you all of my adventures when this current unpleasantness is settled.”

The Elf responded in his willowy voice, “I shall look forward to it. May I introduce you to Rebecca of Bethany, my half sister?”

The knight’s eyebrows ascended his face as he bowed shallowly to the insolent woman. “It is a great honor to make your acquaintance,” he said.

“You mean you wish you could slap me in irons because I’m not a slave to your pathetic Oboleth?” she drawled. It was too much for Tori to stand. His katana was clear of its scabbard before he could think that this might displease his lord.

The clang of steel on steel rang through out the street.

For a moment, Tori’s eyes were locked on the insolent woman whom he’d meant to strike dead. Then his eyes flowed down to the wakasashi that had parried his death stroke to meet the knight’s kindly gaze. In Nipponese, the Knight said softly, “For defending my honor, you have my thanks.”

Tori’s katana was returned to its scabbard as he bowed low in one graceful motion. “Please forgive my impertinence for forgetting myself. Her life is yours to take.” The knight nodded and turned to the smirk covered face of the ‘locksmith’.

“I am not in the habit of lying, Rebecca,” he said softly, once more in the Western Tongue. “If I tell you I am pleased to make your acquaintance, I am. If I want you clapped in irons, you will be. I do, however, hope that I shall not have to make a habit of saving your life.”

“I think you and I understand each other,” the half elf replied.

Asaloth snapped what could only be a command in the Elfish tongue to which she replied as imperiously. “My apologies, Sir Brannick,” he said.

The knight sheathed his sword with a smile, though Rebecca never left his peripheral vision. “None necessary, my friend, come; let’s get this unpleasant business over with.”

* * *

The ride out of the port town to the foot hills of the Dragon Spine Mountains took most of the day. The countryside was in the depths of its joyous spring, though the wonder and beauty of it was lost on the riders as they made their way along the dirt road towards the Pass of Clanthia. Their thoughts were all centered on the dangers ahead.

Facing the wrath of a dragon, even a young one, was not something undertaken lightly. For Tori, the world was a rich tapestry that sung to his heart. He lamented that he had not the skill of a poet or painter to return some of this beauty home with him. He rode slightly to the rear of his master and his master’s lady, his eyes ever watchful for danger, despite the indescribable beauty around him. “Strange,” came the voice of Brannick as the sun threatened to blind them in it’s decent before them.

“What do you see?” asked Asaloth as he followed the knights gaze.

“It is what I don’t see that troubles me. Look, none of the farms have been touched. The fields are tended and look there! A deer. Were a dragon nesting about I would not have thought to see any of this. Why is the land not devastated?”

“The High Priestess was very specific about his location,” said Mieri softly. She pointed to a mountain whose peak was split in two as if by a bolt of lightening. “Look there. That is his nest. There is a cave below the summits. That is his lair.”

“We cannot reach him before nightfall,” said the knight. “And there is no inn before the pass. That would take us too far out of our way.” He turned in his saddle to address the group. “We shall camp here for the night.”

The group tied up their horses and began the process of setting up their camp on the enemies door step. As the preparations were being made, Therrian stepped forward to Brannick. “I worry we are too close to him. He may catch our scent.”

“A watch would be prudent,” the knight agreed. “You and Mieri will both need a full nights rest to work magic in the morning.”

“As will you, knight,” said the Centaur kindly. “Take the first watch if you feel you must, but we shall need your healing magic’s before the day is out, I’m sure.”

Asaloth joined the two having gotten the campfire started in the shelter of a small knoll. “I need only a short meditation to be ready for the day. Rouse me and I shall watch the rest of the night.”

Brannick nodded in agreement. “Alright. At least we have fresh food for our meal. I’m tired of jerky from my voyage.”

The group ate in companionable silence as darkness fell around them. While there were a few attempts at conversation, the deadly earnestness of their purpose had settled over them making all effort at joviality a fraud. Finally, the meal and its cleaning was done, Brannick produced a long stemmed pipe which he packed with a fragrant tobacco.

