Revenge of the Gamer

Trek though the desert

Jenora kicked dirt over her campfire and saddled her mount.  The huge black stallion tensed its muscles at her approach, but she felt him relax as she ran a gauntleted hand over his flank.  She hadn’t bothered to name the beast, but he had survived long enough that she was beginning to give it thought.

It was cold enough in the Shadowland that she could see her breath, but the chill didn’t bother her.  This had become her home, and she had lived here so long that it felt normal.  She found the weight of her soulsteel plate comforting rather than burdensome, and the Daiklaive made from the same dark material was an extension of her body.

Most men found her beautiful, but few would dare say so.  Only Mask of Winters had shared her bed since she had become an Abyssal.  Her master’s other mortal servants knew her as the queen of ice, but that didn’t bother her.  The title was ironic given her fiery hair, but her delicate complexion could have been carved from marble.  Or ice, she conceded.

Putting the idle thought aside the she swung onto the horse’s back in one smooth motion.   She had been given permission to leave the Shadowland, but her master had asked that she return as soon as possible.  Disappointing him was always painful, and could be lethal to those unfortunate enough to earn his wrath.  She had not felt his anger in many years, and by the dark ones never would again if she could avoid it.

She dug her sharp spurs into the horse’s flank, and it leapt forward at a gallop.  The wind whistled by as she raced along the road, and she found herself with little to do but think.  Her lover of old and her best friend had been reborn into the world, and her master wanted them as allies.  So here she was bringing a gift of incredible power to someone who would most likely attack her on sight.  Did he have even fleeting memories of her in his new incarnation?

Jenora wasn’t sure how she felt about things either way.  During the days of the Solar Deliberative she had been incredibly close to her circle.  Back then she had been a young general, and the man she now sought had been her king.  He was a Zenith caste, and as such had wrought the will of the Unconquered Sun upon the world.  He had been one of the few to still honor his deity in those decadent days, and had defended his temple with his life.

The last message she had ever received from her beloved had told her of their king’s demise.  It had taken several divisions of Dragon-Blooded and a pack of Sidereal to bring him and his lunar wife down.  She envied him that.  He had been allowed to die while she had lived.  At the time of the revolt she had been in the field, and her men had stayed loyal despite the greater treachery around them.

Jenora had brought them into the wilderness, but they had been caught by several legions led by the traitors.  Guided to her by the Sidereal no doubt.  They had wiped out her forces to a man, and would have killed her but for the intervention of her new master.  He had spirited her away, and had given her a choice.  She could join him and pledge her allegiance to the sleeping gods, or she could go her own way.  He had promised vengeance if she stayed, and it had not been a hard choice to make.

She had had regrets since then, but knew that she couldn’t change the past.  Her friends had been killed, and she never found out what had happened to her beloved.  He was one of the most powerful sorcerers to walk creation, but even his light had been extinguished.  She had heard rumors that he had gone to Denandsor to enter the gateway to the Celestial city of Yu-Shan, but didn’t know how true that was.  She would have liked to at least know how he had died.

Dwelling in the past wouldn’t help her in the present, however.  She had to focus on her current task.  Right now she had to meet her old comrade as an emissary of Mask of Winters.  Hopefully he would hear her out, and accept her gift.  She didn’t want to have to kill him.

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

Drevin tightened the straps of the crude saddle on his new camel.  The beast stunk and seemed ill tempered, but every seller he had spoken with recommended them over horses for traveling the dune sea.  Evidently they required little water, and could stand the searing heat much better.  Glancing behind him he could see that Aleri had already saddled her own mount and was now helping Marette.

The strange young woman had shown up this morning as promised, and seemed to have developed a strong attachment to the Dragon-Blooded healer.  She didn’t question their decision to take camels, and hadn’t asked where they were going.      

Their meeting yesterday had been straight out of a badly written story, and she seemed to eat it right up.  By the Sun who met their traveling companions in a bar?  Yet here she was treating Marette like she had known her all her life.  Every other word that she spoke to Drevin was a compliment about his skill with a sword, and it was grating on him already.