“I suppose you will all want to fall on it from stealth, unawares,” he said softly as he took a long taper from the fire to light his pipe.

“Unless you know of a safer method to attack a dragon,” demanded Rebecca from her side of the fire with Asaloth. “If so, by all means, share it.”

“Honor seldom takes the safest road, but it has the fewest perils to ones conscience. Were he a rabid beast, I would think nothing of dispatching it as quickly as possible. But a dragon has intellect.” The knight shook his head as he exhaled a cloud of the pungent smoke. “My conscience tells me this is dangerously close to murder.”

“Murder is dangerously close, that is certain,” growled an unfamiliar voice with the quality of stone grinding over stone from beyond the light of the fire. The warriors made to leap to their feet as the voice rose to a terrible volume. “Draw but a single weapon and you are all ashes!”

“Coward!” roared Brannick. “Step forward and face me.”

“I thought the only language of a knight was the courteous word or the strong blow,” the voice sneered from the darkness. “What is the meaning of this intrusion? How dare you plot my death on my very doorstep?”

“This is the King’s Highway,” returned the Knight, though his tone was civil. “By what right do you waylay a peaceful group upon it?”

“Do not compound treachery with lies,” the voice answered. “I pay my duty to the King for respect of my privacy, yet here lies a sweet band of cut throats that plot the safest method of my murder. Speak quickly knight, the pangs of your conscience are the only reason you are still alive.”

“I am sent of the Magistrate of Port Smith to pass judgment upon the red dragon nesting in the Dragon’s Spine Mountains for the destruction of the village of Andwin. Are you he? If so, step forward and speak the truth of this.”

From the darkness came the monstrous shape of the dragon, lithe and sinuous in his rolling gate. The light of the fire played on his scarlet scales with revealed his youth, as well as his size. From muzzle to spaded tail the dragon was less than twenty feet long. “I am he,” growled the dragon, smoke rising from his nostrils. “But I have destroyed no town. Do not think to confuse the issue with such wild accusations.”

Brannick took a menacing step forward. “There is no confusion under the law; only the final truth which shall be revealed. I am a knight of the Lord of Law. No lie can escape my gaze, nor any injustice within my power to set right. Do you deny the charge against you?”

“Charge?” bellowed the dragon, the rage of his species mounting before him. “You insolent human would dare lay a charge at my feet? You crow like an old woman at a town well! Be one then!”

The magic began to flow through the dragon as he worked the spell. Sensing his master was in danger, Tori did not think, he acted. Before a single heart beat had passed, he was on his feet and leapt. As the magic left the dragon Tori had completed his arc and landed between the dragon and his master, both arms spread wide. The spell struck him even as Brannick’s voice called out, “Tori! No!”

Then the voice of Therrian thundered, “I imprison you with eldritch force!” The dragon stopped moving as a blue line of force contained him, frozen in time.

The samurai, meanwhile, had fallen to his side, convulsing as the dragon’s spell coursed through him. “For…forgive me, Brannick-sama,” he gasped as he shook.

“I envelope you in the mists of sleep,” murmured the knight hoping to ease the agony of his friend. The samurai’s eyes slipped shut as his features became as wax, molding and shifting. “Therrian,” commanded the knight.

The centaur stepped cautiously over. “By the lords of power, I’ve never seen such a complex spell,” he breathed as Tori continued to convulse and change.

“Draconic magic is extremely powerful,” added Mieri. “Can you see what the spell is doing?” The centaur murmured over the small warrior, then gazed up at the heavens as if searching for an answer in the stars.

“The root of the curse was to change your body as the dragon had labeled you, Sir Brannick, an old woman. The dragon crafted the spell to affect you through the weaves of Oboleth’s power he could perceive on you. But I can see the youth of this dragon in his inexperience with his own magic. The spell I do not think would have effected you at all. But the samurai is another story all together.”