The shine in her eyes spoke of romance and treasure, and her disillusionment was going to be rough on her.  He was probably only six or seven years older than her, but it may as well have been millennia.  Drevin couldn’t ever seem to remember being that carefree, and he envied the young woman her enthusiasm.  Despite her exuberance she had at least had the forethought to bring supplies and travel gear. 

Her penchant for unnecessary killing bothered him more than a little, but from what he had seen of Chiaroscuro her attitude was a part of this society.  Hopefully he would be able to break her of it, and if not he doubted that they would be companions for long.

He adjusted the scabbard for his new glass sword on his hip, and awkwardly mounted the strange beast.  It gave a grunt as he sat between its two humps, and turned to eye him balefully.  Marette was having a better time of it than him, and was already moving her camel forward at a walk.  Aleri mounted hers expertly, and took the lead as they moved out into the desert.

Drevin turned back periodically to look at the retreating city, and he wondered if the Wyld hunt was gathering somewhere amid the sprawl.  Oh well, he was committed to his path now.  No sense worrying about things that he couldn’t change.

“Drevin,” Aleri asked as she pulled her camel even with his, “Where are we going?  I thought that you said you were on a pilgrimage to the Elemental pole of Wood.”

He looked at Marette before responding, and after a moment she nodded at him. He was going to have to tell her eventually.

“We are looking for a temple to a very ancient god.”

“A temple to Ahlat?” she asked naming the southern god of war.

“No, he is much older and mostly forgotten.  I intend to change that.”

“An old god.  Does he have a name?” She asked.

“The Unconquered Sun.  Once, the Solars ruled the world in his name.” Drevin explained, though he was not even certain how he knew.

“I see.” Aleri responded, but he could tell that she didn’t. 

They continued to plod through the sand, and it felt to Drevin like they were moving at a snail’s pace.  The sun beat down on them like a hammer on an anvil, and he could tell that both his companions were suffering in the heat.  Before he may have as well, but now he was comforted under the gaze of the fiery orb.

After what felt like an eternity the sun began to sink below the horizon.  They continued on in the relative coolness of the evening, but eventually had to stop when even the surefooted camels had trouble seeing.  Looking back the way that they had come Drevin could still see the glittering lights of Chiaroscuro.

The trio unrolled the small tents that they had brought, and within a few minutes had erected camp.  Aleri volunteered to see to the camels while Marette offered to cook.  He took the opportunity to walk a little ways from camp, and seated himself on a small boulder.

Even though he knew that it didn’t need it he took a whetstone to his new glass blade.  The curved scimitar was the deep blue of a sapphire, and the light from the campfire Marette had erected glittered off of it.  It really was a beautiful weapon, and its balance was as fine as any he had ever used.  Yet, for some reason, it didn’t feel right in his palm. 

“Drevin!  Dinner is ready.” Marette called.  He sheathed his blade and went back to camp.

“It smells heavenly.” He said as he approached, and he wasn’t lying.  She had taken some of their rations and concocted a type of stew.  She ladled him a plate, and then passed one to Aleri before helping herself.

“I’d recommend setting watches.  I have traveled the desert, and even this close to Chiaroscuro there are many dangers.” Aleri recommended between bites.

“I will keep watch tonight.  You two sleep.” Drevin’s tone brooked no argument.

“We should all take a turn or you might fall asleep.  Lady Marette may be Exalted, but we are mortals.”

“Let me make this very clear right now, Aleri.  You travel with us at my forbearance, and you obey my commands without question.  Is that understood?”

The very air seemed to vibrate around Drevin, and he felt the essence inside of him stir.  It lent an authority to his words that would not be questioned, and he could see fear reflected back from Aleri’s eyes.

“I understand.” She said sullenly.  

“Good. I will not fall asleep on watch.  You have my word on that.”

Which was true.  Ever since his Exaltation he had needed very little rest, and had found that he could stay awake for several days with little effort.  In some ways it was a blessing, but it gave him too much time to think about things.

“If you say so.” Aleri conceded dubiously.