“Will it kill him?” asked the knight whose voice trembled with tightly held rage.

“I do not think so,” murmured the Centaur. “But it will be morning before it has finished with him.” The rasp of the knights katana slipping free of it’s scabbard was loud in the stillness of the glade.

“Let the creature speak, but hold it fast, Therrian,” he spoke softly as he walked without haste before the captive dragon. The dragons head began to move as it took in it’s situation, but that was all of it’s body it had a mastery over. The intake of air through it’s nostrils echoed in the night. “Don’t,” cautioned the knight in a still voice, his blade snapping up to emphasis his point. “I am a servant of the Law. You can perceive the touch of Oboleth upon me. Your fire shall not avail you, but seal your own death warrant. State your name and lineage.”

The dragon hissed in his anger, eerily still in the captive bonds of the centaur’s magic. Brannick stopped with in striking distance of the foul beast’s neck.

“State your name and linage or I shall strike you dead,” ordered the knight once more, his tone as though he had asked the name of dutiful servant.

“Justin, son of Lowyfir, Dragon Lord of Sudbur and the dragoness Scorch.”

“Justin, son of Lowyfir, you stand accused of murder and mayhem being principle party to the destruction of Andwin. Speak the truth of your involvement in this matter or be summarily judged.”

Justin had meant to cast defiance back to the face of his captor, but his draconic eyes saw the power radiating off the knight as he stood so tantalizingly close, yet out of reach. He did not see the human any longer, he saw the powerful form of an avenging avatar of the embodiment of law. While it was not the first time Justin had tasted the bitter tang of fear, it had been long enough that bile rose in his throat. Had he been free to move, he would have shook in his fear. “I have just returned from a month of study in the Great Library of the Dimensions, seeking to master my own magics. I learned of the destruction of Andwin but yesterday. I have no involvement to speak of,” he whined, if a creature as terrible as a dragon could be said to whine.

“Release your curse on my servant,” ordered the Avatar.

The bile threatened to overwhelm the young dragon. In a panic, he stammered, “I…I cannot. I can never remember the formula I use when I’m angry. Besides, I’m certain I’ve gotten it wrong.”

There was a long silence as the two powers stared at each other, then only Sir Brannick stood where the avatar had been. The silence was once more broken by the rasp of steel on bamboo as the katana was returned to it’s scabbard. “Therrian, release Justin.”

“My lord,” rumbled the centaur as his concentration on the bands of energy holding the dragon prisoner ceased.

“What?” demanded the strident voice of Rebecca. “You’re just going to let it go?” The half elf’s feet took her beside the knight before she realized how close she was coming to the object of her conspiracies of murder.

“This creature is innocent of the charges against him,” said the knight softly.

“But…but we were promised a share of it’s hoard! Who’s going to pay me?” The dragon hissed as the scout quickly interposed the knight between herself and the dragon.

“I would have a care in your plans at theft so close to your intended victims, were I you.” The knight returned his gaze to the dragon before, to Justin’s astonishment, he bowed humbly. “You were falsely accused. Please accept my humble apology over this unfortunate incident. I ask that you be of whatever assistance you can be to my mage in the unraveling of the spell you cast. I shall compensate you for your time from my own purse.”

The dragon dipped his head low. “I must apologize to you, Sir Knight. You have acted with great honor in this. I regret my temper and it’s consequence. If I can be of assistance it shall be my pleasure. What time I have is yours at your mercy. I shall not forget it.”

“Three weeks wasted!” swore Rebecca. “Who’s going to compensate me for my time?” she demanded. The Knight looked at her askance.

“I was not aware that Port Smith did such a brisk business in your trade, locksmith.” Rebecca smiled her best smile and returned to her half brother’s side, doing her best to ignore his chuckle at her predicament.

“How very charming,” drawled a new voice through the glade. Though it’s volume was low, it carried, like a thunderclap across the open desert. The group turned to watch the darkness take shape into a terribly beautiful woman. The red leather of her garment clung to her, flaunting every perfect curve on display. Draped cloak like around her shoulders were the bat like wings from her back and there was a hypnotic rhythm to the spaded tail that danced behind her. Her ebony tresses fell in ringlets, perfectly adorning her chiseled features dominated by a pair of burning red eyes that peaked out from under a delicate pair of horns at her temples.

Mieri was the first to break the silence following the woman’s arrival as she curtseyed before her Mistress. “My Lady Lilith.”

Chapter Three

The Mistress of Chaos

The Power swept into the glade as though without a care in the world. She nodded a return to her cleric’s curtsey and the knight’s somewhat stiff bow. She stopped briefly by the sleeping samurai whose body was still slowly changing. “My compliments on your spell craft, Master Justin. This is an interesting weave. I cannot be certain I would have used quite this formula, were I you, but it has certainly worked for you.”

Brannick stepped cautiously forward. “Madam, I would be greatly in your debt if I might prevail upon you to undo the curse upon my servant.”

Her grin was feral. “Why would I want to do that, Sir Knight? And you are already greatly in my debt, though you do not know it yet. What law has been broken here that the servant of my adversary should prevail upon me for such a favor?”

“Law, madam? None that I am aware of…”

“Precisely! This is the very core of my argument with your master. You do not stand for law, or even order, you stand for the way things have always been! You, Sir Knight, serve stagnation. You desire your servant as he was for no other reason than he was always that way. You have yet to consider that this change may, perhaps, be for the best, for you, for your servant, or for some other happenstance you have no knowledge of as yet.”

“Madam, we could argue what if and why for till the sun rises, yet the core of my argument is that my servant has been be-spelled against his will…”

“Did he not jump in front of the spell? Did he not choose to take the spell meant for you?” demanded the Power.

“You are clouding the issue, Madam!” protested the knight.

“Nay, brave knight, the issue here is crystal clear. I am right, and you, my dear boy, are wrong. But neither this amusing debate nor your servants fate is the reason for my visit this night.” The Knights eyes did his questioning for him. “For failing to dispatch Master Justin, there is a death sentence awaiting each of you in Port Smith.”

“What?” shouted Rebecca as she leapt to her feet.

“Justin is innocent of the charge against him,” said Brannick slowly. “To act on a false charge would be murder.”

“It would,” agreed Lilith with her terrible smile. “Save for the fact that Andwin was destroyed on the order of the Magistrate of Port Smith and Justin here is the victim of a conspiracy aimed at his hoard.”

“What use has the magistrate for Justin’s hoard if not to rebuild Andwin?” Lilith could not contain a laugh at the knights question as she lightly kissed his cheek in her amusement.

“There is not a treacherous bone in your body if you cannot see that, my dear boy. The magistrate means to hire an Army of both the living, as well as the dead, as Jessica, Former High Priestess of my Order in Port Smith has betrayed me to Scatter Bones, the upstart demi-power of Undeath. The Magistrate means to march on King Devron to carve out his own kingdom from the Dragon’s Spine to the Great Wastes.”

“My Lady, why do you not unseat Jessica for her treachery?” asked Mieri softly.

Once more the laugh of Lilith floated about the glade. “I am, daughter. Through the seven of you.”

“I beg your pardon?” demanded Brannick.

The Demoness’ eyes bore down on the knight. “Yes, Sir Brannick. You shall be my instrument in the undoing of this scheme. You shall expose the Magistrate in his treachery, both to save your own life, as well as see my daughter in placed as the new High Priestess of my order in these lands.”

“The Mistress of Chaos seeks a servant of stagnation to prevent change?” he asked drolly.