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

Marette awoke with a start.  She was disoriented for a moment, but then she remembered where she was.  The first predawn light was beginning to lighten the sky so she decided to get up rather than try to get a bit more sleep.  She rose groggily and pulled a cloak about her to fight the morning chill.  It amazed her that a place so hot could get so cold.

“Yah!!!” she heard from the other side of camp.  She hurriedly climbed up a dune, and was not surprised to see Drevin whirling his blade around in practice forms.  He was shirtless, and she could see his muscles bunch as he performed an elaborate kata.  His dark hair had been pulled into a ponytail, but several strands had come loose during his workout.  He moved with a fluid grace that was almost hypnotic, and she wondered how she could ever have thought him a monster.

He had been more kind to her than almost anyone else, and unlike other people in her life seemed to have no motive other than friendship.  She’d be lying to herself if she said that she wasn’t attracted to him, and could tell that he felt the same.  But their constant flight prevented the possibility of romance, and given what he was she knew that would likely never change.

“He is impressive, isn’t he?” Aleri spoke from behind her, and she jumped guiltily. “I have never seen someone as skilled with a blade.  By Ahlat, I’d wager that he could even take on one of your kind.”

She looked away to hide her flushed face, “I have seen him best Dragon-Blooded and mortal alike.”

The expression on the Dereth’s face clearly showed that she thought Marette was boasting.

“How long have you been together?”

“Not very.  We met only recently.”

“Lady Marette.  If it is not prying, would you mind telling me something?  What are you running from?”

“Why would you think we were running?”

“I see the way that you two glance over your shoulders.  Its as if you expect to see someone on the horizon.”

“Alright,” Marette confessed, “You have come with us, and whether you know it or not you are a part of things now.  We flee the Wyld hunt.”

Aleri laughed, “Alright then, if you don’t want to tell me that’s fine.  I understand that we have just met.”

“Aleri, it’s true.”

“How could that be?  The Wyld Hunt would not pursue you unless one of you was Anathema…” she trailed off as she suddenly realized what that meant.

Perhaps it was a need to share the secret with someone.  Perhaps she needed someone else to know and to tell her it was ok.  Ok to be traveling with a creature that legends claimed had torn the world apart.  Whatever her reason she plowed on with her explanation.

“I have seen Drevin kill Dragon-Blooded.  He cut down four of them like it was nothing, and the fifth ran from him.” Aleri looked doubtful at her words, and that didn’t surprise her.  Dragon-Blooded seldom ran from anything.

By now Drevin had finished, and was walking back towards them, “Good morning you two.”

“Drevin, I told her the truth.” She blurted.

“You what?” Drevin’s eyes hardened, and his hand crept to the hilt of his sword.  Aleri had already drawn her dagger, and assumed a defensive stance.

“Peace, Aleri. The legends are wrong.  We are still your friends.” Marette cried.  Drevin had already proven that he could be ruthless when needed, and Aleri wouldn’t last more than a few seconds should he decide to kill her. 

A long moment of tense silence followed, and neither Drevin nor Aleri broke eye contact.  Then, with a rush of air faster than she could follow Drevin’s blade struck like a viper.  She half expected to see a fountain of blood, but Drevin had not been aiming for Aleri.  Instead, her dagger flew from her hand and landed in the sand several feet away.

“Listen to me, girl.  You are going to have to get over this desire to kill anyone who displeases you.  You are not the world’s executioner.  I let you travel with us because I couldn’t afford to have you spreading tales behind us, and for no other reason.

“Now, if you cannot stomach what I am, then so be it.  Take your small mind and your camel and leave.”

She bristled at his words, but said nothing.  Drevin sheathed his blade, and went back to camp.  Marette could see Aleri’s eyes boring into his back, but at least she didn’t act on her feelings.  This was going to be a long trip.

 

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

Ry-gar crouched low in the lee of the dune, and peered carefully over it at his target’s camp.  There were three people, and an equal number of camels.  Two were women, and looked to be sleeping in small huts.  The third was an imposing looking male, and he was sitting just outside the firelight with both hands wrapped around the hilt of his scimitar.  The point of the blade was buried in the sand, and his forehead was leaning on the hilt.  He looked to be asleep.