“I have a great fondness of your quick wit, dear boy. But there shall be great change from all of this. However, change for it’s own sake is less desirable than change for the better. Besides, I shall score a number of points in my argument with your master over this.” She locked her gaze at each of the adventurers around the camp fire. “Justin, I place you in the care of this knight. You shall assist him to the best of your ability.” She paused meaningfully. “Keep your temper, child of mine.”

The dragon dipped his head respectfully to the patron of his race. “It shall be, Mistress,” he affirmed in his most respectful tone. Brannick considered this carefully before he spoke once more.

“If the Magistrate has indeed betrayed his office, he will have fortified his position by unlawful use of the Guard of Port Smith. To attempt to return to expose him would be suicide. And if he has begun to gather an Army, then his strength will only grow. I cannot see how you mean for us to stop this, My Lady.”

The Demoness chuckled. “Can you think of no method of his undoing Sir Knight?” The knights face became cloudy.

“What you ask I cannot do.”

“Then you condemn this land to deprivation and lawlessness. You betray your oath for your own selfish pride. Either way, my argument is advanced with your master.” Brannick scowled to the amusement of the Power he faced.

“Madam, you of all should know that it is not my pride of which I speak. I am unworthy of that route. Have you not some alternative?”

“I can think of any number of alternatives, Knight. But I do not lead this band, for that is your honor. Do as your conscience would direct you.” Then the Power was gone and the group was alone once more in the glade.

* * *

Chapter Four

A Plan is Formed

The silence of the Demoness’ passing was broken by the deep chuckle of Therrian. As, one by one, the group turned to stare into the long face of the centaur, he mastered his mirth. “I knew I had not misread the stars before this was started.”

“Master Therrian?” asked Mieri with some confusion. It was well known the skill by which the Centaurs were known to plot the destinies of life on Earth. But this was the first she had heard of a reading that he had done on this matter.

“Yesterday afternoon,” the mage began, “when you came to me with the vision from your Lady of Sir Brannick’s return, I took to gaze the stars to see what would become of our quest here. The answer the stars spoke to me of confused me greatly. I did not speak of it as I had not the wit to understand the meaning of it.”

“I too saw a portent of great significance in the stars,” rumbled Justin. “It caused me great concern so I took to fly over the length of my lands. That is how I happened across you.”

The Centaur stepped forward to tower over the Knight, who was, himself a tall man. With great dignity he bowed and said sternly, “You must seek out your birthright, Sir Brannick. That is how you shall triumph over this treachery.”

The knight was cross, but kept his tone civil. “I shall have no further talk of this fantasy, Master Therrian. I am not a slave to my birth, or the stars, or to My Lady Lilith for that matter. You are a mage. I ask you to look to my servant.”

“I know my place,” rumbled the Centaur. “It is you who are confused on your own, Sir Knight.” Before any quarrel could start, Therrian made a calming gesture. “Sleep, Sir Brannick. I shall do what I can.”

“What is this talk of birthrights and place?” demanded Rebecca from her seat by the fire. “If you are not a Knight of the Magistrate, who are you?”

“Sir Brannick is born of the Greywolves, the great line of Kings that held all that fell around the Bay of Pariest in days gone by as the Celtic Nation.”

“Therrian,” growled the knight in a tone of warning from his pipe.

Rebecca was dumbstruck. “You? You have claim to a kingship? And you won’t take it? Great Mother of Larceny, now I have heard it all! I had you pegged as a pompous ass when I saw you, but I didn’t know hypocrisy went hand in hand with idiocy!”

The knight’s voice was low and full of danger. “Hold your tongue, thief.”

“Or what?” the half elf demanded. “You’ll murder me? That will set off this evening, won’t it? I couldn’t give two copper pieces for your opinion of me, but I’m tied to you now, aren’t I? So either you topple the Magistrate, or I get my neck stretched? Of that choice, I pick you topple the Magistrate. So if your vaunted sense of honor only extents to dragons, what have I got to lose?”