Ry-gar gave a soft whistle to his albino companions, and nearly a score of them fanned out to encircle the camp.  Their elongated limbs moved in complete silence, and their hairless forms blended perfectly with the sand.  The Dune people rapidly closed around the camp, and when they were in place he gave another low whistle.  With fearsome yells they burst into the flickering firelight, and they converged on the male.

He was on his feet in an instant, and stood ready to meet their charge.  Ry-gar watched several of his brothers encircle the man, and turned to deal with the women.  One of them was already getting to her feet, and had drawn a wicked looking dagger.  He would enjoy taking it after he gutted her.

Screams of pain sounded behind him, and something bright flared.  He turned to look, and stood paralyzed in horror.  Golden flames surrounded the man, and their brilliance hurt his eyes.  Worse, his blade was an untraceable blur.  Several of his people already lay dead, and more fell as the blazing god advanced.

Before he could react he felt a pain like he had never known.  The point of a dagger erupted from his chest, and he felt himself coughing up a mouthful of blood.  He should never have turned his back on the girl.  Ry-gar collapsed in the sand, and as his lifeblood ebbed into the greedy sand he watched as his people were cut down.  How could they have been so foolish?  Surely they had come upon Ahlat himself.

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

Drevin stood panting as he surveyed the carnage around him.  Pale hairless savages lay everywhere.  Their crude weapons were scattered across the camp, and covering everything were puddles of blood.  Marette looked numbly around as if trying to make sense of things, and he moved closer to put an arm around her.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She said, but her voice wavered.

“I never…I mean, I had no idea.” Aleri mumbled as she also looked around the camp.  Her deeply tanned skin had gone pale, and when she met his gaze he saw more than a little fear there.  Much of the tension between them had faded over the last few days, but he still didn’t trust her.

“Well, we obviously can’t stay here.  Let’s get moving.  There may be more of these things about.”

Neither of them argued with him, and in a few minutes they were mounted and heading deeper into the dune sea.  They had arrived here two days ago, and had spent that time plodding up and down steep dunes.  If their progress had been slow before it was practically nonexistent now.

He reached into a pocket, and drew forth the red gem that Grandmother Bright had given him.  It glow continued to brighten the closer they got, and as she had promised he could feel it tugging him.  His navigational skills were not the best, but he was fairly sure that it was guiding them southeast. 

The trio mounted their camels, and pressed forward.  Dawn was not long in coming, and with it came the oppressive heat.  Drevin had been very careful to conserve their water, and they were all thirsty because of it.  He estimated that they had enough to last them another five days, but after that they had better find an oasis.

As the day progressed his companions grew increasingly miserable, and Marette was so irritable that he found it safer to ride several yards in front of her.  He checked the gem frequently, and near twilight noticed that it had begun to pulse with a bright light.  He shielded his eyes with his hand, and scanned the horizon in the direction that he felt tugging on him.

“There.” He pointed across the dunes.  Perhaps four or five miles distant was a glint of gold.  They spurred their camels into a trot, and raced towards their goal.  They had been traveling for nearly a week in this miserable wasteland, and the thought of finally reaching the temple gave them new strength.

As they grew closer they could see that the glint of gold was a large orb affixed to the top a pyramidal structure.  Its clean lines and white marble walls could only be from the first age, and even after hundreds of years of sandstorms it was absolutely pristine.  Only when they stood next to it did they understand how truly massive the structure was.  It towered over them, and its peak was as high as any in Chiaroscuro.

Drevin dismounted from the camel, and approached the front of the structure.  At its base were enormous double doors some twelve feet high.  They, like the orb on top, looked to be made from solid gold.  But he knew that the true wealth here was neither gold nor gems.  He felt a sense of awe standing near this place, and knew that he was closer to his god here than he had ever been.

“How do we get in?” Aleri asked from behind him.  The pair also dismounted, and had approached the intimidating structure.

“Look up there.  I think I see writing.” Marette was gesturing at some sort of script written above the double doors.  It looked familiar somehow, but Drevin couldn’t read it.  The letters were well carved, but their design somehow didn’t match the rest of the pyramid.

“Here lies the most noble King Telrin who was slain by those he trusted.  He has been avenged.” Marette translated.

“You can read that?” Drevin asked her.  The name had struck a cord in him, and he sensed that the words were about the man he once was.

“Yes, its in a dialect of Old Realm.  An ancient and somewhat flowery one.”

“That’s all well and good, but I still don’t understand how we are going to get in.” Aleri broke in.

Drevin stepped forward and placed one hand on each door.  He concentrated for a moment, and then channeled some of his essence into the doors.

“Unconquered Sun, grant me entrance to your most holy temple.”

At his words the doors flashed brightly for a moment, and opened inward.  Beyond them was a thick musty darkness, and he could feel something beckoning him to enter it.  He drew his scimitar and stepped forward into the welcoming darkness.  Closing his eyes for a moment he summoned his anima, and a soft radiance surrounded him.

Marette and Aleri followed several feet behind him.  Both remained silent, although whether out of fear or respect he couldn’t tell.  He continued to walk forward, and his pace increased as he made his way deeper.  This place was meant for him.

Eventually the corridor that he was following began to slope upward.  They passed several side passages, but the tugging guided him past them.  He pressed on, and began to make out a light ahead.  It was a soft white light very similar to his own.  He practically ran up the corridor until he arrived in a large room.

The first thing that he saw was a small cloudy white orb hovering in the middle of the room.  Flows of essence surrounded it, and he could tell that it was some sort of focal point for the room.  It took him a moment to understand what it was, but he had seen many hearthstones carried by the Dragon-Blooded.

If that was a hearthstone, then that meant that this place must be a manse.  Now that he thought about it Drevin realized that he could feel strong flows of essence all throughout this place.  He stepped forward and gripped the hearthstone.  It was warm to the touch, and after a moment he could feel it begin to attune itself to him.  Behind him he heard Marette gasp, and turned to face her.  She looked around her in wonder, and stepped into the room as if into a dream.

“Do you know what this place is?” she asked.

“Yes, in another age this manse belonged to me.” Where the words came from he didn’t know, but he felt the truth of them. 

Now that he had claimed the stone he looked about him a little more closely.  On the far side of the room was a single doorway, and flanking it were two statues made of jade.  He had never seen anything like them, but they looked to be a cross between a mastiff and a lion.  A tall man would stand only as high as their shoulders.

“Greetings mighty Zenith.  Long has it been since any have come to visit the tomb of King Telrin.” Rumbled one of the statues.

“You-you can talk?” Marette whispered.

“Aye, Terrestrial, of course we can.” Spoke the other statue.

“What are you?” Drevin asked.

“Why, we are Lion Dogs.  We were set here by The Wanderer to guard this tomb.”

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Long years without count, my friend.  But such is our duty, and we perform it without complaint.”

Drevin approached the statues, and placed a hand on one.  They were cold to the touch.  He could sense their immense power, and knew that even with his newfound powers would be hard pressed to best one.

“We were told that one would come to claim Telrin’s legacy.   Are you he?” one of the beasts asked in a voice like rocks grinding together.

“I-Yes, I think so.”

“Then let you and your Terrestrial companion enter.”

The statue gestured with a mighty paw, and he obligingly passed through the doorway.  On the other side was marble slab nearly ten feet long.  Lying on it was a skeleton dressed for war.  He wore a breastplate of a golden metal that gleamed brighter than any Drevin had ever seen.  It his right hand was a shield of the same material, and in his left was a sheathed Daiklaive.

“Go on.” One of the guardians pressed. “The Wanderer said that a Solar would come, and that he would help to bring light back to the world.”

Drevin didn’t know if he could bring light back into the world, but he would certainly try.  He carefully picked up the shield, but despite his caution the skeleton crumbled to dust.  He said a quick prayer to the Unconquered Sun, and donned the armor.  If fit him perfectly, and when he picked up the sword he felt a jolt shoot through him.  This weapon felt right in his hand.

“Kyo-Jun” he said, and knew that was the weapon’s name.