The knight sighed with great regret and tamped his pipe as he glared at the elf maiden. “Alright. As you place yourself the deep politician, tell me, Rebecca, as my ‘birth-right’ and a silver piece will buy me dinner at the Spine Pass Inn, exactly how do I go about raising an Army and toppling the Magistrate?”

“Do not seek wisdom from a fool,” said Therrian loftily as he stepped forward. “And do not ask a question to which you already have the answer. We must find the Scepter of the Kings. That will rally the Celtic Bands still wandering in these lands to us. From thence, we can purchase Mercenaries from Carpathia.” The knight barked a laugh round his pipe.

“Oh, it’s as simple as all that? Quest after a fairy tale, then rally homeless, penny less vagabonds who will suddenly have the gold to purchase the greatest Mercenaries on the face of Tyrra? Well, what are we waiting for, Master Therrian?” The centaur neither scowled nor laughed at the Knight’s sarcasm. Before he could answer it, however, Justin ambled closer to the fire and was thoughtful.

“The Scepter of the Kings isn’t a fairy tale. I have seen it.”

The crackle of the fire beside them and the smoldering of Brannick’s pipe were loud in the silence that followed. “Where?” asked Therrian slowly.

“In the case of the crown jewels of Clanthia,” replied the dragon with a toss of his head south at the glooming mountain range. “I was present with my father when it was presented to King Devron and is now the principal piece of his claim of Empire from the Bay of Pariest to The Southern Seas. It resides in the Kings Keep in the City of Clanthia.”

A moment of silence followed the statement as Brannick tamped his pipe so as to be more to his liking. “That is very interesting, Master Justin,” he said slowly. “But it does not help us here. If the King is in fact in position of this artifact, I very much doubt he will hand it over for the asking. Nor can I condone it’s use if stolen.” The dragon considered this for a moment, then turned back to the group.

“If the Scepter of the Kings cannot be acquired, then must the entire plan be cast aside? I will offer up my hoard as a guarantor for the Mercenaries of Carpathia.” Brannick felt his eyebrows ascend his face in shock. While he was quickly taking a liking to the dragon he’d been sent to murder, this was so far outside of normal draconic behavior as to be unbelievable.

“That is most charitable of you, Master Justin. However, even that is, I think, too great a sacrifice to ask. Further, as young as you are, I cannot think that your hoard would be sufficient to pay for the amount of soldiers the enterprise we are discussing would require.”

The dragon nearly became cross as the size of his hoard was maligned, but he mastered his temper before it got the better of him and boasted calmly, “My hoard has a current worth of twelve million platinum pieces, of that, one million is in various coins, four million in objects of art, two in books, scrolls and other knowledge both mundane and arcane, three in magical artifacts and two in armors and weapons. That is all adjusted for current market variance, but does not hold or account for the levies owed me by the local villagers on my land, the value of my fiefdom or any structures and chattel upon same.” His matter of fact tone from his book keepers knowledge of his wealth did little to play down the staggering amount of money he spoke of. The looks of the demi-humans around the fire ranged from appreciative of his holdings to open lust.

“My apologies,” affirmed the knight, “I had not thought you so well propertied a dragon for your tender age.”

“I am forty seven,” corrected the dragon loftily.

Asaloth chuckled quietly from his side of the table. Being the eldest of the group in years, if not looks, brought him great amusement from the dragon’s boast. “Then we are agreed?” he asked softly. “In the morning let us acquire such from Master Justin’s hoard as well retain this army and with all haste be about this?”

“I would not have just anyone in my lair,” said the dragon cautiously, studiously not looking in Rebecca’s direction. “I do, however, trust Sir Brannick. He may accompany me in the morning to fetch what he thinks we shall need.”

“I am deeply honored,” chuckled the knight. “Still, this is no small thing we undertake this evening. The road will be long, and dangerous.” His eyes swept the group before him, thankful for the resolve in their faces. “I cannot think of anyone I would rather travel it with. For now, let's to sleep, we have a long journey in the marrow.”

* * *