“Yes, mighty Zenith.  Kyo-Jun is among the greatest of weapons, and has even tasted the blood of the Yozis.  Telrin used it to slay the leader of the Faerie when last they invaded.”

“What’s that room?” Marette asked.  She was pointing towards a doorway on the far side of Telrin’s tomb.

“There lies Telrin’s beloved wife.  The Lunar Celene.  Her legacy you may take as well if you wish.”

Drevin and Marette peered through the doorway, and saw a room very similar to the one in which they now stood.  This time the marble slab held a female form.  The skeletal remains were wearing ornate jewelry, and clutched a staff covered with silvery runes.  On her left arm was a bracer marked with a hawk, and at her feet was a beautiful wooden chest.  He could feel the essence emanating from several of the objects even where he was standing. 

“Go on Marette.” Drevin gave her a gentle push towards the room.

“Are you sure?  I mean…aren’t we desecrating their tombs?”

“Of course not,” one of the guardians laughed, “these were left for you.  With them you will take vengeance upon their murderers.”

“Murderers?” she asked.

“Yes, the renegades.  The Terrestrials and their Sidereal allies.”

“I don’t understand.” She said.

“Neither do I.” Drevin agreed. “But somehow I know they are telling the truth.  The Dragon-Blooded rose up in revolt.”

His memories were fragmented, but he caught flashes of a great battle being fought outside this temple.  He and his wife had been slain by their very servants, but they had taken many with them into death.

“I believe that The Wanderer left behind a journal.  It should be in the chest with Celene’s spell books.” The guardian explained.

Marette entered the room with great reverence.  She approached the slab with trepidation, and when she was close enough stretched out a hand to touch the staff.  Just as Telrin had done Celene’s skeleton faded to dust.  Marette picked up the bracer and slid it on.

“Drevin,” she asked as it dawned on her, “where is Aleri?”

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

Aleri waited until Drevin and Marette had walked further up the corridor before unwrapping her glowstone.  Over the last several days some of her fear and loathing had ebbed, but she still didn’t trust Drevin.  He slighted her time and again, and she hated herself for not standing up to him.  Anathema or no he had no right to order her around.

She didn’t know much about this temple, but any fool could see that it had not been touched since the first age.  So logically there should be a store of first age artifacts somewhere within it, and she meant to find them.  They would fetch a fortune back in Chiaroscuro, and no one would ever dare to mock her again.

She moved carefully down one of the side passages, and noted that it sloped down sharply.  The air smelled staler down here, and as far as she was concerned that was a good thing.  In the stories she had read as a child treasure was always kept in a sealed vault, and those were usually underground.

Eventually she reached a small chamber with a barred door on the far side.  Runes in some foreign language covered both the door and the stout log holding it shut.  Something important had to be behind it.  She backed up against the door, and put her weight underneath the log.  It took all of her strength to lift it, and when it fell she couldn’t stop it.  Her heart almost ceased beating at the loud clattering it made, and she froze for nearly a whole minute waiting for signs that her companions had heard it.

When she was satisfied that there were none she carefully pulled open one of the doors.  The soft light from her glowstone didn’t illuminate much, but she could see stairs leading down.  Gathering her courage she followed them, and noticed with some unease that there was a steep drop off either side.

After what seemed like forever she reached a landing.  She crept across it carefully, and found a door on the far side.  This one was made from red jade, and had elaborate drawings upon it.  She paid little attention to them, and pushed the door hoping to open it.  It swung inward silently, but she could hear a noise inside the room.  It sounded like something, or many somethings, skittering across the floor.

Some little bit of caution reached her brain, and she tossed her glowstone into the middle of the room.  It landed at the base of a large dais, and in the darkness she could see a suit of plate standing at attention.  It held a huge blade that was easily taller than her, and over a foot wide.  Perhaps this was someone’s tomb? 

The room looked empty aside from the armor so she crept carefully inside.  She stooped to retrieve her glowstone, and took a better look at the armor.  Now that she saw it closely she liked it a lot less.  It was the color of dried blood, and its appearance was twisted and dark.  Perhaps she had better leave and try another room.

She was just turning to go when she heard skittering all around her.  At the edge of the light she saw thousands of black scarabs advancing across the floor towards her.  She backed up in terror, and bumped into the armor.

I can save you, but you must act quickly

“What do I do?” she asked frantically.  Aleri had no idea where the voice came from, but she didn’t care.

Put on the helmet

Without hesitation she snatched the helmet from atop the armor, and put it on.  She felt a pain unlike anything that she could have imagined, and her scream shook the room.  Aleri felt as if she was falling down a deep well, and then there was nothing.

In her place stood Maladreive.  Once, she had been the chief servant to Ligier, Fetich of Malfeas.  That had been during the last days of the Yozi’s struggle against their offspring.  She had suffered a mortal wound from the cursed Solar Ai, but she had not died.  Ligier was the finest smith in all creation, and he had fashioned her soul into a powerful suit of armor.

Yet as powerful as she was she needed a mortal soul to thrive.  She was powerless to move without a human body, and had been trapped here for an age of the world because of it.  Now, at long last, she was free.  Free to take her revenge upon the servants of the gods.  Free to ravage creation in the name of her imprisoned masters.

She looked contemptuously at the scarabs advancing upon her.  With a gesture fire erupted from the floor, and the little insects fell back.  They gathered themselves into a pile, and formed a roughly humanoid figure.  She recognized it as a Scarab Guardian.  A pitiful spirit set by the Celestials to prevent her awakening.

Maladreive began putting on her armor as rapidly as she could.  The flames would keep the spirit at bay for now, but they wouldn’t last long.  When she was finished she grabbed her Grand Daikliave from behind her, and turned to face her foe.

She let the flames fade, and rushed the spirit.  It dodged the first swipe from her mighty weapon, and managed to land a blow to her chest that staggered her.  She backhanded it with her left hand and sent it sprawling, but it regained its feet almost instantly. 

It came at her again, but this time she was ready.  Her blade arced faster than the spirit anticipated, and beheaded it.  It collapsed into a swarm of scarabs, and they scurried across the floor seeking a place to hide.  Before they could escape she summoned the flames once more, and most of them perished in the white-hot blaze.  Those few that escaped were of no consequence.

The fight had taken much longer than it should have.  It had also drained her of much of her strength.  For some reason she could not understand her powers had ebbed over the millennia.  She was still formidable, yet she knew that she was diminished.  It was time to reenter the world and find out why.

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

“One of your companions is missing?” asked one of the lion dogs.

“Yes, a young woman.  She may be lost somewhere in the temple.” Marette replied.

“That is most unfortunate.  There are several objects here that should never see the light of day again, and their guardians are most unforgiving.  If you will wait here, then I will go and find your friend.”

“Of course.” Drevin agreed, and the beast lumbered down the corridor.

“Drevin, look at this.” Marette had opened Celene’s chest, and was pulling out several large tomes.  “These two are spell books, but this one must be The Wanderer’s journal.”

She flipped open the tome, and began to leaf through it.  Drevin gave her a few minutes to look over it, and walked back into the manse to speak with the remaining guardian.

“So what will you do now that your task is finished?” he asked.

“That depends entirely upon you.  If you wish, then we will stay here and guard this place.”

“Me?”

“Yes, part of our duty was to serve the one who came to claim the…” the lion dog trailed off, and cocked its head as if it had heard something.

“What is it?”

Without warning the beast gave a grief filled howl.  When it looked back at him its features were pained.

“My brother has been slain.”

Drevin could scarcely believe it.  These beasts were truly formidable, and he couldn’t imagine a foe powerful enough to kill one.  But whatever it was could be after Aleri as well.  Drevin took off down the corridor at a run, and the lion dog fell in behind him.

They had just about reached the entrance to the pyramid when they found the remains of the first lion dog.  It lay shattered in a pile of jade rubble, and was barely recognizable.  The other lion dog pushed past him and charged outside, and Drevin followed.

The sun was setting, but it was still light enough to see the carnage.  All three camels had been killed in a grisly fashion.  Beyond them he could see tracks leading off into the desert to the west.

 

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